The German Pirate His Methods and Record

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FOREWORD

“The German people is always right, because it is the German people, and numbers 87 million souls.”[A]

O. R. Tannenberg.

The sea is a stern mistress. She demands from her sons both vigilance and skill in her service, and for the man who fails her the penalty is death. From generation to generation men have faced and fought the same dangers in every ocean. Going down to the sea in ships from a thousand different ports, the mariners of the world have triumphed or died like their fathers before them, in the face of dangers as old as the world itself. And because they have braved the same perils, seamen of all nations have been united in a splendid fellowship, which is called the Brotherhood of the Sea. The mariner in danger who sent out a call for help could count on assistance from his brother of the sea, regardless of[Pg 4] nationality; while with the advance of science and coming of wireless telegraphy, the scope of such mutual assistance became more and more extended. Without hesitation men turned their ships from their intended course, on receiving the S.O.S. signal, and sped for miles to the help of their unfortunate brothers.

It bound men together, this Brotherhood of the Sea, in a way never fully to be comprehended by landsmen. It was a fine, manly freemasonry, and demanded from its members those qualities of courage, honour, and chivalry which are the true seaman’s heritage. Not until the coming of the German submarine commander was the Brotherhood of the Sea destroyed.

The following accounts of German submarine exploits have been compiled from British Admiralty documents and the sworn statements of survivors. Each story is a plain statement of fact. They are, of course, merely a selection, but they show quite clearly the lines upon which the German submarine[Pg 5] campaign has been conducted from the beginning of the war up to the latter part of 1917.

It is only right that the tale of these sinkings should be widely known, because only by knowing what has actually taken place can a true opinion be formed about the German submariner and his work. For this reason, the following accounts have been set down as simply as possible, without exaggeration or unfair comment.

The German submarine commanders were sent to sea in order to sink ships, because Germany believed unrestricted U-boat warfare a necessity; but they received orders, according to the Berlin Government, that human life and the rights of neutrals were to be respected. The way in which these orders were carried out is shown in the following pages.

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THE PIRATE AS THIEF.
A Selection of Cases.

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Chapter I.
THE PIRATE AS THIEF.

“If Fate has selected us to assume the leadership in the Kultur-life of the peoples, we will not shrink from this great and lofty mission.”[B]—Gustav E. Pazanrek.

The Dutch steamer Gamma was proceeding from New York to Amsterdam on the 1st February, 1917, with a cargo of oilcake for the Netherlands Government. At 2.30 p.m. a German submarine appeared on the port bow, steering towards the ship. Without making any signal, the submarine at once opened fire. She fired six shells, one of which struck the windlass. The ship was stopped, boats were lowered, and the master proceeded to the submarine, where he was questioned by the commander. A German officer and two men boarded the Gamma, placed bombs in her holds, and returned with a bag of flour, two hams, some butter, and a few engine-room tools. The master asked for a tow, but this was refused, and the submarine disappeared. Ten minutes later the bombs exploded and the Gamma went down.[Pg 8] It was bitterly cold, but fortunately the boats were picked up by the Dutch liner Vondel at about 6 o’clock that night.

The Gamma was a neutral vessel laden with cargo for a neutral Government, but the fact was totally disregarded by the Germans. Fire was opened recklessly and without warning, and it was merely a matter of chance that no lives were lost. Having looted the vessel in true pirate style, the Germans refused the Dutchmen a tow. Once more it was only through good fortune that their boat happened to be picked up before any of the crew had died from exposure. The Germans showed themselves to be arbitrary, discourteous, and robbers.

At 12.15 p.m. on the 2nd February, 1917, a U-boat suddenly appeared alongside the Russian sailing vessel Garnet Hill and ordered the crew to abandon the ship at once. When this had been done, bombs were placed in the vessel, which sank in about five minutes after the explosion. The Germans took the master’s chronometer and a lot of clothes. They also took off one member of the crew who declared himself to be a German. The boats were picked up 28 hours later.

This is a case that gives one an insight into German methods, and suggests the possibilities[Pg 9] of the seaman as spy. Obviously these possibilities are very great, although we cannot say for certain to what extent the services of the seaman-spy have been utilised by Germany in her submarine campaign. Many a ship may have been betrayed by Germans masquerading under some other nationality. The idea of the sea-spy is so essentially Teutonic that it must have been exploited by the Berlin Government. Thus, although the Garnet Hill provides an instance of the Pirate as Thief, it is perhaps more interesting as an instance of the Pirate as Spy.

The British trawler Romeo was sunk by a German submarine at 2 p.m. on the 3rd February, 1917. Before sinking her the Germans ransacked the vessel and took away her ensign, ship’s stores, clocks, weather-glasses, the clothes of the crew, and the skipper’s kit. The crew were picked up by a patrol-boat at 5 p.m. the same day.

On the 4th February, 1917, at 6 p.m. the British steamship Dauntless was struck on the funnel by a shot. The master at once gave the order “Hard a-starboard,” but before it could be executed a shell struck the bridge, damaging the steering-gear and wounding the master and the man at the wheel. Shells began to fly over the ship, the engines were stopped, and both life-boats[Pg 10] were lowered. One fireman was killed on deck, but the rest of the crew reached the boats in safety, although firing was continued all this time. When the starboard life-boat had got a little way from the ship the submarine appeared alongside and ordered all hands on board. The lifeboat was then manned by Germans, who proceeded to the vessel, presently returning with various tinned provisions, some turpentine, and enamel, which were taken on board the submarine. They had also brought away the ship’s jolly-boat.

At about 8.10 p.m. the sound of a muffled explosion was heard, and the crew were then ordered into their boats, the submarine disappearing in the darkness. The master and six men entered the jolly-boat, the remaining nine men taking to the life-boat. Soon afterwards the two boats became separated in the darkness.

They rowed the jolly-boat all through the night, and at 6 a.m. next day the steward died from exposure. His body was thrown overboard at 6 o’clock that evening. Land was then visible, but a snow-storm came on, and land was lost. They rowed all through the night, but on Tuesday morning land was sighted again, and at 10 a.m. the boat touched the beach and was overturned by breakers. The remaining six men managed[Pg 11] to get ashore, but soon after landing the second engineer and a fireman died on the beach. The four survivors were taken to hospital, and on 12th February the mate and chief and second engineers were discharged. The master was left behind, suffering from exposure and shell wounds.

At 12.50 p.m., in very thick weather, on the 9th February, the British trawler Benbow was fired upon by a German submarine. As the fog lifted two shots were fired, followed by four more while the boat was being got out. The crew were transferred to the submarine while a party of Germans visited the trawler. They returned with 5 stone of flour, 3 tins of treacle, 4 stone of sugar, half-a-dozen boxes of Quaker oats, 3 barrels of meat, 10 lbs. of sausages, several tins of milk, 2 clocks, and the kits of the skipper and chief engineer. When the submarine was last seen the clothes were being divided amongst the Germans. The trawler was sunk by a bomb; the submarine disappeared in the fog.

On the same day the British trawler Athenian was attacked by a U-boat, seven or eight shots being fired while her boat was being got out. Everything portable was taken from the trawler by the Germans. After she had been sunk, the German commander asked the skipper whether[Pg 12] he would like to go to Germany or remain in his open boat. The skipper chose his boat. The men were picked up at 2 p.m. next day.

