chronicler of a sea battle in the Edwardian days; "the glistening
armour, the flags and streamers glancing and quivering in the wind."
The beauty and the bravado which lingered on till Nelson's time are
gone. Gone too are the courtesy and chivalry of the old sea battles.
You need not go for romance, with the pleasant sting of brine in it, to
the ugly and stealthy story of the German submarine. A dull monotonous
history from first to last, as he who cares to turn over the Admiralty
files will find; a baleful, intolerable, damnable repetition. The very
extent and enormity of the record deadens all sensibility, so that
one soon reads mechanically, giving no thought to the matter, however
melancholy. Let us set down some sentences, each a verbal extract from
the official record.
"The crew were mustered after the explosion and five men were missing."
"While abandoning the ship the chief engineer was killed by the
enemy's fire, and two of the crew were wounded."
"Two of the crew were not seen after the explosion."
"Two of the crew were killed and two were scalded."
"Of the fifteen who left the ship only the chief officer and three
others were saved."
"While the ship was being abandoned the enemy continued to fire,
hitting the ship and wounding five men."
"One man who had been badly scalded died on board the patrol which
picked up the boat."
"The chief officer's boat was picked up at 10 a.m., the boatswain who
had been wounded dying in the boat."
"Eighteen of the crew went down in the vessel. One boat reached the
shore, but there was a heavy sea running and two men were drowned while
attempting to land."
"In one of the boats picked up twenty-four hours after the vessel's
destruction were seventeen dead and frozen bodies."
"The submarine rendered no assistance. The commander looked at the men
in the water, and shook his fist, saying something in German."
"The master's boat with seven men kept at the oars for forty hours,
having a heavy sea to contend with. The steward died in the boat
from exhaustion. On reaching the shore the boat capsized, but all
six reached land, though the second engineer and a fireman died
immediately on the beach."
"The ship was hove to in a gale of wind when she was torpedoed without
warning by an unseen submarine. The ship was abandoned by the crew
in three boats. Two men were drowned while manning the boats. The
apprentice who made his report states that the chief officer's boat
when last seen was apparently filled with water, lying broadside on to
the sea.... The boat of the apprentice which had been lying to with a
sea anchor out, made sail at dawn and steered for the land. At 9.30 the
survivors were picked up. While drifting in the gale six of the crew
of this boat died and were buried at sea.... Only nine men from the
steamship were landed, suffering from exposure and frostbite."
"At 8.40 the boat capsized owing to the sea, and sight of the other
boat was lost. All hands (16) regained boat, but she was full of water.
Before midnight she had again capsized three times and then only four
hands were left. About 8 a.m. two seamen became exhausted and were
washed overboard. A handkerchief on a stick failed to attract the
attention of a passing vessel. About 5 o'clock the first mate dropped
into the water in the boat and died. His body and the only survivor
were picked up two days after the sinking of the vessel." What profit
in further citations from this baleful volume? Multiply these records
by hundreds and one begins to appreciate the prowess of the enemy in
dealing with defenceless vessels. Gentlemen of the German Navy, we
congratulate you!
The official phraseology does not help us to realise these happenings.
The records deal only in flat commonplaces. There is not a picturesque
word anywhere, no sign of emotion, an utter absence of psychology. We
are not told how the men felt when the shells struck the ship or the
torpedo tore out its entrails. They appear to do just ordinary sensible
things and probably the ideas that occurred to them were ordinary
sensible ideas. When the steering gear is shattered or the engines
disabled they do their best to repair the damage. If a boat capsizes
they try to right her. When attacked by aeroplanes they take up a
rifle, if there is one aboard, and fire at them, usually without much
effect. But what else can you do? As for excitement, these men are not
given to it. Nerve storms are not in their line of life.
