ALNWICK CASTLE




Union Castle Line


ALNWICK CASTLE

Extract taken from The Union Castle and the War 1914-19 by E.F.Knight.

The following text is taken from a book published after The Great War as a memorial to the 338 Officers and Men who lost their lives in the conflict.

Many Merchant Skippers had little affection for the convoy system. The perpetual flow of orders that were sometimes signalled by a zealous Officer in command of a convoy harassed those under his charge. I know one exasperated Merchant Skipper who, after the danger zone had been passed, and the Captain of the Cruiser had signalled the dismissal of the convoy, signalled back: 'Thank God.' But all at last must have recognised the great value of the system; for had it been possible to enforce it generally throughout the war many lives would have been saved, much suffering avoided. The escorting warships not only warded off enemy attack, but were at hand to pick up survivors should one of the convoyed ships be sunk by a torpedoes, and while they were present the deliberate massacre of survivors by the Huns could never have taken place. There were no ships by to come to the succour when the Alnwick Castle and the Llandovery Castle met their fate, so the never-to-be-forgotten, never-to-be-forgiven devilries of the Hun had free play.

The Alnwick Castle, under the command of Captain Chave, outward bound for the Cape, was torpedoed when she was about 320 miles west-south-west of the Scilly Isles, and at about the same distance from the nearest point on the Irish coast and from Cape Finisterre. In that week the German submarines were exceptionally busy and sank no less than 55 ships. On the day previous to her own disaster the Alnwick Castle had picked out of their boats twenty-five of the crew of the collier-transport Trevose, which had been torpedoed a few hours earlier; and the Captain of the Trevose reported that while he was drifting in his boat he had seen another steamer blown up in the distance. The Alnwick Castle now had on board 100 of her own crew, 14 passengers, and 25 survivors of the Trevose.

At 6.10 on the following morning (March 19th, 1917) the look-out on the upper crow's nest reported the approach of a torpedo on the port bow. The Chief Officer saw it coming at right angles to the ship's course. He gave the order 'hard a-starboard' and rang 'full astern' to both engines. But before the ship had swung the torpedo had struck her, the explosion throwing up a high column of water and debris on the Bridge and blowing up hatches and beams of No. 2 hatch. The ship was rapidly sinking by the head, so Captain Chave ordered that she should be abandoned. He sent out a wireless S.O.S. signal, but there was no response to it. The 139 occupants of the ship, including the one woman passenger and her four-month-old baby, were all got safely into the six boats, which were pulled to a safe distance, and there waited to see the end of the Alnwick Castle. Then the German submarine quietly rose to the surface, and remained there silent and sinister until the end came; her crew gazing with callous eyes on the human beings whom they were leaving, exposed in open boats, far out in the Atlantic, in the stormiest season of the year. In about ten minutes the Alnwick Castle plunged down bow first; her whistle gave one blast, there was a smothered roar, a cloud of debris rose in the air, and she was gone.



The submarine now went north-east after a homeward bound steamer, which was visible about four miles away. Soon the castaways heard a muffled roar, saw a tall column of water rise, and knew that the submarine had found another victim. During this Monday, the first day of voyaging of these six boats, things went well. There was a considerable swell, but there was only a moderate breeze blowing from the west. So the Captain gave orders that the boats should steer between east and east-north-east for the mouth of the Channel and the track of ships. The boats hoisted sail and ran before the wind in a line, and kept in touch with each other until evening. But in the night the wind freshened and the sea rose; all sails had to reefed down. Later in the night the fair wind with which they had started headed them and worked round to the north. It became intensely cold, and the wind ever increased in strength.

By the following morning, in consequence of the heavy weather, the boats had scattered and were out of sight of each other; each boat found herself tossing alone on an angry sea. Two of the boats were never heard of again. Day after day of misery passed by, but no vessel came to their succour. To quote the Captain's words: 'Never a sail or wisp of smoke had we seen. It was as though the German submarines had barred the ocean against all traffic.' Exposure to wet and cold killed the weak, and then after a few days even the tiny rations of drinking water could not be issued, as the supply was exhausted. Men went mad from thirst, and with throats on fire and lips furred it was impossible for any to swallow the solid food, of which there was a sufficiency. The seas washed into the boats, but the men became so weak that it was with difficulty that they could be prevailed upon to bale the water out. It was not until five days after the torpedoing of the Alnwick Castle that the 24 survivors of the Captain's boat - five had died from thirst and exposure - were rescued by the French steamer Venezia in the bay of Biscay, 200 miles to the south-east of the scene of the Alnwick Castle's disaster. It is needless to say that the exhausted men were very well looked after by the kindly French. Four of their dead they left in the boat, for they had been in too weak a condition to lower these into the sea.

