The Secret Capture

by Stephen Roskill

  Soon after midnight the contact seemed to have faded for good, and Baker-Cresswell ordered the Rochester back to the convoy. He and the Amazon, however, continued the search throughout the rest of the night, and not until 9.30 a.m. on the 8th did they abandon the pursuit and set course to catch up the convoy.

  To return to the torpedoed merchantmen, it was a curious coincidence that both the Eastern Star and the Ixion seem to have been carrying large quantities of whisky in their holds. The former caught fire at once, and was soon a mass of flames. Baker-Cresswell, glancing at the cargo list at the moment she was struck, thought regretfully of the sad waste of a commodity which was then so strictly rationed in Britain. The Nailsea Manor (No. 94 in the convoy), which had been detailed as rescue ship, at once turned back to assist her stricken comrades, and both Baker-Cresswell and Commodore Mackenzie commended her Master for his promptitude. The Nailsea Manor belonged to the Nailsea Steamship Company of Cardiff; but they sold their last ship in 1949, and it has thus proved impossible to trace the name of the ship’s Master at the time of this incident. In some reports on convoy OB.318 the ship is referred to as the Nailsea Moor, and it is a fact that the company then also owned a ship of that name of identical tonnage to the Nailsea Manor. On balance, however, it seems probable that it was the Nailsea Manor which sailed in OB.318.

  When the Ixion was struck her Master, Captain W. F. Dark, acted with exemplary calm. He fired rockets, threw his confidential books overboard in a weighted bag, and ordered his crew of 105 officers and men to their boat stations. He even had time to note that “ a strong smell of whisky was coming from the hold where the ship had been hit.” Next he asked the Engine Room for a report on the ship’s condition, and received from his imperturbable Chief Engineer the answer that “ she was all right in a way, but bulkheads were leaking and there was 6 inches of water on the plates.” Dark thereupon went down below himself to see how matters really stood, and on finding the engine room nearly flooded he gave the order to “ abandon ship.” Five boatloads with 86 survivors were picked up by the Nailsea Manor; while Dark and his Chief Officer, who had left the ship in “ the small boat ” with 17 others, were rescued by the corvette Marigold (Lieutenant James Renwick, R.N.R.). Not a man was lost, and Dark himself at once suggested that, as they were only about 80 miles from Reykjavik, a tug should be called to tow the Ixion in. Plainly he was determined that his fine ship should, if possible, be saved.

  The rescue of the Eastern Star’s crew was a far more difficult undertaking, for she became a roaring furnace so quickly that no ship could approach near her. From the Bulldog Baker-Cresswell could see men jumping overboard, and he feared that the casualty list would be heavy. But the trawler Daneman (Lieutenant A. H. Ballard, R.N.R.) closed as near as she dared to the burning wreck, and soon reported that she had not only rescued Mr. Olav Østervold1, the Master of the ship, and the whole of his crew, but was busily engaged in salvaging cases of Vat 69. Doubtless the contents were issued as “ medical comforts ” to the merchantman’s survivors and her own company when, on the completion of a very gallant effort, she set course to rejoin the convoy at 10.30 p.m.

  The Eastern Star sank at about 1.15 a.m. next morning; but hopes of saving the Ixion appeared good, and a signal was sent to Reykjavik for a tug. Her bulkheads must, however, have given way; for about 1½ hours after the blazing hulk of the Eastern Star had disappeared, she suddenly sank by the stern. Nine hundred bags of mail, some of them diplomatic bags, went down with her. The Marigold, which had been standing by her, then set course to rejoin the convoy, and overtook it at noon on 8th. She finally landed Captain Dark and his boat’s crew at Greenock, while the rest of the Ixion’s company were carried on to Canada in the Nailsea Manor.

  There was no doubt that the first round of the contest between OB.318’s escort and the U-boats had gone to the latter. We now know that Kapitänleutnant Kuppisch of U.94 sighted the convoy’s funnel smoke at 6.05 p.m., assessed its mean course as North 15° West (true) and its speed as 9 knots (in both of which his observations were fairly accurate) and took station ahead of it. The reader will remark that Kuppisch’s sighting took place just after the 3rd Escort Group had first contacted the convoy; and it may well be that his success owed a good deal to the lucky chance of meeting the convoy just when the escorts were changing over. At 7.06 the U-boat Commander signalled to his headquarters that he was in touch, and was told to attack if possible, but in any case to continue shadowing the convoy. For some unexplained reason U.94’s first sighting report seems to have been missed by the Admiralty’s listening stations.