The look-out man under the conditions of the new warfare has need
of his eyesight. Dangers overhead, dangers on the surface, dangers
underfoot. To scan at one and the same moment the horizon for the
conning tower of a U. Boat, the water around and ahead of him for mines
and the sky for approaching aircraft is a task inconsistent with any
form of contemplative philosophy. "When the ship was 22 miles S.S.E.
from Flambro' Head," writes an officer, "the Second Mate reported he
saw a mine. To pass a mine involves a penalty, so I turned back and
got close to it. It had five prongs on it, and was right in the track
of shipping. As I had no gun to destroy it, and in the vicinity of
Flambro' would be the nearest patrol boat, I thought it best to put a
mark on it, as we would possibly lose it through the night, and settle
some one coming along. I ordered the small boat out although there was
a moderate breeze S.W. with quite a choppy sea, also a N.E. swell. I
could not ask any one to go and make a line fast to it, as it is a very
dangerous object to handle, so I decided to go myself. When lowering
the boat down, the Chief Officer and the Boatswain got into her, and
wished to share the danger. I asked them to consider, and say their
prayers. I also ordered the Second Mate that as soon as he saw we were
connected with the mine to send the lifeboat to take us off the small
boat, as we intended to leave her as a buoy or mark to the mine, and
then we would advise another ship to send a patrol steamer. We got to
the mine, but had great difficulty making a rope fast to it, owing to
its peculiar shape. After two failures, we fell on a plan to make the
rope stop from slipping under it. We put a timber-hitch round the body
of the mine and hung the hitch up with strands to two of the horns.
What with the bobbing up and down and keeping the boat from coming
down on the horns, and cold water, it was no nice job. Anyhow it got
finished at last, and it seemed so secure that I thought we would be
able to tow it until we met a patrol boat, so when the lifeboat came
I returned on board with her, and took her on board. She got damaged
putting her out and taking in, owing to the ship rolling. I now picked
up the small boat with the other two men and got another line connected
on to the one on the mine and went slow ahead. This worked all right,
but I thought she could go faster so put on full speed. This was now 6
p.m. About five minutes after full speed the mine exploded and sent the
water and a column of black smoke from two to three hundred feet in the
air. Several pieces of the mine fell on deck, small bits, also small
stuff like clinker from the funnel. It was a relief to all hands, and
possibly saved some other ship's mishap, as we met about twenty that
night on the opposite course to us."
A chapter on "Pleasant Half hours with Aeroplanes" will form a part
of future histories of the Merchant Service. Witness the experience
of the _Avocet_ on her voyage from Rotterdam. "The weather being calm
and clear, sea smooth, but foul with drifting mines, three aeroplanes
were observed coming up from the Belgian Coast, one being a large
'battle-plane.' In a few minutes they were circling over the ship, and
the battle-plane dropped the first bomb, which hit the water 15 ft.
away, making a terrific report, flames and water rising up for 50 ft.,
and afterwards leaving the surface of the sea black over a radius of
30 ft. as far as it was possible to judge. Altogether 36 bombs were
dropped, all falling close, six of them missing the steamer by not more
than 7 ft.
"After apparently exhausting all the bombs, the battle-plane took up
a position off the port beam and opened fire at the bridge with a
machine gun. The ship's sides, decks and water were struck with many
bullets--it was like a shower of hail. A port in the chief engineer's
room was pierced and his bed filled with broken glass.
"The battle-plane was handled with great skill, attacking from a height
of from 800 to 1,000 feet. Going ahead of the ship, he turned and came
end on to meet her, and when parallel to her dropped his bombs so as to
have her full length and make sure of scoring a hit. The ship's helm
was put hard-a-starboard, and as she swung to port three bombs missed
the starboard bow and three the port quarter by at most 7 ft. Had the
vessel kept her course these bombs would have landed on the forecastle
head and poop deck.
"The two smaller planes crossed and recrossed the _Avocet_, dropping
their bombs as they passed over her. They all made a most determined
attempt to sink the ship which only failed because they hadn't nerve
enough to fly lower.
"After the first bomb was dropped a rapid rifle fire was commenced
which was kept up until the rifles were uncomfortably hot. The chief
officer of the _Avocet_ was lucky enough to explode a rocket distress
signal within a few feet of one Taube; had it hit him there would have
been a wreck in mid-air. The action lasted 35 minutes, and when it
was over and the aeroplanes flew away the decks of the _Avocet_ were
littered with shrapnel.... The look-out man on the forecastle head
actually reported a floating mine right ahead of the ship while bombs
were bursting all around. He stuck to his post through it all, and kept
a good look-out."
It is the habit of nations to recall and glorify their past, to dwell
with satisfaction upon the doings of their heroes, the achievements of
their great men. These enter into and become a part of the national
life. Perhaps the world may yet see another and a rarer thing--a nation
weeping at the tomb of its honour. For with what emotion--will it be
one of happiness?--can the Germany of to-morrow recall a history like
the following?
