A graphic and detailed history of the torpedoing of the
S.S. Tuscania has been written by Leo V. Zimmermann, Milwaukee, historian of the
National Tuscania Survivors Association.
It tells how the American troops boarded the ship at
Hoboken in January, 1918, describes the voyage, and contains the story of the
sinking off the coast of Ireland as written by Captain Wilhelm Meyer of the
U-77. It also describes the rescue work and contains stories, published in
Scottish newspapers of the time, telling of burials of the American soldiers who
lost their lives.
The history follows:
"Up at 4:30 a.m. to catch a troop train in which only
standing room was left. Thus we journeyed from Camp Merritt, at Dumont, New
Jersey, to Hoboken. The ferry Chautauqua took us to the Cunard Line dock where
are names were checked up as we boarded the transport Tuscania. The sides of our
vessel was camouflaged in wide Black and Grey angled lines. A derrick, loading
barracks bags, dropped a net full into the water, and we wondered who was
unlucky enough to have his amongst that lot. How little that mattered for this
ship, the last of the fleet, was bidding adieu to New York and was going out to
sea to meet the same fate that befell her sisters.
The ship's guttural whistle blew and orders were given to
go below deck, to hide the cargo of soldiers from prying spy's eyes. Then we
were again allowed to clamber up the hatchways, as the last vestige of land was
being obliterated in the Ocean mist. The liner scurried along the New England
coast; we thought our journey across had begun until unexpectedly the following
day on January 26th, we entered the harbor of Halifax, Canada.
Spruce trees dot the snow covered shore line. Through a
steel net, floating gateway we pass and now view the ruins of buildings
occasioned, December 6, 1917, when the 'Ioma,' a Belgian relief ship and the
'Mount Blanc,' an ammunition vessel in from New York, collided. About 1,500
people were killed. The Belgian ship was just bound out to sea, when it rammed
the American ammunition ship, which also carried a load of benzine on deck.
(Benzine is also known as petroleum ether.)
They haul the British flag up on the stern of the Tuscania,
and we cheer when a little launch goes by with an American flag at its stern.
The following day the thermometer registered about 20 degrees below zero. In the
afternoon, about 2 p.m. we set sail, and at 4 p.m. we formed in columns outside
the harbor with others, to make a convoy, Naval numbered HX-20. HMS Cochrane, an
English 2nd class cruiser, took the lead as escort. Up her signal flags were
hauled, triangular or square and varied in color. We watched the fleet assemble
and maneuver into position and wondered from where the rest had come so silently
and unannounced.
Fourteen vessels formed in five columns. The escort led the
XA (middle) lane, consisting of the Baltic, commodore ship, a passenger and
troopship. In its wake followed the Tuscania and then the USS Kanawha, that
doggedly hung at our stern (rear). She was a collier, bristling with guns as a
rear protection against sub attacks on the convoy. A supply ship for the U.S.
Navy, she also had aboard sailor recruits for the Navy at Scapa Flow. The WA
column on our port (left) side was made up of two cargo ships, one the Scotian
with Canadian troops aboard. The YA column consisted of three cattle boats,
further on the ZA line of three merchant ships and the outer line of three more.
In convoy, all ships are placed in parallel lines. Ours had
two, three, and four in a line. Six cable lengths apart and three cable lengths
between ships in a line. Of course this would vary from time to time according
to the capabilities of the slower vessels to keep up and hold a formation. The
larger and more important vessels are placed in the center lanes. A cruiser
leading all the way across as protection against German raiders, a destroyer
escort later forming an outer ring for protection against submarines.
Over each side at the bow (front) of the liner the
paravanes cut through the water. These are guardians against menacing mines and
could ward off these missiles of destruction by swerving it to the side, along a
cable and away from the ship to a steel knife, set there to cut it from its
floating mooring, when it would rise to the surface and be exploded by gunfire.
At the stern of our transport a rapid fire piece was mounted, with shells
standing about it, to us such grim reminders, of constant impending danger.
Some of the vessels were equipped with M-V sets. Theses are
composed of microphones set at different places on a boat to pick up underwater
sounds of submersibles. Their rotating propellers by being amplified can be
detected two miles away.
