“The German is a hero born, and believes that he
can hack and hew his way through life.”[C]
Heinrich v. Treitschke.
In February, 1915, Germany declared a
blockade of Great Britain and Ireland.
Her official declaration stated, amongst other
things, that from February 18th every
hostile merchant ship found in the waters around
the British Isles would be destroyed, “even if
it is not always possible to avoid dangers which
thereby threaten the crews and passengers.”
Neutral ships were also warned that they would
incur danger in the “military area,” because,
according to Germany, the British Government
had issued orders as to the misuse of neutral flags
at sea. This accusation was false; no misuse
of neutral flags has ever been ordered by the
British Government. Traffic northwards round
the Shetland Islands was graciously permitted
by the Germans in their Note.
That Germany could enforce an effective
blockade of the British Isles was not to be expected,
but the Berlin Press hailed the Imperial
Government’s declaration with delight. The
Lokal-Anzeiger, a semi-official journal, exclaimed:
“What do we care about the outcry of others and
the indignation of our enemies? We Germans
have a great lesson to learn from this war, namely,
not to be fastidious and not to listen to others.”
Both these lessons appear to have been thoroughly
mastered. In the Kreuz-Zeitung, the official
organ of the Conservative and Court parties, the
following comment appeared: “It appears that
we shall now torpedo ships without previous
warning. For the first time we appear now to
have decided on this relentless form of warfare.
We welcome with satisfaction the fact that our
submarines will wage the most ruthless and
relentless war against all enemy shipping.”
As the term “blockade” is liable to misinterpretation,
we cannot do better than quote the German
definition of a blockade, as contained in the
German Naval Prize Regulations, Section V.,
Articles 58, 59, and 60.
“The blockade must be confined to the ports
and coasts belonging to or occupied by the enemy;
the blockading forces must not bar access to
neutral ports or coasts.
“A blockade, in order to be valid, must be
effective, applied impartially, and declared and
notified according to the rules concerned.
“A blockade is really effective when it is
maintained by a force sufficient to prevent access
to the enemy coast. The question whether a
blockade is effective as to number and disposition
of the blockading forces under the existing
geographical conditions must in every case be
examined by the Prize Court. Among other
things, it will be denied if maritime traffic could
be maintained between one of the blockaded ports
and any port not blockaded.”
The absurdity of the German declaration
becomes clear in the light of Germany’s own
official description of an effective blockade. It is
now over two years since she essayed to blockade
the British Isles; but never during the whole of
that period has she been able to provide a “force
sufficient to prevent access to the enemy coast.”
Moreover, during the same period maritime
traffic has been “maintained between blockaded
and unblockaded ports.” The whole affair quickly
developed into a series of piratical raids by
submarines against the sea-borne commerce of
the world, carried out in a spirit of reckless
brutality.
The German’s utter disregard even for the
rules laid down by his own Admiralty horrified
the world and destroyed the reputation
and honour of the German Navy. This can
scarcely be considered surprising, when we remember
that the following are but a few examples
of the German submariner’s methods.
On the 27th March, 1915, at about 5.30 p.m.
the s.s. Aguila, when signalled to stop by a
submarine, put on full speed to escape. She was,
however, overhauled, the submarine approaching
to within about 300 feet of her, and opening fire
with shrapnel and solid shot. The chief engineer
was killed, and the master, third engineer, and a
fireman were wounded. At 6 p.m. the engines
were stopped, and as way came off the ship, the
boats were lowered; but the submarine continued
to fire, killing the boatswain, donkeyman,
stewardess, and a lady passenger, and wounding
others. One of the boats capsized, which brought
the total death-roll up to eight. The position
was 33 miles from land. The submarine offered
no assistance, and went away after sinking the
ship.
On the 28th March, 1915, the s.s. Falaba, of
4,806 tons, was overhauled after a short chase
by an enemy submarine about 60 miles west of
St. Ann’s Head. The submarine hailed the ship
through a megaphone to “take to the boats, as
they were going to sink the ship in five minutes.”
This was at noon, and ten minutes later the
submarine fired a torpedo from a distance of about
100 yards. The Falaba took a list to starboard
and sank in 8 minutes.
The steamer carried a crew of 95 and
147 passengers, including seven women, a
total of 242 persons; and it was quite
impossible to transfer this number of people to
the boats in the twenty minutes that elapsed
between the submarine’s warning and the sinking
of the ship. While the boats were being launched
at top speed, the falls of one boat slipped, the falls
of another jammed, some boats were dashed
against the side of the ship, and one was seriously
injured by the explosion of the torpedo. The
result was that 104 lives were lost, 138 being
saved.
This heavy loss of life was quite unnecessary,
and would never have occurred if the German
commander had allowed the master a reasonable
time in which to abandon ship. We are entitled
to claim that the sinking of the Falaba, carried
out as it was, amounted to nothing less than an
act of murder. This is true, because the safety
of the U-boat did not depend upon the immediate
sinking of the steamer, which could have been
destroyed just as effectually without the loss of a
single life.
On the 1st June, 1915, at about 4.30 p.m., the
trawler Victoria endeavoured to escape from a
submarine; but after being badly damaged and
losing one of her crew by shell-fire, the vessel
was hove to. The submarine was only 200 yards
away, but she continued to fire, killing five men
and wounding a sixth, although the trawler had
surrendered.
The spirit of the German submariner is here
illustrated. Because a vessel, very naturally,
tries to escape, she is submitted to shell-fire after
giving in, and unnecessary loss of life is inflicted.
The German commander apparently derived
satisfaction from this shelling of an unarmed
craft while stationary, but to ordinary men his
action will seem inhuman and cruel.
At 2.15 p.m. on the 9th July, 1915, a shot was
fired at the s.s. Meadowfield by a submarine.
Immediately afterwards, while the master was
looking round to see from whence the shot had
come, a second was fired and the man at the wheel
fell dead. The engines were stopped at once, but
the submarine kept on firing, hitting the vessel
several times. Amongst the passengers on board
were two women and two children, and when it
was seen that the Germans were scrutinising the
ship through glasses, the children were held up so
that they might be seen. Meanwhile the boats
were lowered, the mate and 14 hands getting
into the port boat, while the master, eight hands
and the five passengers entered the starboard boat.
The position was 42 miles from land, and the boats
were picked up at 9.15 p.m. that night.
The fact that only one man was killed can
hardly be attributed to the humanity of the
Germans, who continued to shell the ship after
she was hove to, and even when they knew that
there were women and children on board.
The s.s. Glenby was overhauled by a submarine
and told to abandon ship at 4.15 p.m. on the 17th
August, 1915. While the crew were lowering their
boats the submarine opened fire, seriously wounding
one man and slightly wounding another. The
shots also damaged the port life-boat, besides
severing her falls. The crew in two boats were
picked up at 7.15 the same evening, when it
was found that two men were missing.