At 12.30 p.m. on the 10th February, 1917, the master of the British trawler Ireland was towing his trawl at a speed of 2½ miles an hour when he sighted a German submarine 2½ miles away on the port side. The submarine fired a shot which dropped 2 yards clear of the trawler’s stern. Her boat was at once got out, two more shots being fired, one of which dropped just astern, while the other passed over the funnel. The crew embarked in their boat without casualties, and the Germans then looted the trawler, taking away the ship’s papers, sextant, binoculars, fisherman’s almanack, and a basket of provisions. They sank the trawler at about 1 p.m. The crew were picked up by a patrol-boat at 6 a.m. on the 14th February, and landed at Scarborough at 8 o’clock that night, when two of them were sent to hospital suffering from frost-bite.

The British steamer Margarita was sunk by a U-boat in the evening of the 14th February, 1917, after being looted by the Germans. They took the clocks from the engine-room and cabin, the barometer, some condensed milk, and some soap.[Pg 13] The crew were picked up at 3.15 a.m. next day and landed at Milford Haven.

The British sailing vessel Invercauld was sunk on the 22nd February by a German submarine, which opened fire on her without warning. After firing a torpedo, which struck the ship on the port beam, blowing away 150 feet of her side, the Germans boarded her and searched for food. However, the water was too high for this, so the commander contented himself by taking the chronometer, binoculars, clocks, bell, ensign, and other portable articles, for which he gave the master a receipt. The master and his crew of 23 hands escaped without casualty.

On the 17th March, 1917, two German submarines attacked and sank four Portuguese fishing vessels, the Rita Segunda, Flor de Abril, Senora del Rosario, and Restaurador. One man of the Restaurador was killed and three others injured, although the crews left their vessels after the first shot. On the 19th March the following official statement was issued in Lisbon:

“While four trawlers were fishing off the coast of Algarvo, the most southerly province of Portugal, two German submarines made their appearance, one from the north and the other from the south. They immediately opened fire upon the fishing[Pg 14] vessels. The crews were ordered to leave their ships, which were then looted by the Germans of the fish and clothing they had on board. The trawlers were then sunk. One of the fishermen was killed and three were seriously wounded. The remainder of the crews, to the number of about 100, have been safely landed at Lisbon by patrol-boats of the Portuguese Naval Division.”

On the 3rd May, 1917, nine or ten Irish fishing vessels were looted and destroyed by German submarines at about 8 p.m. The skipper of one of these vessels, the Lucky Lass, has described how the Germans took his new foresail, fishing lines, clothes, oilskins, and his son’s watch. They then smashed up the Lucky Lass with a large hatchet and a big stone hammer. They were in a great hurry, and ordered the skipper and his son to keep a sharp look-out for British patrol-boats during their looting operations. Another boat, the Sir Edward Birbeck, was sunk by bombs.

The British sailing ship Alfred was sunk on the 12th June. The Germans looted the vessel, carrying off the stores and all her brass-work. The crew were taken on board the submarine and then witnessed the sinking of another vessel. They saw dead bodies and struggling men in the[Pg 15] water, while the officers and crew of the submarine sneered and laughed at them.

The Swedish steamer Snetoppen was bound for New York on the 4th July, 1917, when a submarine came to the surface on her starboard bow and commenced to shell her. After half-a-dozen shots had been fired the master decided that his position was hopeless, and gave orders to abandon ship in two boats.

The Germans then proceeded to loot the steamer, taking the ship’s chronometer and barometer, two sextants, and three boat-loads of provisions. The German sailors ransacked the state-rooms, while their officers demanded whiskey, beer, and cognac, besides taking all the clothes they could lay hands on. They sank the steamer with bombs, and left the survivors in their boats. These were afterwards picked up by an American destroyer.

With regard to these cases, it would probably be contended by the Germans that the sufferings of the Dauntless’ survivors were unavoidable. But what about the shelling of the vessel? This was wholly unnecessary, and resulted in the death of one man. The Germans could have committed their thefts of provisions, turpentine and enamel without first shelling the ship. To the lesser[Pg 16] crime of theft they need not have added the greater crime of murder.

In the same way, the shelling of the British trawlers was totally uncalled for; and since it is not to be supposed that the German fires merely for the amusement of discharging his guns, another conclusion is forced upon us. It will be noticed that shots were fired while the boats were being lowered in the cases of the Dauntless, Benbow, and Ireland. With what object, except to take life? Upon the occasions under review the German missed his mark; but this does not always happen, as the study of other cases will show.

Apart from the firing, the examples quoted show the German as thief, although in the sinking of the Invercauld the pirates defeated their own ends, so far as food was concerned. The giving of a receipt for the articles taken was in accordance with the German Prize Regulations, which lay down that: “H.M. ships can, in case of need, replenish from the cargo and from the non-consumable and consumable stores of captured enemy ships (a receipt being given for anything taken) if the articles are not proved beyond doubt to be neutral.”

The incidents connected with the sinking of[Pg 17] the Alfred make one speculate as to the standard by which German naval officers regulate their conduct. It is inconceivable that any British commander would allow his men to laugh and sneer at a number of hapless seamen struggling in the water. This German officer, however, did not hesitate to do so.

The looting of the Swedish steamer Snetoppen is interesting in view of the regulation above quoted in connection with the Invercauld. It is a case of the Pirate as Thief amongst neutrals. The Germans behaved like common housebreakers, and showed the same spirit which their comrades of the German Army exhibited early in the war, when they ransacked chateaux and private houses during their first advance.

It will be in place here to glance at other provisions contained in the German Naval Prize Regulations. These should be borne in mind when reading about the actual deeds of the German submarine officers here collected. The Regulations were published in the Reichs-Gesetzblatt at Berlin on the 3rd August, 1914. The first of the “General Provisions” reads:—

“The commanding officers of H.M. warships have the right during a war, in accordance with the following provisions, to stop enemy or neutral[Pg 18] merchant ships, to search and capture them as well as the enemy and neutral goods in them, and in exceptional cases to destroy them.”

Clause 4 of the General Provisions states:—“All measures are to be carried out in a manner the observance of which—even towards the enemy—is demanded by the honour of the German Empire, and with such consideration for neutrals as is in accordance with international law and German interests.”

Clause 6 sets out the vessels that are exempt from capture. These include: “Hospital ships, vessels employed exclusively in coast fisheries, or small boats employed in local trade, so long as they do not take any part whatever in hostilities.”

There are two clauses dealing with ships which endeavour to escape. The first states that: “A neutral ship is to be treated as an enemy ship if she forcibly resists the exercise of the right of stoppage, search, and capture; force may be used against the ship in question until she ceases to resist; attempted flight alone does not count as forcible resistance.” On the other hand, Article 83 declares: “If the ship does not stop when signalled, two rounds of blank are to be fired, one after the other; and, if necessary, a live[Pg 19] shell across her bows. If the vessel does not then bring to, or offers resistance, the commander will compel her to stop.”

No excuse can be made for the German commanders, in view of these regulations. Their Government ordered them to behave in the manner demanded by the honour of the German Empire, and in accordance with international law and German interests. Their conduct has shown the world the meaning of the word “honour,” as understood within the German Empire. For international law, of course, they have never attempted to show the slightest respect; but it is possible that they really believed they were serving German interests by behaving as bloodthirsty pirates. The mad doctrine of “frightfulness” which has been preached to Young Germany from a thousand pulpits and in a thousand schools all over the Central Empire, has killed all sense of morality in the modern Teuton. The German thinks he can terrorise the world by acts of mere savagery: this is the deadly error which has cut his country off from the civilised nations of the globe.