The British steamship Tuscania of 14,348 tons gross, under
the command of Captain Peter Alexander McLean and R. W. Smart, as chief officer,
was a passenger and freighter liner. She had below a number of compartments for
animals, which we now occupied. The rest of the cargo at this time consisted of
30 head of mules, supply wagons, boxes of bacon and airplane parts. Frequently
our mess consisted of a small portion of steam cooked unsalted potatoes, fish,
cheese or 'slum.' What appeared like bay leaves bathed in hot pipe water and
served in tin cups, comprised the drink.
Light calisthenics and an occasional lifeboat drill
constituted our exercises. On shipboard were the following units: Headquarters
company D, E, and F, Twentieth Engineers; 51 casual officers; 100th, 158th, and
213th Aero Squadrons; 107th Engineer Train, 107th Military Police, 107th Supply
Train; Medical Detachments No. 1 and 2, of the 32nd Division. This comprised in
all the compliment of 2,156 American soldiers, two British stewardesses and a
personnel of 237 officers and men in the crew.
The sea gulls had deserted us, even the porpoises appeared
rarely. In the evening the ships faded away in the enveloping gloom, like
phantoms on the horizon. The blue stern light on the Baltic alone discernable at
night beckoned us on. Above the deck it was quiet, except for the whistle of the
wind through the rigging and the incessant pounding and lashing of the salt sea
waves along the sides of the liner.
Into the warmth of the Gulf Stream we passed and entered
the submarine danger zone, where we perceived a tramp steamer on the starboard
(right) offing approaching and receding in the distance. In an admiring mood we
contemplated her pluck, in having safely crossed the ocean alone and
unprotected, now rewarded by this act of daring.
After a rainstorm a huge rainbow appeared; always elusive
for we never passed under its extended arches, resting upon the horizon, at
about one point on our starboard bow (right side -rear), to three points on our
port side (left).
At night we slept in our clothes, lifebelts hung at the
head of our bunks. All the ships were zigzagging, except a few like the oil
tanker astern that had difficulty in keeping up with the convoy.
It is a trail of a dark and fearsome cruise; one evening on
the horizon, appeared the silhouetted spector of a frigate on fire. It was but
the shape of a small cloud, that wreathed the rising red moon. A black banana
stalk floated by, just far enough away to make it seem a skeleton. I slung my
lifebelt to my waist, as into the storm we rode. It had hailed the day before,
and now the wind whistled past the creaking cabin walls. The steel ship dipped
deep and the waves pounded hard, as we tried to sleep in coffin shaped boxes, in
converted horse stalls.
At 7 a.m. February 4th, 1918, the convoy was joined by
eight British destroyers of the 4th flotilla, from the base at Lough Swilly,
Northern Ireland. HMS Cochrane the cruiser now taking the lead in column 'YA.'
Three destroyers, HMS Beagle, Savage and Grasshopper took position to starboard
of the convoy. HMS Grasshopper to the rear of this line. In front two, HMS Harpy
and Minos took position. To the port of the convoy, first in line was HMS
Badger, followed by HMS Pigeon, and next HMS Mosquito.
The following night we were awakened by the Tuscania
dropping into a deep trough of the sea. Excitement prevailed for a short time
until reassured it was not a torpedo.
The day of Tuesday February 5th, 1918, dawned with a sea
somewhat more calm, although still choppy but not so rough being under the lee
of the land. Partly cloudy and dark it continued with a strong Southern breeze
blowing. At about 4 p.m. we saw the first sight of land to port, the high cliff
shores of the Scotland coast. We are safe now, we thought, and the next morning
expected to arrive in the harbor of Liverpool. Then in the distance, to
starboard, a dark grey line lengthened itself on the horizon and formed the
shore of Ireland. We expected to pass it by, never realizing it possible to set
foot on its coast. With the coming of dusk the lighthouse on the point of the
Mull of Cantyre, cast its bright blinking beacon of light upon our eyes. A
welcome sight to us, tired of a long and wearisome ocean trip, but still to meet
a more sinister ordeal before we would again set foot on land and entirely
prohibited to those who lost their lives.