On the 4th September, 1915, at 12.30 a.m., the
s.s. Cymbeline came under fire from a submarine,
which torpedoed the steamer while her crew of
37 hands were getting into their boats. The
explosion destroyed one boat, causing the loss of
six men. The survivors were taken into the
other boat, which then contained 31 men, four of
whom were seriously wounded. They were afloat
for 16 hours before they fell in with a sailing
vessel, which towed them to within three miles
of the coast. They did not reach land, however,
until 11 o’clock next morning. The position of
the ship when torpedoed was 80 miles from land.
At 8.20 a.m. on the 30th November, 1915, the
s.s. Middleton was shelled by a submarine while
endeavouring to escape, one man being killed
and several dangerously wounded. The crew
took to the boats. The submarine ignored the
boats, and returned no answer to an appeal for
bandages for the wounded. It was not until ten
hours afterwards that the boats were picked up,
and in the meantime two of the wounded men
had died. Another man died on board the ship
which picked them up. There were three other
wounded men, who survived.
On Wednesday, the 1st December, 1915, at
8.15 a.m., the s.s. Clan Macleod was shelled by a
submarine while endeavouring to escape. Soon
after the ship was first hit the master stopped her,
hoisted the international code signal indicating
that she surrendered, and blew two blasts on his
whistle. The submarine, however, again opened
fire at a range of about a quarter of a mile, first
blowing the bridge and captain’s accommodation
to bits, and then destroying the two starboard
boats. This fire killed eight of the crew. All hands
were now ordered into the port-side boats, the
master taking charge of the life-boat, with 50
on board, while the first mate took the cutter
with a crew of 20. After sinking the ship
the submarine came alongside the boat, and some
of the Germans bound up the wounds of the
master and an apprentice. The position was
100 miles from land. The life-boat was adrift
until 5.30 p.m. on Thursday, the 2nd December,
when she was picked up by a steamer. The
mate’s boat was adrift until 2 a.m. on Saturday,
the 4th December, when she was picked up by a
French destroyer. In the meantime one of the
wounded in this boat had died.
On the 2nd December, 1915, at 6.40 a.m., the
s.s. Commodore was shelled by a submarine while
endeavouring to escape. At 7 a.m. the vessel was
stopped, one man having been killed and another
severely wounded. While the crew were taking
to the boats five more men were wounded by shell
fire, two of them severely. The submarine then
came alongside the boats and questioned the
master. The Germans refused to supply any
lint for the wounded men, and told the boats to
clear off. The survivors were adrift for 28 hours
before being picked up.
On the 9th December, 1915, at 4.20 p.m., the
s.s. Orteric sighted a submarine and tried to
escape. During the chase the fire of the submarine
destroyed the starboard life-boat, killed
two men, and badly wounded four others. The ship
was then hit in the stern and would not steer, so
the master signalled that he was stopping. The
submarine, however, ignored his signal and
continued firing. The crew got into three boats,
in charge of the first and second officers and chief
engineer, respectively. The master and two
hands remained on board, having the gig ready.
The three boats were about half a mile astern of
the Orteric when the submarine fired four shots
at the chief engineer’s boat. All four shots missed
the boat, but only by a narrow margin. The
survivors were picked up an hour and a half
later.
At 1.35 p.m. on Christmas Day, 1915, the s.s.
Van Stirum was fired on by two submarines and
overhauled about an hour afterwards. At 2.32
p.m. the vessel was stopped, most of the crew
embarking in two life-boats. The master, chief
officer, chief engineer, and Marconi operator then
got into a boat on the port side, leaving the
boatswain and a seaman to lower away and follow
them into the boat. One of the submarines was
on the port quarter 200 yards away, and as these
two men were coming down the falls, a torpedo
was fired, which passed under the boat and struck
the ship’s side. The explosion killed both men
in the falls. The position was 20 miles from land,
and the survivors were picked up an hour later
by a trawler.
The sinking of these seven vessels was accompanied
by unnecessary loss of life. In the case
of the Glenby there was no reason for the Germans
to open fire before the crew had abandoned ship.
Three men were wounded and two lost, simply
because the Germans would not allow them time
to enter their boats. No excuse can be advanced
for the Germans. Again, with regard to the
Cymbeline, lives were lost because she was torpedoed
while her crew were taking to their boats.
To destroy a life-boat and kill six men was an act
of wanton murder. The destruction of the
Middleton provides a clearer example of German
methods. When asked for bandages, the submarine
held to her course and ignored the appeal.
Three of the wounded men died, probably as a
result of the Germans’ refusal to aid them.
Eight of the Clan Macleod’s crew were killed
by German gun-fire after the ship had been hove
to. This loss of life was, of course, unnecessary,
and was deliberately caused by the Germans
after the signal of surrender had been run up. It
is true that the submarine crew bound up the
wounds of the master and an apprentice; but
why were the wounds ever inflicted? Very
similar was the fate of the Commodore, which
involved another cowardly attack upon men who
were taking to their boats. On this occasion the
Germans deliberately refused lint for the wounded,
although the submarine came alongside the boats.
Even worse was the conduct of the submariners
who attacked the Orteric. They waited until
her boats were half a mile astern of the steamer,
and then deliberately fired at the boat of the
chief engineer. It is idle for anyone to pretend
that these shots were intended for the ship; they
were aimed at an open boat, and each one of the
four shots very nearly hit her. Only bad shooting
prevented the murder of this boat-load of defenceless
seamen.
Finally, we have the sinking of the
Van Stirum on Christmas Day, attended by the
deliberate murder of two men. A torpedo was
fired under one of the ship’s boats while two men
were coming down the falls, and the explosion
killed them both. In a few more minutes these
men would have been safe, and those on board
the submarine, which was only 200 yards away,
must have known this perfectly well. They
would not wait a couple of minutes, but preferred
to murder the men in cold blood. Here, as in
other cases, the utter uselessness of the deed must
strike any unprejudiced mind. The U-boats’
mission is to sink this or that ship, but the U-boat
commander appears to delight in adding murder
to his daily programme.
The French Channel packet Sussex carried
over 380 passengers, including about 270 women
and children and 20 Americans, when, at 4.35 p.m.
on the 24th March, 1916, she was torpedoed
without warning. There were 50 casualties;
but, although her bows were blown to pieces, the
vessel was towed inside Boulogne breakwater and
beached.
The Germans tried to evade the responsibility
for this outrage by suggesting that the Sussex
had been sunk by a British mine. They admitted
sinking a ship at the time, and in the position
where the Sussex was sunk, but declared that it
was a war vessel which they had torpedoed.
That the German contentions were false was
eventually proved beyond doubt, as the following
evidence will show.
The American Consul at Boulogne sent this
message to the Secretary of State, Washington:
“Sussex torpedoed by German submarine incontestably
proved by piece of torpedo found on
board Sussex by Balincourt, French Commandant,
le front de Mere, Boulogne.”
On the 25th March, 1916, the Divisional Naval
Transport officer at Boulogne writes: “I personally
inspected the Sussex this morning, and
was shown by the French authorities pieces of the
torpedo which had been found in the ship, thus
establishing the fact that she was torpedoed.”