French S. S. _Venezia_,
Fabre, Line,
At Sea, March 28th, 1917.
The Managers, Messrs. The Union Castle Mail
S. S. Co. (Ltd.) London.
Gentlemen,
With deep regret I have to report the loss of your steamer _Alnwick
Castle_, which was torpedoed without warning at 6.10 a.m. on Monday,
March 19, in a position about 320 miles from the Scilly Islands.
At the time of the disaster there were on board, besides 100 members
of my own crew and 14 passengers, the Captain and 24 of the crew of
the collier transport _Trevose_ whom I had rescued from their boats at
5.30 p.m. on the previous day, Sunday, March 18, their ship having been
torpedoed at 11 a.m. that day, two Arab firemen being killed by the
explosion, which wrecked the engine room.
I attach a list of survivors from my lifeboat rescued by the S. S.
_Venezia_ on Friday, March 23, together with those who perished from
exposure and thirst in the boat. It may be summarised as follows:
Captain and crew of _Alnwick
Castle_ 13 souls
Third-class passengers 6
Crew of _Trevose_ 5
--
24 survivors
Crew of _Alnwick Castle_ who
perished in lifeboat 5
Total occupants of No. 1 lifeboat 29
I was being served with morning coffee at about 6.10 a.m. when the
explosion occurred, blowing up the hatches and beams from No. 2 and
sending up a high column of water and débris which fell back on the
bridge. The chief officer put the engines full astern, and I directed
him to get the boats away. All our six boats were safely launched and
left the ship, which was rapidly sinking by the head.
The forecastle was now (6.30 a.m.) just dripping, though the ship
maintained an upright position without list. The people in my boat
were clamouring for me to come, as they were alarmed by the danger
of the ship plunging. The purser informed me that every one was out
of the ship, and I then took Mr. Carnaby from his post, and we went
down to No. 1 boat and pulled away. At a safe distance we waited to
see the end of the _Alnwick Castle_. Then we observed the submarine
quietly emerge from the sea end on to the ship with a gun trained on
her. She showed no periscope--just a conning tower and a gun as she lay
there--silent and sinister. In about 10 minutes the _Alnwick Castle_
plunged bow first below the surface; her whistle gave one blast and the
main topmast broke off, there was a smothered roar and a cloud of dirt,
and we were left in our boats, 139 people, 300 miles from land. The
submarine lay between the boats, but whether she spoke any of them I do
not know. She proceeded north-east after a steamer which was homeward
bound about four miles away, and soon after we saw a tall column of
water, etc., and knew that she had found another victim.
I got in touch with all the boats, and from the number of their
occupants I was satisfied that every one was safely in them. The one
lady passenger and her baby three months old were with the stewardess
in the chief officer's boat. I directed the third officer to transfer
four of his men to the second officer's boat to equalise the number,
and told them all to steer between east and east-north-east for
the Channel. We all made sail before a light westerly wind, which
freshened before sunset, when we reefed down. After dark I saw no more
of the other boats. That was Monday, March 19.
I found only three men who could help me to steer, and one of these
subsequently became delirious, leaving only three of us. At 2 a.m.
Tuesday, the wind and sea had increased to a force when I deemed it
unsafe to sail any longer; also it was working to the north-west and
north-north-west. I furled the sail and streamed the sea-anchor, and
we used the canvas boat-cover to afford us some shelter from the
constant spray and bitter wind. At daylight we found our sea-anchor
and the rudder had both gone. There was too much sea to sail; we
manœuvred with oars, whilst I lashed two oars together and made
another sea-anchor. We spent the whole of Tuesday fighting the sea,
struggling with oars to assist the sea-anchor to head the boat up
to the waves, constantly soaked with cold spray and pierced with
the bitter wind, which was now from the north. I served out water
twice daily, one dipper between two men, which made a portion about
equal to one-third of a condensed-milk tin. We divided a tin of milk
between four men once a day, and a tin of beef (6 lbs.) was more than
sufficient to provide a portion for each person (29) once a day. At
midnight Tuesday-Wednesday, the northerly wind fell light, and we made
sail again, the wind gradually working to north-east and increasing
after sunrise. All the morning and afternoon of Wednesday we kept
under way until about 8 p.m., when I was compelled to heave to again.