The last change of course was made at 6:40 p.m., a change
of 40 degrees to right or 20 degrees of base course was made. The speed was 12
knots, the ship appearing to fall back as if changing its course.
A few days previously, on the 29th of January, the German
UB-77 with Lieutenant Captain Wilhelm Meyer in command, had left Borkum,
Germany, standing to the North. January 31st, it encountered the German UB-86
likewise starting on a cruise to the North. The UB-77, then passes in sight of
Fair Island February 1st, then doubles the seaward of Rona Island, the Flannan
Islands February 2nd, and St. Kilds February 3rd. On February 4th like a huge
triangular iron file, she cuts the surface, bound in towards the North coast of
Ireland. On the 5th of February it arrives off the North Channel, where UB-97 is
also operating. About 5 p.m. it observes a large convoy escorted by destroyers
an maneuvers to place itself in position for attack.
The log of the UB-77 reveals, that in the early morning,
February 5th, she was obliged to dive on the appearance of destroyers out of the
darkness, proceeding away from the sound of their propellers. Her position at
the time 7:07 a.m., was in the North Channel. Latitude 55.3 North, Longitude 7.6
West. Sea 5-6 knots, wind from the South 4-5 knots. Later a steamer's propeller
was heard. The periscope was raised several times but only destroyers were
sighted. At 8:20 a.m. a 2000 ton vessel is sighted, approximate course was 145
degrees, angle on the bow 100 degrees to starboard, range 3000 meters (3279
yards). The attempt to reach the position ahead of her, fails. The submarine
constantly breaking surface, owing to the swell and destroyers are sighted in
vicinity of the steamer. The attack is therefore abandoned.
The UB-77 at 10:30 a.m. came to the surface and charges its
batteries. At 2:18 p.m. it had to make a quick dive to avoid patrol craft. At
3:05 p.m. it came to the surface and proceeded into the North Channel. Except
for the patrol craft to the Northwest, no patrols were seen. At 3:30 p.m. met
U-97.
British cruisers were suppose to be as thick as fish in
this region. Having given up hope of sighting prey in this area, Captain Meyer
decided to head for the entrance to the North Channel, intending to enter the
Irish Sea from the North.
Aboard the submarine, valves, manifolds, and hatches had
been secured hours before. Electric signals and orders were now given in rapid
succession. Scurrying feet added to the clang of metal. Each of the thirty five
members of the crew were at their particular stations and at alert, ready for
any emergency. Minutes of suspense and action. The electric motors had quieted
down to a purr. In the steel conning tower ringed by portholes of heavy glass
stood an officer. Directly below is the helmsman tensely steering his course by
the aid of a gyro compass. Next to him another sailor governs the motors. This
control room is a maze of levers, valves and switches. Further below stands
Captain Meyer peering into the main periscope, his hands on levers that swing,
raise and lower it. The navigating warrant officer is at the forward periscope.
A sailor stands at a bank of small valve wheels that control the compressed air
for the ballast tanks. Two more men stand at upright levers, ready to open the
ballast tanks for an inrush of sea water that will submerge the UB-77.
At the other side more men grasp large wheels, keeping
their eyes on depth gauges. Torpedoes weighing over 2000 lbs. lie ready to be
fired out of their tubes at the bow of the submarine. Officers in the control
room, handle their ejection by compressed air.
Ready and fire comes the command. A sudden jar shakes the
UB-77 and two torpedoes slither out almost simultaneously; their propellers
spinning but leaving little of a white trail as their set rudders hold them
under water, on their designated course towards the Tuscania.
More commands are given, 'blow the tanks' and the
underwater craft starts a running dive. At the portholes large chains of bubbles
flash by, the sea water turns dark grey, deep blue then black as the desired
depth is secured. In a few minutes the dive had been made then gradually
leveling itself, the submarine, at a speed of 7.8 knots, the limit of its
electric motors against the pressure of water, headed out to the open sea.
Away from the danger it sure must face to stay in that
locality. The officers who so intently watched their periscope, looked at 'time
pieces,' wonder and listen with nerves still on edge.