The reckless and unscrupulous methods of
the German were well illustrated in the sinking of
the Sussex. The U-boat commander obviously
took no pains to discover what kind of vessel he
was going to attack. He simply fired a torpedo
and disappeared. Afterwards he tried to shuffle
off the responsibility for his deed by a number of
falsehoods. While admitting that he had destroyed
a certain vessel at a certain time, he
declared that he believed her to have been a
war vessel of the Arabis class. Stories founded
on his statements were freely circulated by the
German Government; but they were effectively
answered by a British official reply in the following
terms:—
1. There is no resemblance whatever between
a vessel of the Arabis class and the Sussex, and
it is quite impossible to mistake one vessel for
the other.
2. The Germans are condemned out of
their own mouths by their statement that the
commander of the German submarine fired
on some vessel at a certain moment. Now
that certain moment was precisely the time at
which the Sussex was attacked.
3. The German submarine commander admitted
that he had destroyed the fore part of
the vessel he attacked. No other ship but the
Sussex suffered in this way.
It was unfortunate for the Germans that the
Sussex, although so badly damaged, could be
towed in and beached. Had she sunk, the
German contention that her fate was due to a
mine would have been more difficult to refute.
When, however, pieces of a torpedo were discovered
on board, the method of her destruction
was proved beyond all doubt.
Meanwhile, on the 18th April, 1916, the United
States sent a Note to the German Imperial
Government. The Note pointed out that—“The
Sussex was never armed; she was a ship
which, as is well known, was regularly employed
only for the transport of passengers across the
English Channel. She did not follow the route
pursued by troop transports or munition ships.
About 80 passengers, non-combatants of every
age and both sexes, including citizens of the
United States, were killed or wounded.” The
outrageous methods of German submarine warfare
are so admirably exposed by the American
Government in this official communication that
we cannot do better than reproduce certain of
the passages here.
“If the sinking of the Sussex had been an
isolated case,” says the Note, “that would enable
the Government of the United States to hope that
the officer responsible for the deed arbitrarily
exceeded his instructions, or in criminal negligence
failed to observe the prescribed measures of
precaution, and that satisfaction might be done
to justice by his appropriate punishment, associated
with a formal disavowal of his conduct and
the payment of appropriate compensation by the
Imperial Government. But although the attack
on the Sussex was evidently indefensible and
caused so tragic a loss of human life that it appears
as one of the most terrible examples of the inhumanity
of the submarine warfare as waged by
the commanders of German vessels, it unhappily
stands not alone.”
After recalling former protests by the American
Government and Germany’s unlawful attempt
to close a part of the high seas, the Note continues:—
“The international law, which here applies
and upon which the United States Government
based its protest, is not of recent origin or based
on purely arbitrary principles established by
agreement. On the contrary, it rests on obvious
principles of humanity, and has long been in force,
with the approval and the express assent of all
civilised nations. The Imperial Government insisted,
notwithstanding, on prosecuting the policy
announced, while it expressed the hope that the
existing dangers, at least for neutral ships, would
be restricted to a minimum by instructions given
to the commanders of its submarines, and assured
the United States Government that it would
apply every possible precaution to respect the
rights of neutrals and protect the lives of non-combatants.
“In pursuit of this policy of submarine warfare
against its enemy’s trade, so announced and begun
despite the solemn protest of the United States
Government, the Imperial Government’s submarine
commanders have practised a procedure
of such reckless destruction as made it more and
more clear during recent months that the Imperial
Government has found no way to impose upon
them such restrictions as it had hoped and promised.
The Imperial Government has repeatedly
and solemnly assured the United States Government
that passenger ships, at least, would not be
thus treated, and yet it has repeatedly allowed
its submarine commanders to disregard these
assurances with impunity. Even in February
of this year it announced that it regarded armed
merchantmen in enemy possession as part of the
armed naval forces of its adversaries, and would
treat them as warships, while it bound itself, at
least implicitly, to warn unarmed vessels and
guarantee the lives of their passengers and crews;
but their submarine commanders have freely
disregarded even this restriction.
“Neutral ships, even neutral ships en route
from neutral port to neutral port, have been
destroyed, just as hostile ships, in steadily
increasing number. Attacked merchantmen
have sometimes been warned and challenged
to surrender before being fired on or torpedoed,
sometimes the most scanty security has been
granted to their passengers and crews of being
allowed to enter boats before the ship was sunk;
but repeatedly no warning has been given, and
not even refuge in boats was granted to passengers
on board. Great ships like the Lusitania and the
Arabic, and purely passenger ships like the Sussex,
have been attacked without any warning, often
before they were aware they were in the presence
of an armed enemy ship, and the life of non-combatants,
passengers, and crews was indiscriminately
destroyed in a manner which the Government
of the United States could only regard as
wanton and lacking every justification. Indeed,
no sort of limit was set to the further indiscriminate
destruction of merchantmen of every kind and
nationality outside the waters which the Imperial
Government has been pleased to indicate as
within the war zone. The list of Americans who
lost their lives on the vessels thus attacked and
destroyed has increased month by month, until
the terrible number of the victims has risen to
hundreds.”
The German reply to America was dated 4th
May, 1916, and one or two extracts will indicate
its tone. After vigorously denying any “deliberate
method of indiscriminate destruction of vessels of
all sorts,” the German Government states “that
it has as far as possible instituted a far-reaching
restraint upon the use of the submarine weapon
solely in consideration of neutrals’ interests, in
spite of the fact that these restrictions were
necessarily of advantage to Germany’s enemies.
No such consideration has ever been shown to
neutrals by Great Britain and her Allies.”
This last sentence is very typical of the hardy
impertinence of Berlin. Later on in the Note,
the German Government “notifies the Government
of the United States that the German Naval
Forces receive the following orders for submarine
warfare in accordance with the general principles
of visit, search, and destruction of merchant
vessels recognised by international law. Such
vessels, both within and without the area declared
as a naval war zone, shall not be sunk
without warning, and without saving human
lives, unless the ship attempts to escape or offer
resistance.”
On the 2nd April, 1916, the British s.s. Simla,
while making 11 knots, was torpedoed without
warning in the Mediterranean. The explosion
made a hole in her port side 30 feet by 8 feet in
size, and the engines stopped of themselves. This
took place at 1 p.m. Boats were lowered, and
150 of the crew embarked, the remaining 10, who
were Asiatic firemen, having been killed by the
explosion. After the ship had been abandoned
a submarine appeared and fired seven shells into
her, sinking her at 2.30 p.m. The survivors
were picked up by a French patrol-boat at 5 p.m.
on the same day.
The steamer Zent was in ballast off the Fastnet
when at 10.20 p.m. on the 6th April, 1916, she was
attacked by a submarine. She was struck by a
torpedo in the engine-room and immediately
afterwards by another in No. 3 hatch on the
starboard side. She had been proceeding at
13½ knots, and sank in two minutes. Three boats
were lowered but, owing to the way on the ship,
they capsized, and those who could clung to the
bottom of an upturned boat. Forty-nine men
were drowned; eleven men and two corpses were
picked up 2½ hours later, two of the rescued being
slightly injured and taken to hospital.
The loss of life was due to the vessel being
torpedoed without any warning. If the Germans
had allowed even a short period of grace, it is
probable that there would have been no casualties.