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THE PIRATE AS MURDERER.
A Selection of Cases.

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Chapter II.
THE PIRATE AS MURDERER.

“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[Pg 22] 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.

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“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.

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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[Pg 25] 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[Pg 26] 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[Pg 27] 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[Pg 28] 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[Pg 29] 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[Pg 30] 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[Pg 31] 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.[Pg 32] 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[Pg 33] 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[Pg 34] 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[Pg 35] 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.

[Pg 36]

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[Pg 37] 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.

[Pg 38]

“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[Pg 39] 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[Pg 40] 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[Pg 41] 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[Pg 42] 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[Pg 43] 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[Pg 44] 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,[Pg 45] 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?

[Pg 46]

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[Pg 47] 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.

[Pg 48]

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,[Pg 49] 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[Pg 50] 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[Pg 51] 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[Pg 52] 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[Pg 53] 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[Pg 54] 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[Pg 55] 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 deliber[Pg 56]ately 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[Pg 57] 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[Pg 58] 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[Pg 59] 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[Pg 60] 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[Pg 61] “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[Pg 62] 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.[Pg 63] 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[Pg 64] 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.

[Pg 65]

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[Pg 66] 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[Pg 67] 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—[Pg 68]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.

[Pg 69]

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[Pg 70] 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[Pg 71] 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[Pg 72] 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.

[Pg 73]

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[Pg 74] 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[Pg 75] 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.

[Pg 76]

THE PIRATE AS BARBARIAN.
A Selection of Cases.

[Pg 77]

Chapter III.
THE PIRATE AS BARBARIAN.

“We Germans represent the latest and highest achievement of European Kultur.”[D]—Professor A. Lasson.

On the 25th November, 1914, the British Admiralty announced that on 26th October, 1914, the French passenger steamer Amiral Ganteaume, while on passage from Calais to Havre with upwards of 2,000 unarmed refugees, including a very large proportion of women and children on board, was torpedoed. By pure chance and the greatest good fortune, the British steamship Queen was within a short distance of the Amiral Ganteaume, and succeeded in rescuing most of the passengers, only about 40 being killed. Subsequent examination of one of the vessel’s damaged life-boats led to the discovery of a fragment of a German torpedo. The Admiralty announcement concluded:—

“This action of destroying with aim and deliberation in broad daylight a defenceless passenger ship, full of refugees, is on the whole the best specimen of German methods yet recorded.”

[Pg 78]

On the 10th April, 1915, at 9.55 a.m., the Belgian relief-ship Harpalyce was torpedoed without warning 26 miles from land. At the time of the attack the vessel was flying the Belgian Relief Commission’s flag and displaying screens on both sides, marked: “Commission Belgian Relief, Rotterdam,” in letters 2½ feet high. The ship had also been granted a safe conduct by the German consul at the Hague. After being struck she went down by the stern and sank in five minutes. Seventeen of the crew, including the master, were lost. As the ship sank, the third officer saw the periscope of a submarine going away to the northward.

The liner Lusitania was 30,395 tons gross register; she carried 1,257 passengers, and a crew of 702, making a total of 1,959 persons on board. Of the passengers 688 were men, 440 women, and 129 children. When 11 miles from land on the 17th May, 1915, at 2.15 p.m., the ship was struck on the starboard side, almost simultaneously, by two torpedoes, while a third, which missed the ship, was fired at her port side shortly afterwards.

On being struck, the vessel took a heavy list to starboard. This made it impossible to launch the port side boats properly, and[Pg 79] rendered it very difficult for the passengers to get into the starboard boats, which were thrown too far outboard. The port boats, of course, came inboard, and some of them, catching on the rail, were capsized.

Those which did reach the water were seriously damaged and leaking. The ship sank in less than twenty minutes after being struck, and 1,198 men, women, and children were consequently drowned.

Perhaps the most effective comment upon the destruction of the Lusitania may be found in the German Naval Prize Regulations. This is Article 116:—

“Before the destruction of a vessel, all persons on board are to be placed in safety, with their goods and chattels, if possible, and all ship’s papers and other relevant documents which, in the opinion of the parties interested, are of value for the decision of the Prize Court are to be taken over by the commander.”

The American protest against the sinking of the Lusitania was answered by the German Note of 8th July, 1915, extracts from which are here given:—

“The Imperial Government learned with satisfaction how earnestly the Government of the[Pg 80] United States is concerned in seeing that the principles of humanity are realised in the present war. This appeal also finds a ready echo in Germany, and the Imperial Government is quite willing to permit its statements and decisions in the present case to be governed by the principles of humanity, just as it has always done.... Germany has always been tenacious of the principle that war should be conducted against the armed and organised forces of an enemy country but that the enemy civilian population must be spared as far as possible from the measures of war.... If the commander of the submarine which destroyed the Lusitania had caused the crew and passengers to take to the boats before firing a torpedo this would have meant the certain destruction of his own vessel.... It was to be expected that a mighty ship like the Lusitania would remain above water long enough, even after the torpedoing of the vessel, to permit the passengers to enter the ship’s boats. Circumstances of a very peculiar kind, especially the presence on board of large quantities of highly-explosive materials, defeated this expectation. In addition, it may be pointed out that if the Lusitania had been spared thousands of cases of ammunition would have been sent to Germany’s[Pg 81] enemies, and thereby thousands of German mothers and children would have been robbed of their bread-winners.... The Imperial Government will always be ready to do all it can in the present war to prevent the jeopardising of the lives of American citizens. The Imperial Government, therefore, repeats its assurances that American ships will not be hindered in the prosecution of legitimate shipping, and that the lives of American citizens on neutral vessels shall not be placed in jeopardy.”

On the 1st September, 1915, Count Bernstorff handed the following written communication to Mr. Lansing:—

“My dear Secretary,

“In reference to our conversation of this day, I beg to inform you that my instructions concerning our answer to your last Lusitania Note contain the following passage: ‘Liners will not be sunk by submarines without warning, and without ensuring the safety of the lives of non-combatants, provided that the liners do not try to escape or offer resistance.’”

The passenger steamer Arabic, a vessel of 15,801 tons gross register, was outward bound to America on the 19th August, 1915, when at 9.30 a.m. she was torpedoed without warning, being then[Pg 82] 45 miles from land. She carried 176 passengers and 261 crew, 437 in all. The submarine appears to have been hiding behind a steamer, which had been stopped and was then sinking. While hidden thus, the U-boat submerged and headed for the Arabic, which she torpedoed before anyone on board had become aware of her presence. The force of the explosion blew one of the boats into the air and disabled the wireless telegraphy apparatus. The ship sank in about 10 minutes. Thanks to the good seamanship and courage of her officers and crew, 390 persons were embarked in the boats before the vessel went down, only 47 lives being lost. As soon as the torpedo had been discharged the periscope of the submarine disappeared.