During this day the iron step of our mast gave way and our mast and
sail went overboard, but we saved them, and were able to improvise a
new step with the aid of an axe and piece of wood fitted to support
the boat cover strongback. We were now feeling the pangs of thirst as
well as the exhaustion of labour and exposure and want of sleep. Some
pitiful appeals were made for water. I issued an extra ration to a few
of the weaker ones only.
During the night of Wednesday-Thursday the wind dropped for a couple
of hours and several showers of hail fell. The hailstones were eagerly
scraped from our clothing and swallowed. I ordered the sail to be
spread out in the hope of catching water from a rain shower, but we
were disappointed in this, for the rain was too light. Several of
the men were getting light-headed, and I found that they had been
drinking salt-water in spite of my earnest and vehement order.
It was with great difficulty that any one could be prevailed on
to bale out the water, which seemed to leak into the boat at an
astonishing rate, perhaps due to some rivets having been started by
the pounding she had received.
At 4 a.m. the wind came away again from north-east and we made sail,
but unfortunately it freshened again and we were constantly soaked
with spray and had to be always baling. Our water was now very low,
and we decided to mix condensed milk with it. Most of the men were now
helpless and several were raving in delirium. The foreman cattleman,
W. Kitcher, died and was buried. Soon after dark the sea became
confused and angry; I furled the tiny reef sail and put out the sea
anchor. At 8 p.m. we were swamped by a breaking sea and I thought all
was over. A moan of despair rose in the darkness, but I shouted to
them, "Bale, Bale, Bale," and assured them that the boat could not
sink. How they found the balers and bucket in the dark I don't know,
but they managed to free the boat, whilst I shifted the sea anchor
to the stern and made a tiny bit of sail and got her away before
the wind. After that escape the wind died away about midnight, and
then we spent a most distressing night. Several of the men collapsed
and others temporarily lost their reason and one of these became
pugnacious and climbed about the boat uttering complaints and threats.
The horror of that night, together with the physical suffering, are
beyond my power of description. Before daylight, however, on March 23,
the wind permitting, I managed with the help of the few who remained
able, to set sail again, hoping now to be in the Bay of Biscay and to
surely see some vessel to succour us. Never a sail or wisp of smoke
had we seen. When daylight came the appeals for water were so angry
and insistent that I deemed it best to make an issue at once. After
that had gone round, amidst much cursing and snatching, we could see
that only one more issue remained. One fireman, Thomas, was dead;
another was nearly gone; my steward, Buckley, was almost gone; we
tried to pour some milk and water down his throat, but he could not
swallow. No one could now eat biscuits; it was impossible to swallow
anything solid, our throats were afire, our lips furred, our limbs
numbed, our hands were white and bloodless. During the forenoon,
Friday 23rd, another fireman named Tribe, died, and my steward
Buckley, died; also a cattleman, whose only name I could get as Peter,
collapsed and died about noon.
To our unspeakable relief we were rescued about 1.30 p.m. on Friday,
23rd, by the French Steamer _Venezia_, of the Fabre Line, for New York
for horses. A considerable swell was running, and in our enfeebled
state we were unable to properly manœuvre our boat, but the French
captain M. Paul Bonifacie handled his empty vessel with great skill
and brought her alongside us, sending out a lifebuoy on a line for
us to sieze. We were unable to climb the ladders, so they hoisted us
one by one in ropes until the 24 live men were aboard. The four dead
bodies were left in the boat, and she was fired at by the gunners of
the _Venezia_ in order to destroy her, but the shots did not take
effect.
I earnestly hope that the other five boats have been picked up, for
I fear that neither of the small accident boats had much chance
of surviving the weather I experienced. At present I have not yet
regained fully the use of my hands and feet, but hope to be fit again
before my arrival in England, when I trust you will honour me with
appointment to another ship.
I am, Gentlemen, your obedient servant,
(Signed) BENJ. CHAVE.
Steamship _Alnwick Castle_ torpedoed at 6.10 a.m. 19.3.17. Crew rescued
by Steamship _Venezia_ 23/3/17, and landed at New York:--B. Chave,
master; H. Macdougall, chief engineer; R. G. D. Speedy, doctor; R. E.
Jones, purser; N. E. Carnaby, Marconi operator; K. R. Hemmings, cadet;
S. Merrels, quartermaster; T. Morris, A. B.; A. Meill, greaser; F.
Softley, fireman; H. Weyers, assistant steward; S. Hopkins, fireman.