To sink a ship while proceeding at full speed is
equivalent to murder, and, as in other similar
cases, this was unnecessary murder.
The British steamer Whitgift was torpedoed
and sunk on the 20th April, 1916, but there are
no details about the occurrence, as the whole of
her crew, except one Japanese, were drowned.
This survivor was taken prisoner by the Germans.
The only particulars about the sinking of the
ship are contained in a letter which he wrote:—
“I am now in Lager Holzminden Barrack 4. On
the 20 April our schip has been torpedoed by a German
U-boot and only I have been saved by the German
U-boot and now I am prisoner.”
The Great Eastern Railway Company’s steamer
Brussels, while on voyage from the Hook of
Holland to Tilbury, was captured by the Germans
in the early morning of the 23rd of June and
taken into Zeebrugge. The master of the vessel
was Captain Charles Fryatt. On the 29th of July
the text of a German official announcement
appeared in the Times:—
“On Thursday, at Bruges, before the Court-Martial
of the Marine Corps, the trial took place of Captain
Charles Fryatt, of the British steamer Brussels,
which was brought in as a prize.
“The accused was condemned to death because,
although he was not a member of a combatant force,
he made an attempt on the afternoon of 28th March,
1915, to ram the German submarine U33 near the
Maas Lightship. The accused, as well as the first
officer and the chief engineer of the steamer, received
at the time from the British Admiralty a gold watch,
as a reward for his brave conduct on that occasion,
and his action was mentioned with praise in the
House of Commons.
“On the occasion in question, disregarding the
U-boat’s signal to stop and show his national flag
he turned at a critical moment at high speed on the
submarine, which escaped the steamer by a few
metres only, by immediately diving. He confessed
that in so doing he had acted in accordance with the
instructions of the Admiralty. The sentence was
confirmed yesterday (Thursday) afternoon and carried
out by shooting.
“One of the many nefarious franc-tireur proceedings
of the British merchant marine against our war
vessels has thus found a belated, but merited, expiation.”
Even in face of the German official announcement
quoted, the British Government were
unwilling to believe that the murder of Captain
Fryatt had indeed taken place. The Foreign
Office communicated with the American Ambassador
at Berlin, asking that the facts of the case
might be ascertained. This communication
stated that “His Majesty’s Government find it
difficult to believe that a master of a merchant
vessel who, after German submarines adopted
the practice of sinking merchant vessels without
warning and without regard for the lives of
passengers or crew, took a step which appeared
to afford the only chance of saving not only his
vessel, but the lives of all on board, can have
been deliberately shot in cold blood for this action.
If the German Government have in fact perpetrated
such a crime in the case of a British
subject held prisoner by them, it is evident that a
most serious condition of affairs has arisen.”
The murder was referred to in the House of
Commons and reported in the Times of the
1st August, 1916. In reply to a question by
Sir Edward Carson, Mr. Asquith made the following
reply:—
“I deeply regret to say that it appears to be true
that Captain Fryatt has been murdered by the
Germans. His Majesty’s Government have heard
with the utmost indignation of this atrocious crime
against the law of nations and the usages of war.
Coming as it does contemporaneously with the
lawless cruelties to the population of Lille and other
occupied districts of France, it shows that the German
High Command have, under the stress of military
defeat, renewed their policy of terrorism.
“It is impossible to guess to what further atrocities
they may proceed. His Majesty’s Government,
therefore, desire to repeat emphatically that they
are resolved that such crimes shall not, if they can
help it, go unpunished. When the time arrives
they are determined to bring to justice the criminals,
whoever they may be, and whatever their station.
In such cases as this the man who authorises the
system under which such crimes are committed
may well be the most guilty of all.”
The circumstances connected with Captain
Fryatt’s death are not disputed by either side;
everyone can, therefore, form his own opinion
about the case. It is as well to remember, however,
that Germany declared a blockade of the
British Isles in February, 1915, a month before
Captain Fryatt encountered the U33, and that
the U-boat pirates were employing methods of
“frightfulness” in March, 1915.
The captain was perfectly justified in believing
that the U33 would sink his ship without giving
those aboard her time to enter their boats. He
acted as any man of spirit would have acted in
similar circumstances, and the German defence
of his murder breaks down when we recall the
conduct of the U-boat commanders at that time.
On the very day when Captain Fryatt met the
U33 another German submarine was sinking the
s.s. Falaba, without giving the passengers or crew
time to abandon ship. The Falaba, it will be
remembered, sank in eight minutes, with a loss of
104 lives. Was not Captain Fryatt justified in
saving his crew from the chances of a similar
fate?
On the 21st September the s.s. Curamalan
proceeded to sea. She had been in the service of
the Argentine Republic for twenty years, and
could not, therefore, be classed as a ship transferred
for use during the war. Her owners were
subjects of the Republic, and she was chartered
by the Argentine Whaling Company to carry
coal from Newport (Wales) to South Georgia.
Such vessels are in the habit of speaking St.
Vincent, Cape Verde, en route, but the Curamalan
did not do so. She has been missing “without
trace” since the date of her sailing, and it has
been presumed by the authorities that she was
sunk in European waters.
It will be remembered that while Argentina was
in controversy with the German Government
about the destruction of her ships by submarines,
Count Luxburg, the German Chargé d’Affaires
in Buenos Ayres, was sending home, by way of
the Swedish Foreign Office, recommendations that
certain vessels should be sunk “without a trace.”
That was in July, 1917, but the total loss of the
Curamalan and her crew of 29 suggests the suspicion
that this policy of sinking “without a
trace” dates a good deal further back.
The British steamship North Wales left Hull
bound for Canada on the 20th October 1916, and
on the 10th November the Canadian naval
authorities reported her as overdue. On the
9th November the German Wireless Press gave
the name of this vessel in their list of torpedoed
ships, so that, although details are lacking, her
fate is fairly certain. She was sunk almost
without trace. One piece of varnished wood
marked “North Wales” was washed ashore in
Sennen Cove, and one or two bodies reached the
Cornish coast. That is all. If her crew had time
to take to their boats, after being torpedoed, they
were probably drowned, as violent gales were
raging at the time.
The British s.s. Cabotia carried a crew of 74.
She was on voyage from Montreal to Liverpool,
and had encountered bad weather most of the
way. On the morning of the 20th October there
was a strong gale blowing from the S.W. and
a heavy sea running. At about 12.20 p.m. a
German submarine was sighted on the starboard
bow and at once opened fire with her forward gun.
Her first shot struck the steamer about amidships
on the starboard side, but the master turned
her stern to the submarine and put on full speed.
The U-boat continued firing at the rate of a shot
every five minutes, and out of seven shots she
obtained four hits.
The steamer’s boats were now swung out, though
all hands realised that probably they would not
live long in such a sea. The submarine kept
trying to get on the Cabotia’s quarter, but she
was kept well astern. However, she continued
to gain on the steamship, and by 2 p.m. was
close astern. The engines were stopped, four
boats were lowered, manned and got clear of the
steamer without mishap. Of these boats, Nos. 1
and 2 were in charge of the master and third
officer, respectively, while the second officer took
No. 3 boat and the chief officer No. 4.