Lieutenant Captain Wilhelm Meyer relates:
"With surprise and trembling at 4:50 p.m. Feb. 5th in
the West I noticed heavy smoke clouds. Immediately the UB-77 was ordered
swung around. We hurried up towards these and soon made out a large convoy
that was steering in a Southeasterly direction, toward the North Channel,
evidently having taken the extreme North route across the Atlantic. Soon I
was able to detect a huge sea going fleet.
At the head of the convoy was a medium size steamer,
presumably acting as a barrage breaker or mine sweeper (Baltic), following
it was a large white painted vessel with two smoke stacks (Tuscania), behind
this one a large cruiser with four smoke stacks, resembling the Drake class
(Kanawha), and behind still, six to eight medium steamers in keel line, (one
back of another). The whole convoy being strongly guarded by destroyers.
I cruised above the water back and forth and in front
of the advancing transports, in order to determine the course and the speed
of the Tuscania; as also to work out a suitable method of attack, we then
awaited the convoy in attack position, holding a Northeasterly course, close
to Rathlin Island. The course of the convoy is 145 degrees, speed 12 knots.
At 6:05 p.m. I made up my mind to attack. Visibility was poor, as now
twilight had set in, I wish to make a water surface attack from the
starboard side. Going in a course 60 degrees, our range abeam estimated 1000
meters (1093 yards).
There was constant danger we might underestimate the
speed of the ships and be run down in their path as in the meanwhile the
vessels in the rear and a few destroyers, had set themselves out on the
starboard side of the large liner, beside which they now rode a parallel
course in a "dwarsline" (side by side). This formation surely made a U-boat
attack difficult. Our submarine was now directly in front of those ships,
set abreast of one another and the destroyers. I thought we had been
detected as we could easily be seen by them as there was still a good deal
of light. I therefore dived at 6:25 p.m. and thereby our visibility was
greatly made more difficult and I could perceive things only through the
periscope. Our course was now 80 degrees. The convoy 140 degrees. I had
taken a good look at the largest transport before submerging. My hands
trembled as I moved the sighting apparatus.
On account of darkness, I could, but with trouble, find
the Tuscania, upon which we had intentions. Our situation was somewhat
uncomfortable as the oncoming ships and destroyers could easily run us down.
The navigating warrant officer using the foremost periscope, is to observe
the approaching vessels on the port side, while I endeavor to pick up the
liner (Tuscania) with the main periscope. I only succeeded in doing so by
using magnification (sighting mirror) and after searching for a long time.
Finally do I see gliding into the periscope, and
indistinct, fogged shadow, only until over this shadow, just as indistinct a
smoke stack makes its appearance, do I recognize the sought for ship.
Thereupon at 6:40 p.m. I fired Number 1 tube, which torpedo is aimed for
just abaft the second funnel and immediately after, the torpedo the torpedo
from Number 2 tube is released. They are G/7 torpedoes.
I had estimated a speed of 15 sea miles, the transport
was making but 12 knots. As I had however, somewhat drifted away from the
spot the ship would have, so the torpedo's must hit amidship.
At this moment a destroyer appears 150 meters (163
yards) away, and heads for the submarine. We dive 30 meters (98 feet), the
crew and I listening in suspense. One minute and ten seconds later a very
violent explosion is felt and told us that we had hit the target. This would
make the range 1200 meters (1312 yards). I consider that both torpedoes must
have detonated."
On the Tuscania no M-V sets had registered the approach of
a submarine. We saw nothing of the lurking German U-boat, which sighting our
convoy had stalked to shoot its missile of destruction. At 6:45 p.m., one of two
fired torpedo's struck, between the engine room and stoke hole on the starboard
side. These compartments were immediately filled by water and steam, the crew
there on watch being killed. The force of the explosion threw water and debris
up as high as the lifeboats, hanging by their davits, damaging a few, enough to
make them unfit for use.
At the time of being torpedoed, the Tuscania was
immediately wrapped in darkness. Speech to us onboard was muffled for a time in
fright. It felt like running into a sandbar, in addition to the roar of the
explosion, the crashing of steel and timbers as also the racket of scattered
breakables. In no uncertain terms, were we appraised of what had happened. So we
crowded to the deck.