With regard to the sinking of the Arabic, Count Bernstorff sent the following communication to Mr. Lansing:—

“Prompted by the desire to reach a satisfactory agreement with regard to the Arabic incident, my Government has given me the following instructions:—

“The orders issued by His Imperial Majesty to the commanders of German submarines, of which I have notified you on a previous occasion, have been[Pg 83] made so stringent that a recurrence of incidents similar to that of the Arabic case is considered out of the question. According to the report of Commander Schneider of the submarine which sank the Arabic, Commander Schneider is convinced that the Arabic intended to ram his submarine. On the other hand, the Imperial Government does not doubt the good faith of the affidavit of the British officers in the Arabic, according to which the Arabic did not intend to ram the submarine.

“The attack of the submarine was undertaken against the instructions issued to the commander. The Imperial Government regrets and disavows this act, and has notified Commander Schneider accordingly.

“In these circumstances my Government is prepared to pay an indemnity for the American lives which, to its deep regret, have been lost in the Arabic. I am authorised to negotiate with you about the amount of this indemnity.”

The statement of Commander Schneider that he thought the Arabic would ram him cannot be accepted. If it were true, the ship would have been struck in her fore part. This, as Colonel Concannon, of the White Star Line, has pointed out, was not the case. The Arabic was struck aft. No effort was made to ram the submarine, for it was not seen, and no attempt was made to escape for the same reason. No guns were mounted on the Arabic.

[Pg 84]

The Ashmore was a Belgian Relief ship. She had a crew of 28 hands and was carrying a cargo of maize from Rosario to the Belgian Relief Commission, Rotterdam. In accordance with the regulations agreed upon between the German Government and the Relief Commission, the Ashmore was flying flags, had two very large balls hoisted, and the words: “Commission for Relief in Belgium” painted in very large letters on her sides.

On the 12th September at 8.30 a.m. the weather was fine and clear and the sea smooth, the ship then being about 3½ miles E. by N. from the Kentish Knock. Most of the crew were at breakfast, while the boatswain and chief engineer were patrolling the after-deck. Both men were in the act of turning round, the boatswain to starboard and the engineer to port, when the former saw a streak in the water at close quarters to amidships. Before the boatswain could give the alarm a terrible explosion took place. A volume of smoke, coal dust and water was driven up through the engine-room skylight and the starboard side of the vessel, which immediately began to heel over to starboard. The two boats were launched and manned, but the second engineer, donkeyman, and two firemen were never seen again, and must[Pg 85] have been killed by the explosion. The Ashmore sank at about 9 a.m.

The two boats were picked up about the same time, and the survivors were landed at Chatham. In connection with this sinking, the following message was sent by the American Ambassador in London to the Secretary of State at Washington:—

“The Admiralty has confirmed to the Commission for the Relief of Belgium the sinking of the Relief-ship Ashmore yesterday. Four of the crew are missing. The ship had a cargo of maize which the Commission had bought afloat. The captain now in London informs the Commission that the ship was torpedoed, that he saw no submarine, but plainly saw the torpedo coming towards the ship, and that the Commission’s signals had been put up. This is, of course, in violation of the German Government’s agreement with the Commission.”

At 1.10 p.m. on the 30th December, 1915, the s.s. Persia was torpedoed without warning when 40 miles from land. The second officer, in charge on the bridge, saw the wake of an approaching torpedo on the port bow, and a moment later there was a violent explosion. This was followed by a second explosion, which, in the opinion of the chief and second officers, was caused by the bursting of a boiler. The vessel at once listed[Pg 86] over to the port side and went down in five minutes. No boats on the starboard side could be launched owing to the list, and several on the port side were swamped, torn away, or capsized, owing to the way which was still on the ship. One port-side boat had been smashed by the explosion, another was pressed under water by the davits, as the ship rolled over to port. Only five boats got away, 213 of the crew and 120 passengers losing their lives, through the explosion or by drowning. Four over-loaded boats were adrift for 30 hours before being picked up by a mine-sweeper. The fifth boat, which had been damaged, capsized several times, and contained only 11 survivors when picked up at 8 p.m. on the 31st by another steamer.

The upshot of the Persia affair was that Count Bernstorff submitted an official memorandum to the United States Government, stating that Germany proposed to conduct her submarine campaign according to the rules of international law. The Germans admitted that it was possible that a German submarine sank the Persia, and promised that, if this were so, the guilty captain would be punished.

The Euphrates was a Belgium Relief ship which left Rotterdam in January, 1917, bound for Sandy Hook in ballast. She was provided with a[Pg 87] German safe conduct at Rotterdam to cover her voyage back to the States. She flew the Belgian flag aft, and exhibited the Relief Commission’s signals by day and night. In daylight these consisted of a white square flag, bearing in the centre the words “Belgian Relief Commission” in red letters, a white pennant with the same words in the centre, also in red letters, and a ball painted with red and white vertical stripes above distinguishing flags, all at the foremast. At night the words “Belgian s.s. Euphrates, Relief Commission, Rotterdam,” brilliantly illuminated in large letters, extended from about amidships, on both sides, to the stern.

At 8 o’clock in the morning of 22nd January, 1917, the weather was clear, with a smooth sea and hardly any wind. A man named Somers was on deck at the time, and swears that the ship was displaying the daylight signals already described. At 8.30 a violent explosion occurred, and the ship began to sink rapidly by the stern. The crew were ordered on deck, but a second explosion threw them all into the sea. One boat was smashed to pieces while afloat, the others went down with the ship.

Somers and some others clung to the smashed boat but afterwards Somers and[Pg 88] the boatswain swam after some hatches and managed to climb on one. At about 3 p.m. Somers lost sight of the boatswain. At about 9.30 p.m. Somers was picked up by a boat from the British steamer Trevean, which had been sunk soon after the Euphrates. Some of the men in the boat told Somers that they had seen the Relief ship sunk, but the Germans prevented them from rendering any assistance. Somers was the sole survivor out of a crew of 33.

At the end of January, 1917, the German Government issued its Note on the subject of unrestricted submarine warfare. This document pointed out that the attempt of the Central Powers to bring about peace had failed “on account of the lust of conquest of their adversaries.” For this reason “the Imperial Government must now continue the war for existence once more forced upon it by using its weapons. The Imperial Government is, therefore, forced to do away with the restrictions hitherto imposed upon the use of its fighting forces at sea.”

Neutral ships plying within the new barred zones were informed that they would do so at their own risk, although precautions would be taken to protect neutral ships which sailed thither prior to the 1st February. In a[Pg 89] Note to the United States, Germany declared that she must abandon the limitations which had hitherto governed the employment of her weapons at sea, and added: “Neutral ships which are lying in harbours in the barred zones can with security still leave the barred zones if they depart before 5th February, and take the shortest route to a free zone.”

In the middle of February, 1917, Berlin issued an official telegram explaining that the period of grace for neutral steamers whom news of the blockade could not reach in time elapsed on the night of the 12th February as regards the zone in the Atlantic and English Channel. For the North Sea the period of grace expired on the night of the 6th February, and for the Mediterranean on the night of the 10th. This telegram concluded: “It is expressly stated that all the news spread from the enemy side regarding torpedoing without previous warning of neutral ships before the dates mentioned for the various blockaded zones is incorrect. The periods of grace mentioned were also in force for enemy passenger vessels, because it was possible that on them were neutral passengers who were perhaps without knowledge of the sea blockade.”