The submarine, after again shelling the Cabotia,
went alongside another steamer which now approached.
The boats proceeded in the same
direction, hoping to be picked up; but the
steamer, after communicating with the U-boat,
blew two blasts on her whistle, apparently saluting
the submarine, and steamed away. The third
and fourth boats, carrying 42 men altogether,
were picked up by a patrol boat; but the other
two boats were never seen again, 32 lives being
lost.
It goes without saying that the submarine
commander could have saved every one of these
lives, had he told the steamer whom he closed
to pick up the Cabotia’s boats. Apart from this,
it is the opinion of the survivors that those on
board the strange steamer saw their signals of
distress, shirts hoisted on oars, but deliberately
ignored them.
About the fate of the British s.s. Rappahannock
there was some doubt at the time of her disappearance,
but it has since been established that she
was sunk on the 26th October, 1916. In November
the Admiralty received a message from the
owners of the vessel to the effect that information
had been received by them from Captain Cuvellier,
of the Belgian Marine Department, that an inquest
had been held at Porranporth on a body washed
ashore on the 8th November. This was the
body of a donkeyman named Theakins, one of
the crew of the Rappahannock. Then came
news from the s.s. Corinthian, who reported that
on the 9th November she found a quantity of
deals, wood pulp, and barrels of apples afloat 60
miles west from the Scilly Islands. These articles
formed part of the Rappahannock’s cargo.
On the 27th January, 1917, Berlin published
the following announcement:—
“The English steamer Rappahannock was
forced to stop by a German submarine on 26th
October, 1916, following a pursuit of some length,
and sunk after the crew had been given ample
time to leave the vessel. The distance from the
point of sinking to the Scillies was about 70
nautical miles, wind and sea were W.S.W. of the
third strength. The safety of the crew, who had
entered the boats, appeared to the commander
of the submarine to be guaranteed, inasmuch as
the life-boats were in good condition and well
equipped with sails and provisions, and were able
to reach land quickly and safely in view of the
favourable sailing wind, which pointed towards
land, and the slight sea.”
If the weather conditions had, indeed, been all
that the German commander here claims, it is
fairly certain that most of the crew would have
reached land. As a matter of fact, not a single
member of the steamer’s crew was ever seen alive
again. The inevitable conclusion is that the
weather must have been unfavourable, and that
the German commander must have known what
the fate of the crew would be.
On the 6th November, 1916, the British passenger
steamship Arabia was torpedoed in the
Mediterranean without warning. She carried
437 passengers, of whom many were women and
children, and a crew of 304. The torpedo struck
her in the engine-room at 11.22 a.m., the explosion
killing 11 men. The engines stopped at
once, and the wireless was rendered useless.
There was no confusion on board, the last boat
leaving the ship at 11.37 a.m., and the only
casualties were those caused by the explosion.
The following message, addressed to Wolff’s
Telegraph Bureau, Berlin, from a German in
New York, was afterwards intercepted by the
Admiralty:—
“In Washington deep impression was made by
German Admiralty’s announcement that German
submarine sunk Arabia. There was even surprise
expressed that attack on Arabia was semi-officially
admitted. Admiralty’s explanation is
considered as incomprehensible because Arabia,
according to information received here, was
ordinary passenger liner with many passengers
on board, not carrying troops nor being under
British Government charter.”
Only the splendid efficiency of officers and crew
and the coolness of the passengers on board the
Arabia prevented a terrible tragedy. To abandon
ship successfully in fifteen minutes was a fine
feat which averted a big disaster. The Germans
who torpedoed this passenger ship without warning
cannot, however, be allowed any credit for
the small loss of life. It is quite obvious that
they did not care whether the women and children
perished or not.
The British steamship Moresby was torpedoed
without warning on the 28th November, 1916.
The ship at once settled down by the stern, and
as she disappeared in 1½ minutes there was no
possibility of getting any of the boats out or doing
anything to save life. The submarine was not
seen. The chief officer, his wife, one A.B. and
29 Chinamen were lost. The master, second
mate, second and third engineers, one A.B. and
seven Chinamen were saved.
James Rose, second hand, was on the deck of the
British sailing trawler Trevone at half-past three
in the afternoon of 30th January, 1917, when a
German submarine suddenly appeared on the
surface and opened fire. Her second shot hit the
peak halyards, and the master and crew immediately
took to their boat. They were ordered
alongside the submarine and told to board her.
In attempting to obey, the master and cook were
both washed overboard. These two men could
easily have been rescued, but the Germans took
not the slightest notice of them. The master
was seen hanging on to the submarine’s side, aft,
for over ten minutes, but finally disappeared.
The remaining three hands were searched and
relieved of their knives and money. They then
had to write their names and ages upon a piece of
paper, and were afterwards taken before the
commanding officer, who examined them through
a junior officer who spoke English.
The men noticed several chocolate-coloured
bags hanging in the submarine, marked U55.
They were given tea, and at 5 p.m. the U-boat
submerged, and appeared to be stationary until
10 p.m., although the engines were kept running.
She then came to the surface and remained there
all night. The men were given hammocks to
sleep in, but could not sleep, so talked to the
submarine’s crew, who said they had sunk seven
sailing vessels that day. At 9 a.m. next morning
they had breakfast; at 10.45 they were
ordered on deck, and received their knives back.
The German officers kept eight shillings of their
money. Finally they were sent off in the boat of
a French schooner, and were fortunate enough to
be picked up five hours later.
The worst feature of this case is the callous
disregard shown by the Germans when the master
and cook fell into the sea. These two men were
allowed to drown right under the eyes of the
Germans. After all, the poor fellows were only
trying to carry out the U-boat commander’s
order when they fell overboard, and the dictates
of common decency would have caused any
ordinary civilised man to have made at least
some sort of effort to rescue them. No great
effort would have been necessary; their own
comrades could have picked up both men, if the
Germans had allowed this.
Instead, the commander preferred to leave
the master clinging to the side of the submarine
until the icy winter water and his failing
strength obliged the wretched man to relax his
hold and sink to his death. It is a disgusting
incident, which fills the mind with indignation
against the man who could permit such a thing
to happen.
Unfortunately, we cannot put these Germans
down as exceptional types. From what happened
afterwards, they appear to have been just ordinary
members of the U-boat service. They did not,
for example, ill-treat their prisoners while on
board the submarine; and beyond the theft of a
few shillings by the German officers, the trawler’s
crew had no ground for complaint. But the
whole incident shows the low standard of morality
prevailing among German submariners. Two
men allowed to drown; eight shillings stolen from
the survivors. That is all, and apparently such
trifling incidents are taken as a matter of course
in the German submarine service. What can be
said for such men? How can normal people
understand their motives?
The British steamer Eavestone left Barry Docks
on the 1st February, 1917, for Gibraltar. On
the 3rd February, she was 100 miles W. by S.W. of
the Fastnets when she sighted a submarine. The
German opened fire at 3,000 yards and soon found
the range. Firing at the rate of a shot a minute,
she struck the steamer repeatedly, and continued
firing while the crew took to their boats. As
soon as the boats had dropped astern of their ship,
the submarine turned her gun upon them at short
range, firing three shrapnel shells and striking
both boats. The third shell killed the master,
the steward, and a donkeyman, wounded two
able seamen, and severely wounded the second
officer in the right arm.