Thus the Tuscania met her fatal blow, heeling over 8 to 10
degrees and swinging to starboard. This occurred seven miles North from the
Rathlin Ireland Light house, off the North Coast of Ireland, Latitude 55.22
North, Longitude 6.13 West.
The hatches were filled with soldiers adjusting lifebelts
as they scrambled up to the forward deck. With overcoats on, it made quite a
difficult task and some of us fell down on the slanting concrete floor. The
steps leading to the promenade deck were crowded with a slowly moving line.
Others were clambering up ropes dangling near.
No bugle call had been sounded nor any warning of impending
danger given. The submarine unperceived had maneuvered into position between our
'ZA' column of ships and the outer starboard guard of destroyers and fired just
as twilight began to shroud the sea in gloom. The other vessels, put on full
speed ahead, to leave us to our fate. (A naval ruling rather than a desire) The
USS Kanawha skirted our starboard, firing its aft gun.
Like a wounded bird of the flock, the Tuscania whistle
incessantly shrieked its call of distress, as if to give voice to its pain. Up
into the sky, like two spurts of blood, climbed and quivered two red stars,
submarine warning rocket signals.
No panic was apparent amongst the soldiers; they knew their
stations from a previous boat drill. Few words were spoken, all being intent
upon the one object of securing their position in line of abandonment of the
ship. There in the dusk they stood, counting off or repeating names, as they
awaited the launching of the lifeboats.
The night was clear, a slight wind blowing and visibility
for about a mile. One line of auxiliary lights, like a diadem about the
promenade deck were now visible; gradually meeting their reflection in the water
as the ship sank. The stars in the wide firmament blinked sadly, and the
lighthouse of the treacherous high Scotland cliff, many miles away beckoned us
on, like a siren of destruction amongst its pounding breakers.
The British Destroyer Mosquito, Lieutenant T. B. Fellowes
in command, approaching the Tuscania from the starboard side; on the port side
HMS Grasshopper, Lieutenant John M. Smith in command, hove into view.
The lifeboats came scraping down the port side of the
Tuscania laying to starboard. As these were filled with soldiers the waves
battered them against the bilge of the steel liner. Oars were broken to absorb
each shock of impact and pocket knifes at times were used to cut the taught
davit ropes; cracked and leaking some drifted away. One striking another
lifeboat in its decent, crushing and plunging these men into a black,
obliterating sea. On the starboard side other difficulties were encountered in
launching. The davits and the waves holding lifeboats and rafts out of reach.
Soldiers lost their lives in trying to reach these by jumping overboard. The
slow churning ship's propellers, menaced each boat invariably drifting aft.
The destroyers now began picking up survivors. At times
darting off short distances, to prevent the submarine sighting them stationary.
The Grasshopper having rescued numbers up to her capacity limit, was obliged to
leave. The Mosquito in a more dangerous position continued the rescue.
Along side the Tuscania now deep in the water, HMS Pigeon,
Lieutenant K. E. Eddis in command, had ropes thrown to the deck and the
remainder of the survivors (except for about seven), slid down to safety on
these improvised lines that burned hands and muscles.
A few lifeboats were drifting to the Scotland coast, only
to be broken up against the high cliffs that denied them a landing. The beating
breakers taking their death toll here. Out in an open boat for four hours, a
lifeboat and about fifty survivors was picked up 18 miles West of where the
Tuscania sank, by Skipper E. Neeve of the British Navy in command of the trawler
"Gloria." From Ireland came the little fishing vessel the "Carrie Roy" and
picked up a lifeboat of survivors and also the trawler "Elf King" with a record
of survivors from eleven boats, who were taken to Larne, Ireland. The trawler
"Walpole" from Scotland rescued others.
During this time the German UB-77 diving in a course
straight away on the Starboard beam of the Tuscania, for a distance of a few
nautical miles and after an elapse of twenty minutes, quietly rises to the
surface. At first swinging her periscope about and perceiving the vessel it had
hit, heeling to starboard and settling aft, it comes up higher, its conning
tower slightly above the water. Then its wireless intercepts our signal of
distress, signed "Tuscania," thus revealing the victims identity.
Lieutenant Captain W. Meyer further relates:
"We awaited for awhile the evil depth bomb racket.