_Deaths._ R. Thomas, fireman;--Tribe, fireman and trimmer;--Buckley,
captain's steward; W. Kitcher, foreman cattleman; Peter (?), cattleman.
_Rescued passengers ex "Alnwick Castle" 3rd class._ J. Wilson, J.
Burley, G. Fraser, D. J. Williams, W. T. Newham, E. O. Morrison.
There are of course records which provide better reading. Worthy of
the best sea company is the story of Robert Fergusson, a Glasgow man,
but a naturalised American, and his companions Smith and Welch, who
refused in the heaviest of gales to leave the tug _Valiant_, when she
was abandoned by her Captain and crew in mid-Atlantic. "I wouldn't
have brought her back for all the money in the world if the British
Government hadn't wanted her," he said, "but I knew that every ship
was wanted." Fortified by that thought Fergusson determined to stand
by the vessel and save her if she could be saved. "Show your Yankee
spirit," he cried to the Americans in the crew. And Welch responded,
"I'm for you." "I'll not quit either," said Smith the fireman. And the
great liner which had stood by and taken off the others left them--the
three men--to fight their way homeward, if indeed that forlorn hope
might succeed, in the battered craft, through the worst weather the
Atlantic had known that winter. Smothered by great seas, with all the
tug's gear on deck smashed or adrift, the three fought on, Fergusson on
the bridge, Welch at the engines, and Smith toiling in the stokehold,
each alone. Then the steering gear went, and the vessel was thrown
on her beam ends. Wallowing in the trough, it seemed impossible that
she could live, the seas mounting to her upper deck. But live she did,
and without food or drink, with the last ounce of their strength spent
and more than spent, supported by their own dauntless determination
and that incalculable fortune which loves to side with a superb
undertaking, they made land and the port of Cardiff, to the honour of
both Britain and America, an alliance we may believe invincible.
To read too of men like the trawler skipper, who, when a shell from a
pursuing submarine smashed part of the wheel under his hands, "went on
steering with the broken spokes," fought his enemy with his light gun
and finally drove him off, makes one feel that it is something to have
entered life under British colours. Sir Percy Scott cannot have had
the British sailor in his eye when in his forecast of the character
maritime war would probably assume he wrote, "Trade is timid, it will
not need more than one or two ships sent to the bottom to hold up the
food supply of this country." How overwhelming is the evidence for this
timidity. The timidity of Captain Lane for instance, who continued to
fight the enemy submarine amid the flames which its shell fire had
produced; beat off his pursuer, and when the crew were safely in the
boats and the vessel in a sinking condition, with the assistance of the
engineer himself beached his ship, and finally subduing the flames,
repaired the damages and resumed his voyage. The timidity of the
Parslows, father and son--the father, killed at the wheel, succeeded by
the son, who resolutely held on his course and saved his vessel. The
timidity of Captain Pillar, who saved seventy men of the _Formidable_
by incomparable seamanship and a daring manœuvre in a furious gale,
or of Captain Walker of the transport _Mercian_, an unarmed vessel,
crowded with troops, who kept on his way, undeterred by the storm
of shells from the enemy, though his decks were full of dead and
wounded. The timidity aboard the _Thordis_, a heavily laden collier,
attacked when head to wind and sea, an easy victim, capable of no more
than 3 knots, whose Captain put over his helm, and crashing into the
astonished enemy sent her to the bottom. There is the story of the
timid skipper of the _Wandle_, another collier, who, blown off his feet
on the bridge by the concussion of a shell, gave back shot for shot,
sank his enemy, and in his little vessel, her flag still flying, made
a triumphal progress up the Thames with her rent bulwarks as proof of
her timidity; the sirens on the tugs ahead and astern advertising it;
the bells ringing at Greenwich Hospital, and riverside London cheering
itself hoarse for joy of it. There is the story of the timid Captain
Kinneir, who, ordered to stop by a German cruiser, north of Magellan
Straits, answered the order by driving his ship, the _Ortega_, right
into Nelson's Straits, the most gloomy ocean defile in the world,
without anchorage, an unchartered channel never before attempted,
which no seaman knows or desires to know, and so baffled his pursuers
who dared not follow. You cannot capture the record for it outruns
description. These timid captains, in the spirit of the old English,
fight till none is left to fight.