[Pg 90]

The Danish vessel Lars Kruse was a Belgian Relief steamer, which in February, 1917, was carrying a cargo of grain from Buenos Ayres to Rotterdam for the Belgian Relief Commission. She bore the neutral Commission’s flags and markings, as described in the case of the Euphrates; and it must also be remembered that the German authorities in the United States had stated specifically that they did not mean to interfere with Relief ships. Nevertheless, at 10 p.m. on the 3rd February, when 16 miles off Ushant, the Lars Kruse was torpedoed without warning, her crew of 18 being all drowned, except the chief engineer.

On the 27th March, 1917, the British steamer Thracia was 10 miles N.N.E. of Belle Isle, travelling at a speed of 7 knots, the time being 8.15 p.m. She was suddenly torpedoed without warning by a German submarine, being struck forward of the stokehold. The explosion burst her boilers, killing an engineer, a greaser, and two firemen. Immediately after the explosion the steamer went down by the head to starboard before any attempt could be made to lower the boats. Her crew of 38 all perished, except two men, one of whom, Douglas V. Duff, acting fourth officer, has described his experiences.

[Pg 91]

Duff went down with the ship, and on coming to the surface, swam to an upturned boat—the starboard life-boat, which had had her stern blown off. Seven other men clambered on to her, two of whom had been severely wounded. Both these men were soon washed off the boat. Three of the remaining six slipped back into the sea, in order to swim to a steamer which was visible about a mile away; but a few minutes afterwards the steamer went away. The three men did not return. There were now two other men on the boat besides Duff, and although he did not actually see them go, there is no doubt that they were both washed away by the sea.

At about 11 p.m. a black object came into view, and Duff was hailed in English by the German commander, who asked what ship he had sunk, where she was from, and what was her destination. Duff answered all the questions. The commander then said, “I am going to shoot you.” Duff told him to shoot away; but the commander replied that he would not waste powder on a pig of an Englishman, and added, “Drown, you swine! Drown!” The submarine then disappeared. At 10.30 next morning Duff was picked up by a French fishing-boat, and afterwards transferred to a French torpedo-boat. The only other[Pg 92] survivor was picked up by a Norwegian steamer, the Nordborg, and landed at Barry.

In the evening of the 17th April the hospital ship Lanfranc and s.s. Donegal were transporting wounded across the Channel. The Lanfranc carried 234 wounded British officers and men, 167 wounded German prisoners, a medical personnel of 52, and a crew of 123. The s.s. Donegal carried a number of slightly wounded, all of whom were British. Between 7 and 8 p.m. both ships were torpedoed without warning.

The Germans on board the Lanfranc at once made a rush for the boats. They managed to launch one, but it was overloaded and swamped. The British soldiers stood to attention and behaved with great coolness, as also did the medical staff and crew. As a result of the outrage two wounded British officers and 11 other ranks were drowned, as well as one of the R.A.M.C. and five of the crew. Of the Germans, two wounded officers and 13 other ranks were drowned. The casualties in the Donegal amounted to 41.

This outrageous German crime was the sequel to a series of accusations by the Berlin Government to the effect that Great Britain was misusing her hospital ships. The evidence produced by the Germans in support of their assertions proved[Pg 93] to be of a flimsy and wholly untrustworthy character, as the following examples taken from the British Government White Paper, Miscellaneous, No. 16 (1917), will show.

A man named Alexander Buttler, of Hamburg, swore that he had sailed in the s.s. Escaut from Brooklyn to La Rochelle, where he arrived about the middle of July, 1915. There he saw a British hospital ship being loaded with munitions from the Escaut, which carried no cargo but munitions of war: The reply of the British Government was as follows:—“No British hospital ship was at La Rochelle during July, 1915. All British hospital ships have their names painted distinctly on them in the usual place, and all fly the Red Cross flag and the British defaced Blue Ensign worn by transports. The credibility of the witness may be judged from the fact that the log of the steamship Escaut, on which he claims to have been serving, shows that that vessel called neither at La Rochelle nor at La Pallice in June, July or August, 1915, and that she was fitted at the time for the transport of horses. He cannot have been in a position to know that the ship on which he served, if his story is not entirely fabricated, carried no cargo but munitions of war.”

Another witness is thus described by the[Pg 94] German Government:—“... merchant, a Dutch subject, living at Rotterdam,” ... declared that he was at Cardiff on business from the beginning of December to the end of January, 1916. About the middle of December the hospital ship Formosa arrived, was docked and took in coal and a number of cases. On the 29th December about 300 infantrymen in marching order were taken on board, besides about 50 naval officers who went on board on the 1st January, the date of departure. He adds: “I can confidently assert that the soldiers and the 50 naval officers sailed with her.”

To this the British Government replied:—“The witness’s statement that the Formosa arrived at Cardiff about the middle of December is incorrect. She was at Belfast from the 16th November to the 30th December, 1915, and did not arrive at Cardiff till the 2nd January, 1916. His statement that she left Cardiff in the night of the 1st and 2nd January is therefore also incorrect. It is, moreover, contradicted by the witness cited by the German Government in Annex 14, who states that the Formosa was still at Cardiff on the 7th January. She actually left Cardiff for the Mediterranean on the 13th January with no passengers on board.”

[Pg 95]

It was on the strength of such trumped-up evidence as this that Germany decided to commit the crowning inhumanity of sinking hospital ships. In all probability, she was judging others by her own standards, and, knowing that in Britain’s position she would not have hesitated to misuse hospital ships, she came to the conclusion that the British Government was doing so. Her unfounded charges were denied. In a despatch dated 5th October, 1917, Mr. Balfour stated:—“His Majesty’s Government have already issued the most categorical denial of the assertions of the German Government that British hospital ships have ever been used except in accordance with the provisions of the Hague Convention.”

However, Germany was not to be deterred from her new path of atrocious crime, and so we find 75 men murdered through the sinking of the Donegal and the hospital ship Lanfranc, 15 of the victims being Germans.

The s.s. Addah left America, homeward bound, on the 1st June, 1917. All went well until the 15th June, when a loud explosion was heard on the port side, and the ship began to settle down very quickly. The wireless was put out of action, and the master gave the order to abandon ship,[Pg 96] which was carried out with the two boats. Ten minutes later the chief officer saw the periscope of a submarine, and then her hull, about a point on the starboard bow. From this position the submarine fired several shots, hitting the vessel seven times. She then came alongside the chief officer’s boat, which was entered by five Germans. They boarded the steamer and returned with some stores and the ensign. After they had been rowed back to the submarine, the Germans told the chief officer’s boat to shove off.

Meanwhile the master’s boat, which had been badly smashed by a shell, was about 350 yards away. The submarine now opened fire with common shrapnel, taking the stern of the master’s boat right off and killing eight men. Having sunk the boat in this way, the submarine shelled her crew as they were swimming about in the water, still with shrapnel. Apparently under the impression that he had wiped out the unfortunate men, the submarine commander next opened fire on the chief officer’s boat. He fired eight shrapnel shells, and succeeded in holing the boat, breaking the oars, and slightly wounding several men. Fortunately, no one was killed this time. The submarine then proceeded in a northwesterly direction on the surface. The master[Pg 97] and the survivors from his boat were taken on board the chief officer’s boat, which was eventually picked up by a French patrol steamer on the 16th June.