Nothing was felt nor happened, however, probably because we were to far
away. At 6:57 p.m. we could again come up and see what had occurred. The
liner had two white mast head lanterns lit (auxiliary lights) and lay very
much over to starboard, and astern deep in the water. It looked like the
specter of a horse rearing its hind legs. The doomed ship was visible to us
only because of the search lights of the destroyers. It was like sitting in
a motion picture theater, viewing a silent film drama, except that we could
not see a single human soul. This was probably due to the fact that we were
to far away and because the Tuscania's lifeboats were lowered on the port
side, while we were on the starboard.
Even stranger we did not know the identity of our
victim. The minutes seemed like days before we found out, when the Tuscania
gave out a frantic S.O.S. wireless signals, its name, gross tonnage, and
owners, Anchor Line, Glasgow. We suddenly realized that w had hit a much
bigger vessel that we had first surmised. The position given by the radio
signals from the Tuscania differed from our calculations by one half a
degree North and one forth a degree West. We put this down to the
probability that the Tuscania officers were greatly excited. With the number
of destroyers standing by, the position scarcely mattered anyhow.
The Tuscania's convoy apparently thought that we had
fled after the torpedoing, because not a single attempt was made to sink us.
In order to hasten the sinking of the Tuscania, which according to its radio
messages was not proceeding rapidly, we determined to loose a third torpedo
at 7:15 p.m.
We dive to 11 meters (36 Feet) in order to approach the
ship submerged but it is already so dark that the situation cannot be
ascertained and besides the sounds of destroyers propellers are heard. I
maneuvered my submarine close around the Tuscania's port
side.
At 7:40 p.m. we came to the surface to attack. At 7:49
p.m. fired number 4 tube, a K-3 torpedo; it passed ahead of the tuscania, as
a speed of two knots was assumed and allowed for. As we immediately saw by
the course it was taking, that the torpedo was going to miss, for we had
thought the ship had not come to a complete stop. Immediately one of the
destroyers started full steam in our direction as if it had sighted us and
we dived like a duck.
At 8:34 p.m. when we again came to the surface, a
considerable distance away, we were able to see with glasses that many ships
were still around the spot where the Tuscania had been. We charged the
batteries, pumped up the air bottles. Boats and signal lights are visible in
vicinity of the ship. At 10:00 p.m. (2300 German Naval Time, one hour ahead
of U.S. Naval Time) our submarine again approaches, but nothing more of the
Tuscania can be seen. A number of destroyers with all lights screened are
steaming about, also smaller craft. Morse signals are being used everywhere.
There is nothing to be seen of any vessel in tow. Half an hour after being
struck, the ship had ceased to send out wireless messages. I assume that she
has foundered. During the night we cruised backwards and forwards to the
Southward of the Rynus of Islay.
In view of the improvements to the submarine since the
World War, I believe that two submarines working together could easily
torpedo an entire convoy, including the escort, making a total of eight or
ten ships, I say this in light of my experience with the Tuscania.
It was known to the British destroyers that the submarine
had not vacated the vicinity, as both threw out heavy smoke screens. The
Mosquito gave warning by a heliograph message, having seen the torpedo flash by
the starboard bow line of the sinking Tuscania. The destroyer Pigeon now came up
to assist in the rescue of the remaining soldiers onboard the liner as the other
destroyers now filled to capacity were obliged to leave for Irish ports.
The Tuscania all this time settled to starboard, then
straightened out, each shift lower in the water. The abandonment had been
completed at 8:40 p.m. and the liner sank an hour later; her stern first, the
bow for but a few minutes protruding above the sea like a monument and wreathed
by smoke and the churning water. In all 2,114 persons had been saved and over
two hundred lost their lives.
A few hours later the destroyer HMS Grasshopper cutting
through the waves, passed up the river Foyle and we landed upon the coble stone
wharf of Londonderry, Ireland. A number of British officers escorted us up to an
old Irish fort, where we were billeted with the Innis-killen regiment. We were
treated to a big bowl of warmth producing tea and then talked ourselves to sleep
amongst the straw and woolen blankets on our stone barracks floor, just as dawn
streaked the East in gray.
