_The story of a certain British steamship traveling from Lerwick to
Iceland and torpedoed on the way has been told in The London Daily
Mail by the British novelist, Joseph Conrad, in these words:_
The ship went down in less than four minutes. The Captain was the last
man on board, going down with her, and was sucked under. On coming up he
was caught under an upturned boat to which five hands were clinging.
"One lifeboat," says the chief engineer, "which was floating empty in
the distance, was cleverly manoeuvred to our assistance by the steward,
who swam off to her pluckily. Our next endeavor was to release the
Captain, who was entangled under the boat. As it was impossible to right
her, we set to to split her side open with the boat hook, because by
awful bad luck the head of the axe we had flew off at the first blow and
was lost. The work took thirty minutes, and the extricated Captain was
in a pitiable condition, being badly bruised and having swallowed a lot
of salt water. He was unconscious. While at that work the submarine came
to the surface quite close and made a complete circle round us, the
seven men which we counted on the conning tower laughing at our efforts.
"There were eighteen of us saved. I deeply regret the loss of the chief
officer, a fine fellow and a kind shipmate showing splendid promise. The
other men lost--one A. B., one greaser, and two firemen--were quiet,
conscientious good fellows."
With no restoratives in the boat, they endeavored to bring the Captain
around by means of massage. Meantime the oars were got out in order to
reach the Faroes, which were about thirty miles dead to windward, but
after about nine hours' hard work they had to desist, and, putting out
the sea anchor, they took shelter under the canvas boat cover from the
cold wind and torrential rain. Says the narrator:
"We were all very wet and miserable, and decided to have two biscuits
all around. The effects of this and being under the shelter of the
canvas warmed us up and made us feel pretty well contented. At about
sunrise the Captain showed signs of recovery, and by the time the sun
was up he was looking a lot better, much to our relief."
After being informed of what had been done, the revived Captain "dropped
a bombshell in our midst" by proposing to make for the Shetlands, which
were "only 150 miles off." "The wind is in our favor," he said. "I will
take you there. Are you all willing?" This--comments the chief
engineer--from a man who but a few hours previously had been hauled back
from the grave! The Captain's confident manner inspired them, and they
all agreed.
Under the best possible conditions a boat run of 150 miles in the North
Atlantic and in Winter weather would have been a feat of no mean merit,
but in the circumstances it required a man of uncommon nerve and skill
to make such a proposal. With an oar for a mast and the boat cover cut
down for a sail, they started on their dangerous journey, with the boat
compass and the stars for their guide. The Captain's undaunted serenity
buoyed them all up against despondency. He told them what point he was
making for. It was Ronas Hill--"and we struck it as straight as a die."
"And there was our captain, just his usual self, as if nothing had
happened, as if bringing the boat that hazardous journey and being the
means of saving 18 souls was to him an everyday occurrence."