The submarine now called the first mate on
board and questioned him, but no enquiries were
made as to the Eavestone’s losses, and no help was
suggested. The boats were picked up that same
night by the Norwegian barque Regna.
Here is a typical case of the pirate as murderer.
Having done his best to kill the steamer’s crew,
while they were taking to their boats, he deliberately
turns his gun against the open boats as soon
as they are manned and clear of the vessel. Without
any shadow of pretext, the pirate kills three
men and wounds three others in this way. The
number of men killed was of no interest to the
German. He did not even enquire as to the
result of his shrapnel fire, and of course it never
occurred to him to offer the survivors any help.
On the 7th February, 1917, at 11.30 a.m., in
squally weather the Vulcana sighted a German
submarine on her starboard boom, about 1 mile
distant. The U-boat at once opened fire. She
found the range after firing half-a-dozen shots.
The skipper gave orders for the boat to be
lowered, and while the tackle was being carried
forward, he stood close by the engine-room door
on the starboard side of the deck. The second
hand was standing about 2 feet away from him
at the time. Just afterwards a shell exploded
close by. One piece struck the second hand’s
boot and another cut his hand slightly. The
skipper was struck on the top of the head; his
head was smashed in and part of his face was
blown away. The second hand heard him say:
“Dear me,” and he fell to the deck, dead.
George King, the second hand, now took charge.
Shells continued to burst about the deck; one
passed through the galley and struck the trimmer,
wounding him severely in the back. After the
boat had been got out she capsized, and had to be
righted before the crew could get in. The skipper
being dead, they left him where he had fallen,
and he went down with his ship. George King
followed the crew into their boat, and soon after
she had got clear the ship went down, about noon.
The submarine then submerged and disappeared.
The survivors were picked up by a patrol-boat
at noon on the following day. The trimmer
was taken to hospital, where he afterwards
died.
The Vulcana was a British trawler, although,
from the savageness of the German attack, it
might have been thought that she was a warship.
The lives of the skipper and trimmer were sacrificed
to German blood lust. The trawler could
have been sunk without any loss of life.
On the morning of the 7th February, 1917,
the British steamers St. Ninian and Corsican
Prince were within a quarter of a mile of one
another. A U-boat torpedoed the Corsican
Prince, striking No. 3 hold and bursting her
engine-room bulkhead. The St. Ninian was then
sunk. She went down in five minutes. Both ships
were torpedoed without warning, the casualties
being 15 in the case of the St. Ninian and one in
the Corsican Prince.
The British steamship California carried 32
passengers and a crew of 171 hands; she was
bound from New York to Glasgow. On the morning
of the 7th February, 1917, the weather was
fine and clear, the wind was N.E., and there was
a heavy swell running. At 9.30 a.m., the master
and two junior officers being on the bridge, a
periscope was sighted about 250 yards away on
the port quarter. The master at once ordered
the helm hard aport and an S.O.S. signal to be
sent out, but before the vessel had paid off 3 points
a torpedo struck her on the port quarter, about
No. 4 hatch, and the submarine was not seen
again.
The engine-room was flooded. Boats were
lowered on both sides to the level of the bridge
deck to embark the passengers; but the ship was
settling down quickly by the stern, and before
the boats could be lowered they were afloat. A
number of passengers were in the boats when they
took the water, and one on the starboard side was
overturned, the passengers being thrown into the
water. Another boat, which had to be cut loose,
threw three people into the water. Ten boats got
clear of the ship, which sank at 9.30 a.m., the
master remaining on the bridge. He was picked up
half-an-hour later by one of the boats. A patrol-boat
had taken in the S.O.S. signal and arrived
on the scene in time to rescue 160 survivors.
Forty-three lives were lost by drowning and
injuries, and there were thirty cot cases among
the survivors. A few facts reveal the tragic side
of the occurrence. Seven women and four
children were killed; three young children were
saved, their mother being lost; one small boy
was saved, while the bodies of his mother, brother,
and sister were afterwards washed ashore.
The facts speak for themselves and make
comment almost superfluous. The passengers
and crew never got a fair chance of saving themselves,
as the vessel was torpedoed without any
kind of warning.
At 7 a.m. on the 10th February, 1917, a shot
was fired at the British steamship Sallagh by a
submarine on her starboard quarter. The submarine
then hoisted the signal “abandon ship,”
and while the boat was being got ready, fired
again, killing the chief engineer and seriously
wounding two other men. The Germans afterwards
placed bombs in the vessel, and fired two
shots into her. The second caused an explosion
and the ship sank. Having provided bandages
for the wounded men, the Germans rigged their
craft like a smack and lay off about 5 miles in wait
for another victim. The ship’s boat was picked
up at 4.30 p.m. on the same day.
The British steamship Afric was 12 miles S.S.W.
of the Eddystone Lighthouse at about 5.15 a.m. on
the 12th February, 1917. Suddenly a torpedo
struck her on the starboard side about abreast of
the engine-room, causing a terrific explosion,
which stopped the engines, put out all lights,
broke the telegraphs, and brought the aerial down.
The engineers and greasers on watch at the time
were killed. The rest of the crew left the ship and
stood by in eight boats, leaving the master, first
officer and steward on board. At 6 a.m. a second
explosion occurred on the port side abreast of
No. 1 hold. The ship was finally abandoned
after this, and at about 6.20 a.m. a submarine
appeared, questioned the master, and then shelled
the ship, which sank at 7.45 a.m. The boats
were picked up about 5 hours later. Five men
were killed, probably by the first explosion.
The steamer Sallagh appears to have been
shelled as a matter of course while her boats were
being got out. Otherwise there would have been
no loss of life and no wounded on board. As the
submarine took the trouble to hoist the signal
“abandon ship,” which was at once obeyed, she
had no excuse for the subsequent shelling. The
case is one of wholly unnecessary murder, although
the Germans were not so callous as on some
occasions.
At 11.15 p.m. on the 17th February, the British
steamer Valdes was torpedoed without warning.
It was a pitch-dark night, and nothing was seen
before the explosion of the torpedo. The master
and seven of the crew were thrown into the water
as the ship went down; three men went down with
her. The port life-boat was successfully launched,
and 20 members of the crew embarked. The
starboard life-boat was blown to pieces. A trawler
picked up the 20 survivors, but two of them died
from exposure. Eleven men lost their lives.
The British steamship Laconia was sunk on the
25th February. She carried a crew of 217 and
77 passengers. When about 140 miles from
the S.W. of Ireland, at 10.53 at night, she was
torpedoed without warning and began to list to
starboard. The boats were quickly lowered;
all the passengers and most of the crew embarked
before a second torpedo struck the ship. Those
left on board then abandoned her, and the submarine
soon afterwards came to the surface,
wished the boats’ companies “good night,” and
disappeared. The Laconia went down at about
11.48 p.m.
Although her boats had been lowered, the task
had not been accomplished without mishap.