The following day, February 6th, UB-77 continued to cruise
in the Northern part of the North Channel, between Rhynus of Islay and the Mull
of Cantyre. On the 7th, a British Admiralty dispatch from Poldhu was intercepted
stating that the Tuscania was sunk.
Late that afternoon, another convoy of thirteen ships was
sighted and an attack attempted. However a stormy sea and a dark night, making
visibility in the North Channel difficult, prevented it and the convoy was lost.
In this lot was the "Orduna" with 200 U.S. nurses aboard, also the 107th
Ammunition Train, 32nd Division.
On February 13th, UB-77 leaves the North Channel. Heads
into the sea of Hebrides on February 14th, looking for stray victims and turning
about between the Islands of South Uist and Rum on February 15th; she is well
out, cruising for home. Circling the Orkney Islands the 16th, she passes in
sight of Fair Island on the 17th, February 18th into the North Sea. Meets on the
19th, UB-97 likewise returning and on the 20th, having skirted the Danish coast,
arrives at Bremerhaven, Germany Feb. 21st. In all twenty three cruising days,
with one transport sunk.
The German Admiralty on Feb. 24th closed the Tuscania
incident with the following communiqué: "Among the sunken tonnage was the
British transport Tuscania, 14,348 tons loaded with American troops. The
Tuscania shortly before the entrance into the Irish sea and despite a most
effective convoy guard was cleverly shot out from among a large troop transport,
at the head of which it was steaming."
Regarding the incident relative to his rescue of survivors,
Commander John M. Smith of HMS Grasshopper has this to relate:
"When Tuscania was hit, we ordered to close her and
pick up survivors. We closed and as one destroyer was alongside we started
taking men off the lifeboats and rafts."
Commander T. B. Fellowes of HMS Mosquito writes:
"After the Tuscania was torpedoed I was ordered to
stand by her, and proceeded to do so when I came across some men clinging to
an upturned boat, these men I got onboard the Mosquito and while doing so an
officer standing aft, reported that a torpedo had passed close under my
stern. I therefore went ahead again at high speed and dropped a depth charge
in the position where I calculated roughly that the torpedo had been fired
from. I thought that this might at least frighten off the submarine and I
believe that it may have done so as she gave no further trouble, but I fear
that the explosion of the depth charge caused some further alarm onboard the
Tuscania as it was thought she had been struck by another torpedo."
Albrecht Heilmann, helmsman aboard the UB-77 at the time,
reports that the charge was felt by them and rolled the submarine.
Further Commander Fellowes relates:
"I then took the Mosquito alongside the port side of
the Tuscania and secured there, and started getting men across from
Tuscania's well deck onto my forecastle; some also came down boats falls and
a few were lost by this as swells kept taking my ship off.
We remained alongside the Tuscania for 20 to 25
minutes, by which time it was reported to me that all available space was
occupied and I shoved off and proceeded to Lough Swilly, and Grasshopper and
Pigeon in time took my place.
It was fortunate that the submarine did not again
torpedo the Tuscania while the work of rescue was going on, or the loss of
life might have been severe."
John N. Jones, petty officer aboard HMS Pigeon relates:
"We received the alarm onboard the Pigeon, before the
Tuscania was actually struck. A torpedo going under our ship could be heard
in our lower mess deck plainly. Fortunately for us, the torpedo was set at a
greater depth than our maximum draft and so passed clear, under us.
After that, number 2 torpedo struck the Tuscania,
giving us onboard the Pigeon the impression, the attack was from our side of
the convoy. We noticed immediately, however, that the explosion was on
Tuscania's starboard side and concluded for the moment there was more than
one submarine in the vicinity. We received a signal to return to the
stricken ship and did so at full speed.
On our run back, we heard many cries for help. Our
Captain (Commander Eddis) decided to lower our only sea boat, of which I was
coxswain. My orders were to search for men in the water and keep the
Tuscania lifeboats as close together as possible. Many hours later I sighted
the trawler "Elf King" and signaled her, and in a short space of time she
had us all onboard and returned with us to Larne, Northern Ireland."