The other boats had similar experiences. The report sent in by the Chief Officer should be read by those who find excuses for German methods. His boat's company consisted of 31 people, including the woman passenger, her baby, and the Stewardess. They were eight days on the open sea, and so great were the privations endured that eleven out of the thirty-one died. It is not surprising, seeing that British sailors manned the boat, to hear that the weakest there, the two women and the baby, were amongst those who were safely landed. On the morning of the second day out, Tuesday, the weather compelled the Chief Officer to take in all sail and lie to with the sea anchor, while oars were used to help keep the boat head on to the tremendous sea that was running. The oil bag proved of great service in quietening the high breakers. The sea anchor was lost in the night, so two oars were lashed together to be used in place.

On Wednesday morning the weather improved, so sail was set again, and the boat was steered east towards the Spanish coast. A half dipper full of water was doled out to each person in the morning and evening. The Alnwick's Chef died this day of cold and exposure. Sailing whenever the weather allowed, and lying to when the wind blew hard, the boat progressed from day to day. On Thursday the Storekeeper, who had gone raving mad and had to be lashed down for the safety of the others, died. Later in the day one of the passengers succumbed. That night heavy squalls compelled the Chief Officer again to take in sail and put out the improvised sea anchor. On Friday the wind having moderated; though a high sea was still running, full sail was set and was kept up for thirty-six hours, the boat making good progress. Throughout this terrible voyage the Chief Officer, the Carpenter, a Quarter-Master, and a Fireman did all the steering between them. This day another of the crew died. Owing to the small ration of water that could be allowed, all were suffering from intense thirst. From thirst and from exhaustion and exposure to cold and wet, even the strongest of the crew who were still able to work were rapidly becoming callous and often felt light-headed. On the morning of Saturday one of the Firemen was found lying dead at the bottom of the boat, and in the course of the day the Pantry Boy died.



That night the boat drifted with sail down; for it was very dark and there were no stars visible by which to steer. On Sunday, at dawn, the sail was hoisted again, and the boat resumed her course, heading south-east. A man who had been insane for two days jumped overboard (after three frustrated attempts) and was drowned. The high sea and the enfeebled state of the men made it impossible to save him, though the boat was turned and sailed round the spot where he disappeared. On this morning the last tot of water was served out - not more than a mouthful for each. There were occasional showers of rain after this to tantalise the occupants of the boat. A little rain was caught, but it was undrinkable, so saturated with salt was everything on board. To quote the words of the Chief Officer's report: 'We even tried by licking the woodwork to gather up the rain drops and so moisten our mouths, but the continual spray coming over rendered this of little use. In fact, we actually broke up the water beaker in order to lick the inside of the staves, which we found quite saturated with moisture and to us delicious.' In the evening the Deck Boy died.

They sailed all that night, and on Monday afternoon, to their great joy, they sighted land. But it proved to be a long way off. It was dark when they came up to it; and there was so heavy a swell running that the Chief Officer considered that it would be too dangerous to attempt a landing until daylight. A squall now carried away the boat's mast at the heel. They then hove to, using the broken mast as a sea anchor, and awaited daylight, greatly disappointed, for they had hoped to get ashore that day, and now had to pass yet another horrible night in the boat. At daylight the next morning (Tuesday) they pulled towards the shore as well as they were able, but soon found that they had not the strength to undergo any exertion. But, happily, they had been seen and two fishing boats came out and towed them into the small fishing harbour of Carino, near Cape Ortegal. The villagers, headed by their Priest, met them on the beach and carried the survivors, who were in a pitiable condition, to the different cottages. One man expired as he was being lifted out of the boat and two demented men refused to leave the boat and had to be dragged out. The Priest, a Doctor, who arrived later from Ferrol, and the Spanish villagers tended them with an exceeding kindness and care. Ten days later, when the survivors were well enough to be removed, they were taken to the hospital at Ferrol.

One thing stands out clear in the tragic story of the Alnwick Castle. In all the boats the Officers worked magnificently, encouraging the thirst-tortured survivors and maintaining, even in those awful conditions, the discipline that enabled the boats to be handled properly, the drinking water to be rationed, and other measures to be taken which made it possible to save so large a number of lives. The Officers speak in the highest terms of the men who worked under them, and that the men appreciated the leadership that saved them is illustrated by an incident told in a previous article. The Officer who had been in charge of one of these boats, on reaching home, found a case of pipes awaiting him, a present from his boat's crew - a graceful act that speaks for itself.