On the morning of the 15th July, 1917, at about 3 o’clock the steamer Mariston was struck by a torpedo. Just afterwards there was a second explosion, which destroyed all the midship cabins, and the vessel began to sink rapidly. When she had gone down, a large black submarine came to the surface; an officer opened a trap-door in her conning-tower and watched the survivors struggling in the water. The unfortunate men called to him for help, but he ignored their appeals, although there were no other ships in sight at the time and he could have rescued them without any danger to himself.

There were about 18 men struggling in the water, and while the U-boat commander watched, he saw them dragged down one after another. A shoal of sharks had attacked them, and every man except the cook suffered this terrible death. Meanwhile the German had submerged, leaving them to their fate.

The cook, who escaped, remained in the water for 15 hours, being picked up by a British merchantman at about 6.30 p.m. that day.

[Pg 98]

The master of the Swedish steamer Vanland reports that he was attacked by a German submarine at 6.45 p.m. on the 23rd July, 1917. He was 4 miles from the shore at that time, and at once made for land on a zig-zag course. The U-boat chased him, firing continually. Seven shells hit the hull of his vessel, and 20 hit the deck cargo aft, while the port life-boat was carried away and the davits of the starboard life-boat were broken.

Directly the steamer took the ground her master and crew embarked in the starboard life-boat; but when 100 yards from their ship, the Germans opened fire on them with a machine-gun and wounded the second mate. The submarine then torpedoed the Vanland and submerged. Altogether 46 shells were fired by the Germans, in addition to the machine-gun fire directed against the life-boat.

At about 7.50 p.m. on Thursday, 31st July, 1917, the steamer Belgian Prince was travelling at 10 knots an hour, when the wake of a torpedo was seen upon the port beam. Her helm was at once put hard over, but she was struck between the after part of the engine-room and No. 5 hold. Her main engines and also her dynamo were disabled, so that the wireless became useless and[Pg 99] no S.O.S. signal could be sent out. The ship took a very heavy list to port, and the crew proceeded to get into their life-boats. Two of these and one small boat were launched, and all hands were safely embarked in them.

When the boats were clear of the ship a German submarine came to the surface, and, approaching the boats, ordered them alongside. All the officers and crew were transferred to the submarine, the master being taken below. The Germans were very abusive, and, after searching their prisoners, ordered them to take off their life-belts. These were placed on the deck of the submarine, and one of the German officers proceeded to throw most of them into the sea.

Five German sailors now entered the small boat and rowed her back to the Belgian Prince. Other Germans entered the two life-boats, threw the oars, balers, and gratings overboard; took out the provisions and compasses, and then smashed the boats with an axe.

The Germans who had boarded the Belgian Prince now signalled to their comrades with a flash lamp; the submarine cast off the broken life-boats and steered away to the eastward. It was about 9 p.m., and the crew of the Belgian Prince were still standing on the deck of the[Pg 100] submarine, most of them without their life-belts. The submarine stopped. Slowly she began to sink. Then, quite suddenly, she submerged.

W. Snell, second cook of the Belgian Prince, was standing with his shipmates, but he was more fortunate than most of them, because he had managed to pick up his life-belt and put it on under his rain-coat without being observed by the Germans. When he felt the water rising over his feet as the submarine went down, he jumped into the sea; and he says that his companions did the same. Snell remained in the water all night, and was picked up at about 7.30 a.m. next day in a very exhausted condition.

Thomas Bowman, chief engineer, was also in the water all night. He struck out in the direction of the Belgian Prince and at daylight next morning he sighted her still afloat. At about 5.30 a.m. he saw her explode and go down. An hour later he was picked up by a British patrol-boat.

George Silessi, A.B., was the only other survivor out of a crew of 42.

Such are the circumstances that accompanied the sinking of the Belgian Prince, and one looks in vain for any fact that can excuse the conduct of the Germans. They appear to have carried[Pg 101] out their work with the sole object of taking as many lives as possible. To understand the out-look of such men is impossible. What was at the back of their minds when they dismantled and destroyed the life-boats? What satisfaction could they derive from the fact that their prisoners had no life-belts? These belts, it will be noticed, were thrown overboard by a German officer. What is to be said of the submarine commander who allowed such conduct? Here was a responsible officer who ordered his craft to submerge, when he knew perfectly well that most of the 38 men outside on deck were without any means of saving their lives. Imagination boggles at the cold-blooded cruelty of the deed.

[Pg 102]

THE PIRATE AND NEUTRALS.
A Selection of Cases.

[Pg 103]

Chapter IV.
THE PIRATE AND NEUTRALS.

“The German soul is God’s soul: it shall and will rule over mankind.”[E]—Pastor W. Lehmann.

The German Naval Prize Regulations naturally contain instructions for the guidance of German naval officers whose duty brings them into contact with neutral shipping. Thus, Article 81 directs that—“In stopping and searching a vessel under a neutral flag the commander must avoid, as far as possible, diverting her from her route. He will in general endeavour to cause the vessel as little inconvenience as possible. Especially in no circumstances may he require the master to come on board the warship or to send a boat, members of the crew, the ship’s papers, &c.”

Here is Article 82:—“If the commander wishes to stop a ship he must summon her to stop by signal and by sounding the siren. At the latest, ensign and pendant are to be shown simultaneously with this signal; by night the ensign is to be illuminated. During the chase it is not[Pg 104] necessary to show the war flag, any mercantile flag may be flown.”

Article 113 states that—“A commander is only justified in destroying a neutral ship ... for carrying contraband ... for breach of blockade, or for unneutral service” if bringing her into port “might expose the warship to danger or imperil the success of the operations in which she is engaged at the time.”

Germany’s outrageous conduct with regard to neutral shipping dates back to 1915. Indeed, a book could be filled entirely with instances similar to the small selection here collected. German regulations, international law, and the dictates of common humanity have been freely disregarded by the German submarine service almost from the beginning of the war. There can be no doubt that the Imperial German Government speaks with one voice to the world and with another voice to its submariners, whose deeds show what kind of orders they receive from Berlin.

The Portuguese steamship Douro was bound for Oporto on the 3rd April, 1915, when at 3 p.m. she was torpedoed without warning. She began to sink rapidly, and at 4.30 p.m. the master and crew left the ship in their life-boat. Half-an-hour later the Douro went down. At 9 a.m. next day[Pg 105] the life-boat reached Helwick Lightship, and at 4 p.m. that day the master and crew were taken off by the steamer Tudwall and brought to Swansea.

On the 14th April, 1915, the Swedish steamer Folke was 52 miles from Peterhead at 10 p.m., en route to Farne Island from Stavanger. Suddenly there was a big explosion under the stern of the ship; the propeller was blown off; and wooden pit-props in the cargo were sent flying through the air in all directions. The crew took to the boats, and after leaving the ship, the master, Captain Ohlssen, heard the noise of a submarine’s motor twice, first on one side of his boat, then on the other. He recognised the sound, having on several previous occasions seen submarines under way. The Folke remained afloat for about 2½ hours. There were no casualties.

On the 15th April, 1915, the Dutch steamer Katwijk, while on voyage from Baltimore to Rotterdam, was torpedoed by a German submarine. She carried a cargo of grain for the Dutch Government, and was lying at anchor 7 miles west of the North Hinder at the time of the outrage. A fire broke out soon after the explosion of the torpedo, and the vessel sank in 20 minutes. There were no casualties.