E. Denman McNear in relation to the last men to leave the
Tuscania says:
"The second destroyer leaving, took all that were left,
but our boat load, in which we were prepared to cast off. One man was left
on the ship, and he floated away on a raft (he had cut loose) when the ship
went down, and was picked up.
The Tuscania began to sink faster an in a minute or two
the little of her that was left above water had been submerged. I watched
her go down, gently it seemed to me, without any explosion, bucking or
breaking in two, and as she went down a gentle glow was seen in the shape of
a bowl over the spot where she sank. That must have been something from the
engine room, which the water forced up through the smoke stacks."
Signal Petty Officer William E. Brookes aboard the
destroyer HMS Harpy writes:
"The Tuscania convoy was bound for Liverpool, and on
the night in question we had entered the dangerous part known as the North
Channel, intending according to orders to take the route North and East of
the Isle of Man and so into Liverpool.
HMS Harpy was leading the convoy and the lookouts were
posted as usual. I myself being on the Bridge. Nothing unusual was seen or
heard on HMS Harpy until the torpedo struck the Tuscania. I then received
orders to make the necessary signals for escorting destroyers to proceed as
previously detailed; (they had already done so) after which we endeavored to
keep the convoy together. I may here mention that the rescuing destroyers
had all necessary orders to proceed with survivors.
Visual signaling was necessarily always to cut down to
a minimum during darkness. After proceeding for a short time we found the
convoy was scattered and one large "Shire" liner had gone on ahead. This
ship was torpedoed the following day and abandoned after being beached.
Orders were given for the route to be altered to West and South of the Isle
of Man, but she apparently did not receive it and was lost on the East coast
of the Isle of Man. I believe she was beached in Morecombe Bay, North of
Liverpool by a crew from HMS Beagle.
I have passed through the North Channel many times
since, always to remember that tragic night and to see on the Mull of
Cantyre the last resting place of your gallant comrades. May they rest in
peace."
Chief Officer R. W. Smart of the Tuscania writes:
"The reason the transport Tuscania remained afloat so
long was due to the strength and number of her bulkheads and the fact that
all water tight doors were closed, when the vessel entered the danger zone.
I am sure if it had not been for the coolness and splendid behavior of all,
the loss of life would have been much heavier."
Lieutenant Captain Meyer writes:
"That before the Tuscania the larger liner the Baltic
had stood at the time was not apparent. I took the Baltic to be a medium
size steamer, that to all appearance was a mine sweeper before the
transport. From afar the white painted Tuscania was revealed so much more
distinct than the camouflaged grey of the Baltic. Naturally had this steamer
appeared larger to me than the Tuscania, I would have torpedoed it."
C. W. Nice writes:
"I was on the USS Kanawha, directly behind the
Tuscania. It was a dull explosion, neither loud nor soft - more like a dull
thud. After the explosion, our captain ordered full speed ahead, and, as we
passed, the lowering of lifeboats was visible and men were in the water. The
Kanawha passed the starboard of the Tuscania. It was while we were opposite
you, that one of our lookouts reported a sub between the two ships. After we
had gone by for some distance, the aft gun crews opened fire on a suppose
sub."
Miss Flora Collins, a stewardess aboard the Tuscania says:
"I think the poor boys behaved splendidly under the
circumstances. You see they were not used to the ocean as we were."
Some of the burial accounts as published in Scotland
newspapers read:
"Oban, Argyllshire - Many sad scenes have been
witnessed in Islay, but no one can remember any tragedy of the sea which so
deeply stirred the feeling of all as the internment of the brave young men
from America, who lost their lives when coming to fight for us. The people
of this district did all that was possible to render assistance in the sad
work of reverently disposing of the remains and showing all honor to the
United States. Plain coffins were made and a suitable piece of land for
burial was given. All together 50 bodies came ashore in Lochindaal. Some
were temporarily placed in the church at Porthaven, others housed at Port
Charlotte and two at Bowmore."
"Port Ellen - The last week was one of mournful
activity in this district. Civilians of all grades took part in searching
for bodies on shore, rock and islets, and aiding the survivors in burying
the dead. The first internment took place at Killeyan in a wild, romantic
spot, known locally as Portman Galon, an adjoining the Mull of Oa."