Life-boat No. 8 had bumped several times against
the steamer’s side, owing to the jambing of ropes
and the ship’s big list. The boat took the water
bow first, and when her stern was released, she
plunged, shipping a lot of water. She was considerably
damaged before getting clear, with the
result that she was awash, except for the raised
portion of her bow and stern, when she did
eventually get clear. Every wave washed over the
boat’s company, whose sufferings were deplorable.
About two hours after leaving the ship, a
first-class passenger named Mr. Robinson, who
was in delicate health, died from exposure, and
his body was washed overboard. A lady was
the next to die, but her daughter, not realising
what had happened, continued to support her
mother’s body. An hour later the daughter
herself passed away. A coloured sailor was the
next to succumb. Then a fireman, who was
sitting on one of the thwarts, allowed his head to
sink into the water and so was drowned. A
gentleman passenger was now seen to be dead,
and a lady, who was his friend, became hysterical.
To soothe her, it was pretended that the man
had only fainted, and his body was kept in the
boat. Fifteen minutes afterwards a fireman
lurched overboard and was drowned. At 9
o’clock next morning the boat was picked up.
All the other boats had been picked up before
daylight. Twelve lives were lost.
The British sailing vessel Galgorm Castle carried
a crew of 24. At 5.30 p.m. on the 27th February,
1917, the ship was sunk by the Germans with
bombs. The crew left in two boats, but became
separated in the darkness. One boat capsized,
drowning four men; the remaining eight clung
to her, but seven of them died from exposure.
The twelfth man, a Russian, was picked up on the
7th March. The second boat, with her 12
survivors, was picked up.
At 6.50 a.m. on the 1st March, 1917, while the
British trawler Redcap was hauling in her trawl,
a U-boat appeared and fired several shells at her.
One deck-hand was killed, the mate had his leg
blown off, and two other hands were injured. The
survivors got away in their boat, and were picked
up at 12.30 p.m. The trawler was sunk by the
Germans.
At 2.30 a.m. on the 17th March, the British
steamer Tasso was torpedoed by a U-boat at
sight, without any kind of warning. The vessel
went down head-first, and the inrush of water
against the forecastle and cabin doors prevented
these from being opened. In this way many of
the crew perished. The master and eighteen of
the crew were drowned, six men being saved; two
of these were slightly injured in the head. They
were picked up by a French patrol steamer.
The British steamer Joshua Nicholson was
torpedoed by a German submarine without
warning at 6.30 a.m. on the 18th March, 1917.
She began to settle down very rapidly, with a
heavy list to starboard. While the port life-boat
was being lowered she capsized, and three men
were drowned. Another man was blown into the
water by an explosion. After the ship had gone
down, six men came to the surface and clung to
pieces of wreckage. Of these, three sank during
the next five hours, the remaining three being
picked up at about 5 p.m., exhausted but
alive.
The Joshua Nicholson and Galgorm Castle are
two ordinary instances of German sinkings. The
survivors in both cases underwent considerable
sufferings, which were in no way mitigated by the
Germans. No tow was offered and no assistance
of any kind rendered to the crews.
The British steamship Alnwick Castle was in
the Atlantic, 320 miles from land, on the 19th
March. She carried a crew of 100, together with
14 passengers; she also had on board the master
and 24 survivors of the s.s. Trevose, whom she
had rescued on the previous day from their boats.
She had, therefore, 138 souls on board, when at
6 a.m. she was torpedoed without warning by a
submerged German submarine. The boats were
lowered as quickly as possible, and in about
10 minutes the steamer plunged under water,
bow first. Her whistle gave one blast; the
main topmast broke off; there was a smothered
roar, a cloud of dust, and she had disappeared.
The submarine had come to the surface and
trained her gun on the steamer, but no shots were
necessary to complete the sinking, and she steamed
away without even speaking the boats. One
of these was in charge of the chief officer, and
contained 31 people, including two women and a
four-months old baby. There was a considerable
swell running, with a moderate wind, so all sail
was hoisted, and the boats proceeded to the
N.E. in single file, keeping in touch with one
another for the remainder of the day.
During the night both wind and sea increased
considerably, and the chief officer’s boat had
lost touch with the others by the following morning,
which was Tuesday. At 10 a.m. the weather
compelled them to take in all sail, and they lay-to,
keeping her head-on to the enormous seas with
the help of a sea-anchor and the occasional use of
the oars. They proceeded in this way throughout
the day and during Tuesday night, which was
very dark. They were thankful to see day break
on Wednesday. They had lost their sea-anchor
in the night, so lashed a couple of oars together,
which served as a fairly good substitute. The
weather improved during the morning, so they
hoisted sail again and proceeded east.
During Tuesday night the chef had gone mad,
and on Wednesday he died. Being accustomed
to the warmth of a galley fire, he could not stand
the cold. Meanwhile, the chief officer had taken
control of the provisions and water. He served
out the water in the morning and evening at the
rate of half a dipper-full to each person. During
Wednesday night the storekeeper went mad and
had to be lashed down. He died about noon on
Thursday, and a third-class passenger also expired
on the same day.
That night there were heavy squalls, so they
had to take in sail and put out their improvised
sea-anchor. On Friday morning the weather
moderated, and they were able to set full sail
again. An A.B. died during the day, and everyone
had now begun to endure agonies of thirst. They
continued to sail all Friday night, but exposure
and exhaustion were reducing them to a state of
callousness, and at times they suffered from
light-headedness. These attacks were worse
in the night than by daylight. On Saturday
morning a fireman was found dead in the bottom
of the boat, and during the day a third-class
pantry-boy died.
There was little doubt in the chief officer’s
mind that the secret drinking of salt water was
hastening the death of many. He did his best
to prevent it, but he was working watch and watch
at the tiller, and there are limits to what one man
can accomplish. They drifted with sail down all
through the night of Saturday, there being no stars
to steer by; but sail was re-hoisted at daybreak
on Sunday. A cattleman, who had been behaving
in a peculiar way for two days, made three attempts
to jump overboard, and at last succeeded.
The enfeebled state of his shipmates rendered
his rescue impossible, although they turned the
boat round and sailed about in the position
where he had disappeared.
To-day their last tot of water was served out—a
mouthful apiece—and they tried to collect
rain water from the occasional showers that
swept past them. Everything was saturated with
salt, however, so that the little they caught was
undrinkable. Then they took to licking the oars,
the tiller, the seats and the woodwork of the boat,
in their frantic efforts to gather up the rain-drops;
but the salt spray came flying in-board continually
and frustrated their hopes. At last a happy
thought occurred to them; they broke up the
empty water-breaker and licked the inside, which
they found to be saturated with moisture and
delicious to their parched tongues. That night
the deck-boy, who had been quietly sinking all
day, passed away.
They sighted land at 3 p.m. on Monday, and
made what haste they could to approach it.
This they accomplished late in the evening, but
darkness had set in and there was a heavy northerly
swell, which rendered any attempt at landing
too dangerous. They lay-to, therefore, awaiting
daylight. Their mast was carried away at the heel
during a squall, but it acted as a sea-anchor,
and in the morning they pulled in towards the
shore until their strength gave out. Then two
fishing-boats were observed coming out from the
harbour, and they towed the survivors into Carino.