On the 19th April, our Minister at the[Pg 106] Hague sent the following message to the British Foreign Office: “Minister for Foreign Affairs told French Minister to-day that German Foreign Office admitted to Netherlands Minister at Berlin that it was a German submarine which sank the Katwijk, and added that it was an unfortunate accident.” On the 20th April the German Government informed the Netherlands Minister that they would make enquiries, and, if proved that it was a German submarine, they would express their regret and indemnify the Netherlands Government for their loss. On the very same day, 20th April, the following was included in the German official wireless news: “The special Rotterdam correspondent of the Deutsche Tageszeitung reports that the description of the boat which torpedoed the Katwijk, and the behaviour of the crew, lead one to believe that the vessel was of English nationality.” On the 10th May our Minister at the Hague communicated this message to the British Foreign Office: “Netherlands Minister for Foreign Affairs tells me that he has just heard from Berlin that German Government acknowledge that Katwijk was torpedoed by a German submarine. German Government fully apologise for the mistake and promise an ample indemnity.”

[Pg 107]

It seems probable that the German Government had a shrewd suspicion that it was one of their own submarines which sank the Katwijk, even as early as the 19th April. However, this did not prevent them from sending out broadcast in their official wireless news on the 20th a strong suggestion that a British submarine was responsible—a little illustration of German official methods.

The American oil-tank steamer Gulflight was torpedoed without warning off the Scilly Islands at 12.50 p.m. on the 2nd May, 1915. One seaman and the wireless operator were drowned, while the master died soon afterwards from shock. The remaining 35 members of the crew were saved. The submarine remained on the surface for three minutes after discharging the first torpedo; then submerged, and 25 minutes later struck the vessel with a second torpedo.

On the 25th May, 1915, the American steamer Nebraskan was 50 miles W.S.W. from the Fastnet Rock. The sea was smooth and the weather calm, but at about 9 p.m. she was torpedoed without warning by a German submarine. The crew took to their boats and, after standing by the ship for an hour, returned on board, and at 10.30 started for Liverpool. At about 1.25 a.m. they[Pg 108] met with two vessels sent by the British Admiralty in answer to a wireless call, and Liverpool was reached in safety.

The Betty was a Danish schooner, carrying a cargo of coal and coke to Copenhagen. At noon on the 25th May, 1915, in fine weather, when 132 miles from the Farne Islands, a torpedo was seen rapidly approaching the ship. She was struck between No. 3 hold and the engine-room on the port side, after which no further sign of the submarine was seen. The Betty listed heavily to port; both life-boats were swung out and manned. While the boats were standing by, a Swedish vessel, the Waldemar, of Stockholm, appeared on the scene and picked up the crew.

The Svein Jarl was a Norwegian steamship, which on the 9th June, 1915, was on a voyage from Warkworth to a port in East Finmark. Suddenly a submarine bearing no flag or sign of nationality was seen approaching at full speed. The submarine turned sharply, and a few moments later the steamer was struck by a torpedo. The force of the explosion threw the crew into the sea, their ship going down within 30 seconds. A Dutch fishing-boat picked up the master and three men and landed them five days later at Scheveningen; but 12 of the crew were lost.

[Pg 109]

The Norwegian steamer Rym was torpedoed without warning by a German submarine at 7.26 p.m. on the 14th July, 1915, the weather being fine and clear, with a choppy sea. The master had just gone below when an explosion occurred which knocked him senseless for several moments. The second engineer was killed in the engine-room, and the ship sank in three minutes. The mate saw the periscope of a submarine immediately after the explosion.

On the 18th August, 1915, the Norwegian schooner Magda was torpedoed by a German submarine without warning. It was 11.35 p.m., the weather being fine. The ship had the Norwegian flag painted on her sides, which were brilliantly illuminated. A torpedo was suddenly seen coming towards the ship, which was struck just afterwards on the starboard side. After the explosion the Magda began to go down by the head, and the crew took to their boats. They were lucky enough to be picked up 20 minutes afterwards without casualty.

The Dutch steamer Tubantia was 4 miles west of the North Hinder on the evening of the 16th March, 1916. The ship was brilliantly lighted; two arc lamps projected beyond her sides, illuminating her name, which was painted on her[Pg 110] side in large letters. Two more lamps threw their light over the name on the stern of the vessel; while between her funnels an illuminated nameboard was suspended. There could be no possible doubt as to the identity and nationality of the Tubantia; but, all the same, she was torpedoed that night by a German submarine.

The Germans attempted to evade responsibility for the deed. On the 17th March Berlin sent this message to the German Embassy at Washington: “English mines, on account of their construction, frequently get loose and float, and, that being so, Tubantia most certainly struck and destroyed by English mine.” Unfortunately for Berlin, pieces of metal were found in two of the steamer’s boats, and these, the German Government were bound to admit, belonged to a German torpedo. A new official story was accordingly concocted by Berlin. In June the North German Gazette published the result of the German official investigation into the sinking of the Tubantia. The gist of the finding was that the Tubantia had been sunk by a floating German torpedo, which had been fired at and missed a British destroyer 10 days before.

To make this yarn more plausible, it was stated that the British destroyer had three funnels, that she was in company with two other destroyers, and[Pg 111] that there was a British submarine in the neighbourhood. To explain away the illegal use of torpedoes which float for 10 days after being discharged, it was pointed out that this might happen through some flaw in construction. Out of this cock-and-bull story one fact at least emerged clearly enough, namely, that the Dutch steamer had been destroyed by a German torpedo.

A Court of Enquiry was held in Holland, at which the evidence was carefully sifted. At this court both the fourth mate and the man in the crow’s nest swore to having seen the track of a torpedo coming towards the ship before she was struck. The court’s verdict was: “The evidence given by the said witnesses and experts, considered in all its bearings, proves that the explosion was caused by a torpedo, which at some distance, under an angle of six points, was launched by a torpedo-boat or a submarine, without any previous warning. This torpedo appears to have been a bronze Schwarzkopf torpedo, and was aimed at the Tubantia, there being no other ship near.”

The fact that the wake of a torpedo approaching the ship was seen by two men in the steamer proves that the German explanation about a floating torpedo was false. A floating torpedo[Pg 112] would, of course, make no track in the water. The whole case is a further exposure of German methods.

On the 3rd February the Norwegian sailing vessel Tamara fell in with a German submarine at 9.30 a.m. Although flying the Norwegian colours and bearing the name of the ship and her country painted on her side, this vessel was sunk by the U-boat. Before sinking her, the Germans searched the ship and carried away everything portable, including the clothes of the crew. The boats were picked up at 10 p.m. by a patrol vessel.

The Norwegian steamer Solbakken was sunk by a German submarine off Finisterre on the 4th February, 1917. One man was drowned and one died of the cold. Thirteen survivors were landed at Gijon.

A German submarine sighted the Peruvian barque Lorton on the 5th February, 1917, and at once opened fire at 3,000 yards. The Peruvian colours were hoisted, the ship was hove to, and the master proceeded in his boat to the submarine. He was questioned by a young officer who spoke very good English, and who seemed to know all about the Lorton. This officer told the master to return to his ship and bring back a German who was on board. Five of the sub[Pg 113]marine’s crew went back with him, and they found the German mate of the Lorton with his things all packed ready to be taken off. The Germans took the master’s watch, refused to return his papers, and sank his ship. The master is of opinion that his German mate had given certain information about the movements of the ship. The man sent a letter off from Colon.

On the 7th February the Swedish steamship Varing, bound from Savannah to Helsingborg, met with a German submarine. Although the steamer was hove to and hoisted the Swedish flag, the submarine continued firing for 20 minutes, her master counting 20 shells in that period. Her crew were allowed no time to save their personal belongings or to furnish the life-boats with provisions. The master made a strong protest against the methods of the submarine commander when he reached Helsingborg.

In fine weather and a calm sea the Greek steamship Aghios Spyridon was sunk without warning by a submerged U-boat at 1.5 a.m. on the 12th February, 1917. The vessel sank in a few seconds after being torpedoed, and the crew had but little chance of escape. Out of 21 men, 16 were lost, one Chilian and one Spaniard being amongst the killed. The survivors, who clung to floating[Pg 114] wreckage, were eventually picked up by a patrol-boat and landed at Penzance.

The Norwegian vessel Falls of Afton was at sea on the 20th February, 1917, with the Norwegian colours painted on her side. At nine o’clock in the morning, in hazy weather, a German submarine rose to the surface right ahead of the ship, waited till the vessel approached, then steered to starboard and lay about 4 cables distant. No other vessel was in sight. The Norwegian colours were hoisted, but the submarine fired three shots, one of which went through a sail. The ship was hove to and was abandoned by her crew, the Germans sinking her with bombs. No lives were lost, but a member of the crew, who had signed on as a Russian Finn, declared himself a German and was taken away in the submarine.

The Norwegian sailing vessel Mabella was sunk by a U-boat on the 1st March, 1917, although the Norwegian colours and ship’s name were hoisted directly the submarine was sighted. The vessel was sunk by gun-fire and two bombs. The Germans took the master’s chronometer, sextant, new oilskin coat, and three bags of stores.

On the same date the Norwegian steamer Gurre was torpedoed without warning, and sank in 30 seconds. Only three men were saved, and[Pg 115] among the drowned were two British ladies from Christiania.

The Danish steamer Rosborg was bound for Esbjerg from Baltimore with a cargo of 2,600 tons of maize for Eriksen and Christiensen. She was a neutral ship, flying neutral colours, but on the 3rd March, 1917, she was sunk by a German submarine.

The Norwegian sailing vessel Silas was sunk by a German submarine at 11.30 a.m. on the 8th March. The crew were given half-an-hour to get the boats clear, and there were no casualties.

At noon on the 12th March the Norwegian steamer Einar Jarl came under fire from a German submarine. A shell went through her coal-bunker and exploded, and while the boats were lowered the fire was continued. While the master was getting into the starboard boat a shell exploded, striking him in the shoulder, severely wounding two men, and putting 17 holes through his boat. About 20 shells were fired altogether, five of which hit the ship or boats. The crew were eventually picked up by a drifter.

The Norwegian sailing vessel Collingwood was sunk on the same day, and in the opinion of her skipper the submarine commander and part of his crew were drunk. It is probable that they[Pg 116] obtained champagne and cognac from the French ship Jules Gommes, which they had sunk about two hours before. At any rate, they refused to examine the Collingwood’s papers, although the skipper protested strongly, explaining that his ship was bound for Christiania. The vessel was sunk by bombs, and the crew were in their boats from 2.30 p.m. on the 12th March until 3 p.m. on the 15th March, when they were picked up and brought into Penzance.

On the 9th June, 1917, the Danish steamer Dana was sunk by a U-boat. She was abandoned at 3.30 p.m., four men being lost.

The master of the Norwegian steamer Helma, of Bergen, took his vessel to sea on the 12th June, 1917, and proceeded without misadventure until the 24th June, when a submarine opened fire on him. Boats were lowered, and the master rowed alongside the submarine. The Germans boarded this boat, threw her sails and gear overboard, and then proceeded to the Helma, returning with the ship’s provisions and papers. The Helma was sunk by bombs, and the Norwegians were turned adrift with hardly any provisions and no sails or gear. They remained at sea for three days before reaching safety.

[Pg 117]

Chapter V.
WHAT IS THE VERDICT?

“The German Government attaches no less importance to the sacred principles of humanity than the Government of the United States.”[F]

Can anything be said in extenuation of the German submariner?

Germany declares that she is fighting for her existence, and that unrestricted U-boat warfare is a necessity. Adopting for a moment the enemy’s point of view, we are still entitled to ask two questions, which can be answered by anyone who knows what has taken place.

In the first place, even if the necessity of unrestricted submarine warfare should be admitted, must it be attended by acts of savagery? Secondly, when a nation fights for its existence, is there any standard by which it can be judged, or does it stand outside all law, whether human or divine?

The exploits described in this book provide Germany’s answer to both these questions. That is why she stands condemned before the eyes of the world.

[Pg 118]

The German submarine commanders have proved by their deeds that they commit excesses from sheer love of cruelty, and not from any national necessity. Over and over again they have shelled defenceless seamen while abandoning ship, disregarded drowning men when rescue would have been easy, sunk ships at sight when a few minutes’ grace would have meant the saving of many lives. The security of Germany demanded none of these deeds. It is possible to carry out submarine warfare without barbarity; but the German submarine service appears deliberately to have chosen the methods of the barbarian.

Another damning point in the evidence here collected is that it stamps the whole German submarine service. The excesses described are not mere exceptions to the general rule of German submarine methods. They could be multiplied almost indefinitely; they cover every ocean in which the German U-boats have appeared; and they are not recent developments of sea-frightfulness, for they date back almost to the beginning of the war.

We have attempted to judge Germany by her own standards as far as possible, but the difficulty is to fix any standard upon which she orders her actions. The conclusion is irresistible. The[Pg 119] German submarine commander stands convicted upon evidence unassailable as a thief, a murderer, and a barbarian. If it could be argued that by committing these acts he was performing his work more efficiently, criticism would be to some extent disarmed; but no single ship went to the bottom more completely on account of the outrages of the U-boat commander who was responsible for her sinking. The acts of these men were mere asides, something in the nature of recreation to relieve the monotony of the submariner’s life. The impartial mind cannot escape from this conclusion.

Meanwhile, behind the sinister figure of the U-boat commander rises up the grim outline of the faithless Imperial German Government. This is the Government that declared she would not molest Belgian Relief ships, and then sent the Harpalyce, Ashmore, and Euphrates to the bottom without warning. This is the Government which has often declared that she respected the rights of neutrals, but has behaved to neutral shipping as a pirate denying all rights to others.

Finally, what of the possibilities opened up by the system under which the German Chargé d’Affaires at Buenos Ayres communicated with the Foreign Office in Berlin, sending cypher[Pg 120] telegrams which passed as Swedish official messages? “I beg that the small steamers Oran and Guazo, now nearing Bordeaux, may be spared, or else sunk without a trace being left,” he telegraphed on the 19th May, 1917. Precise information as to the position, cargo, and destination of a vessel often reaches the U-boat commander, and more than one very suggestive instance of this appears in these pages. On such an occasion, after the submarine has appeared, a certain member of the steamer’s crew announces that he is a German, and the U-boat commander takes the spy away with him. These sailor-spies sign on under the cloak of some neutral nationality.

Surely the members of the German Submarine Service stand convicted by their own deeds as unscrupulous pirates, with whom even savages might well hesitate to claim any fellowship. The verdict of civilised humanity has been pronounced against these men who have destroyed the Brotherhood of the Sea and horrified Civilisation.

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