The villagers, headed by the priest, came to
the assistance of the boat’s company, most of
whom were unable to walk. The linen-keeper
died as he was being lifted ashore; two of the
crew, who had gone mad, refused to leave the boat,
and had to be dragged out. The villagers were
very kind, and carried the survivors to their
cottages, while their wives paid special attention
to the two women and the baby. This morsel
of humanity seemed well enough at Carino, but
died six days after being admitted to hospital at
Ferrol. A trimmer died of gangrene in the same
hospital two weeks later. The chief officer bears
testimony to the splendid behaviour of the boat’s
crew during the eight days of hardship and exposure
which they endured. Forty lives were
lost through the sinking of the Alnwick Castle.
When about 150 miles S.E. of Cape Clear, at
3 o’clock in the afternoon of 29th April, the British
steamer Daleby was torpedoed without warning.
She was struck twice, the second torpedo blowing
up all the life-boats and causing her to sink immediately.
The last man to leave the ship dived off
as she was sinking. The submarine then came to
the surface and circled round him, but no attempt
was made to pick him up. Afterwards he noticed
the ship’s dinghy floating a little way off, and swam
towards it. The wind, however, was behind him,
and kept blowing the boat away, so that he did
not reach her for two hours.
Having baled her out, he returned to the scene
of the disaster, where he managed to pick up a
fireman, who had been wounded in the head and
was unconscious. He revived this man, and
together they started rowing for land, although
the fireman was not able to do much work. They
were at sea in the dinghy for 24 hours, when they
were picked up by a steamer, having rowed 30
miles. Through the sinking of the Daleby
26 men perished.
When about 8 miles south of Beachy Head on
the 20th May, the British steamer Tycho was
torpedoed without warning and began to go down
by the head. The order to abandon ship was
given at 5.10 p.m., ten minutes after the ship
had been struck, and was carried out without
casualties. The vessel went down at 5.20.
The crew then pulled towards the steamship
Porthkerry, which had seen the explosion and was
standing by about 200 yards away on the port
beam.
As the Tycho’s boats came alongside her,
another torpedo was discharged by the submarine.
This blew up one of the boats, killing the master
and 14 men, and capsized the other boat. The
Porthkerry was abandoned, with eight casualties,
the vessel going down in three minutes after being
struck by the torpedo. The survivors from both
ships were picked up at 7 o’clock that night by a
small coasting steamer and landed at Newhaven
at midnight on the 21st May.
The British steamer Clan Murray was about
30 miles south of the Fastnets on the 29th May
when she was torpedoed without warning, being
struck amidships on the starboard side. The
boiler and engine-rooms were immediately filled
with water, the vessel listed heavily to starboard
and foundered within five minutes. The submarine
then appeared and circled round the wreckage,
taking the third officer and one other man
prisoners. She then made off in a westerly
direction. The survivors clung to floating wreckage
for six hours before being picked up. Sixty-four
men lost their lives; 12 were saved; two were
taken prisoners.
The sinking of the Tycho and Porthkerry is a
conspicuous instance of German callousness. The
U-boat commander waited until the Tycho’s boats
were alongside the Porthkerry before discharging his
second torpedo, and thereby killed 15 men without
the slightest excuse or necessity. He could have
torpedoed the Porthkerry before those life-boats
were alongside her, but apparently he preferred
that her sinking should be accompanied by loss
of life. There seems to be no other explanation
of his conduct.
The schooner Jane Williamson, of Arklow, met
with a small German submarine off the coast of
Cornwall at 4 o’clock in the afternoon of the 10th
September, 1917. The submarine opened fire at
150 yards range. Her first shot smashed one of
the boats, the second killed a man. There were
five men left, who got into their second boat, when
a shell struck her, killing one man outright and
mortally wounding the skipper and another man.
The Germans beckoned the boat to them, in order to
laugh at the survivors. The U-boat then submerged.
The skipper lived long enough to be landed
and taken to hospital, where he died. The two dead
seamen were buried at Penzance. An inquest
was held upon their bodies, and the coroner
described the Germans’ conduct as diabolical, the
jury returning a unanimous verdict of “wilful
and diabolical murder.”
On the 11th September, 1917, the schooner
William, of Dublin, was attacked by a U-boat,
which, after sinking her, fired on her crew with
shrapnel, wounding one man.
The sinking of the Jane Williamson has been
included under the heading of “Murder,” but it
might as appropriately have been labelled “Barbarity.”
The Germans displayed a callous disregard
for human life, and after killing two men,
signalled the boat alongside, in order that they
might mock the dying. Plain men will agree
with the jury’s verdict of wilful and diabolical
murder. The Germans’ behaviour was that of
savages.
The crew of the schooner William were lucky
enough to escape with one man wounded, but the
Germans’ intention was again murder.
The French sailing barquentine Mimosa had a
crew of 31. On the 24th September, 1917, when
23 miles S.W. of the Scilly Islands, with a cargo
of salt fish, she was attacked by a German submarine.
It was 6 p.m., the weather was clear, the
sea calm, and the visibility good. A submarine
appeared and at 6.15 p.m. opened fire on the
Frenchman. When 23 shots had been fired the
ship was abandoned by all except the master,
who refused to leave his vessel and was killed at
the wheel by shrapnel. The submarine, which
appeared to be an old one, dirty-grey in colour,
and showing no number, closed the Mimosa to
150 yards on the surface. One German officer
was seen, a thin, clean-shaven man, with dark
hair and sunken cheeks. He ordered six men from
one of the boats to board the submarine, and
lined them up on deck forward of his gun. Soon
afterwards the hatches of the submarine were
closed, and she submerged, throwing the men
into the sea without any means of saving themselves.
The men were lucky enough to be able to
reach their boats, however. Two boats, carrying
15 men altogether, were picked up by a British
destroyer, and three boats, carrying the other 15
men, rowed to the Scilly Islands. The master
was buried at sea by the crew of the destroyer.
The German appears to have had in mind his
fellow-countryman’s exploit with the crew of the
Belgian Prince. But he had not studied the case
carefully enough, and so his victims were able to
escape. To line up half-a-dozen men on the deck
of the submarine and then to submerge was
obviously an attempt to commit deliberate murder,
and for this reason the case of the Mimosa has
been included in this chapter.
The s.s. Elmsgarth was torpedoed without
warning at 7.15 p.m. on the 29th September,
and abandoned a quarter of an hour afterwards.
A U-boat then appeared and fired a shell between
the life-boats. The master’s boat was then hailed
alongside the submarine in order that he might be
questioned by the commander. The master
pointed out that his boat was half full of water,
and asked for a baler, but this the commander
refused to supply, adding that his duty was not
to save life, but to destroy it.
Before the boat shoved off from the submarine, a
Mexican fireman, Daniel Vaca by name, jumped
on board the U-boat and claimed protection as a
neutral. The Germans’ response to this appeal
was to deprive the man of his passport and
order him back into the life-boat. Good fortune
favoured the boats, which made for the Irish
coast in safety.