  Kuppisch lost no time in carrying out the order to attack. At 7.54, while still well ahead of the convoy, he dived in order to keep out of sight. “ I planned,” he wrote in his log, “ to get right inside the convoy in order to be able to fire to all sides from all torpedo tubes.” He took several quick looks through his periscope, but the sea was so smooth that, to avoid betraying his presence, he could only use it very sparingly. As he closed the convoy a destroyer (probably Baker-Cresswell’s own Bulldog) was seen approaching, and he went deep. It seems almost certain that the Bulldog’s brief contact at 8.58 actually was on U.94; but Kuppisch had by that time almost achieved his object of obscuring his presence in the wakes of the many merchantmen. He probably entered the convoy in the big space between columns 5 and 6, where the Ranpura was stationed1; and at his next peep through the periscope he saw that a zig-zag had placed him “ between two 10,000-ton liners ”—presumably the Ranpura and the Ixion. He was in a perfect firing position, and between 9.09-50 and 9.11-50 he fired three single shots from his bow tubes at “ large merchantmen,” and one from his stern tubes “ at a tanker.” The latter target must have been either the El Mirlo or Lucerna in Column 5. Kuppisch said that he heard loud explosions at the end of each torpedo’s running time; but in fact the stern shot must have missed. At least two of the torpedoes fired from the bow tubes, however, found their marks—though we cannot say whether the ships Kuppisch hit were those he had actually aimed at. From such a favourable attacking position a torpedo which missed one ship might very well hit another. On balance it seems likely that the Ixion was struck by one torpedo and the Eastern Star by two, and that those which destroyed the latter ship were actually aimed at Captain Pawsey’s Ranpura. It is hard to believe that such a luscious target as the big A.M.C. would not have attracted at any rate part of the U-boat commander’s salvo.

  At 9.20 p.m. Kuppisch brought U.94 up to periscope depth again, to take a look at the damage he had accomplished: and that action led, as we have seen, to the long hunt by the Bulldog, Amazon and Rochester. In his report Kuppisch said that he was “ subjected to a very severe and accurate counter-attack, which lasted for four hours and caused considerable damage.”

  In one attack, probably the Amazon’s fourth at 10.36 p.m., the depth charge pattern exploded right above the U-boat. Evidently the charges had not been set quite deep enough to do lethal damage. Kuppisch counted 67 depth charges, but our ships’ records show that, including the four dropped by Bulldog and Broadway before firm contact was gained, 89 was the actual total released. No doubt some of them exploded so nearly simultaneously that Kuppisch counted them as one charge.

  U.94 suffered temporary damage to her after hydroplanes; her engine room telegraphs and magnetic compass, and also her gyro repeaters were put out of action; a number of gauges were shattered and some of her compressed air bottles started to leak. But her captain never lost his nerve. It is plain that at several critical moments he judged the movements of his assailants to a nicety, and manoeuvred out of the way of their depth charges very skilfully. The damage he sustained, though serious enough to prevent him joining in the pursuit of OB.318, did not force him to abandon his patrol. He continued at sea, firstly off Greenland and then off western Ireland for a total of 37 days, and finally arrived at St. Nazaire on 4th June. He claimed to have sunk 6 ships totalling 32,128 tons during his cruise—four of them (20,000 tons) in the attack o
n OB.318. In fact, as we have seen, he only sank two ships totalling 15,901 tons on 7th May. The Germans had picked up the emergency signals sent by the Ixion and Eastern Star when they were torpedoed; but they none the less credited Kuppisch with the full results which he claimed—an example of how they so commonly misled themselves regarding their own achievements. None the less Kuppisch certainly deserved the commendation which Dönitz awarded him for his attack on 7th May. “ This,” said the Commander of the U-boats, “ was a very good operation, tenaciously and successfully carried out.” We for our part assessed the counter-attacks against U.94 as having “ probably damaged ” her; which, as we have seen, was very near the truth.

  Travelling in the Rear-Commodore’s ship, the S.S. Burma, were over 100 passengers bound for South Africa and the Middle East. Among them was a very observant clergyman of the Church of England, the Reverend R. Ashley Long-botham1, then aged 26, who was travelling to Durban to join the staff of St. Paul’s Church in that town. It was his first long sea voyage, and during it he kept a diary which, with an appropriately nautical touch, he called his “ log.” In it he gives such a vivid description of how the events described in this book appeared at the time to a newcomer to the sea and a stranger to the perils of wartime convoy passages, that permission was sought, and readily granted, to quote from it.

  Sunday, 4th May, 1941

  We are steaming due north through the Minches, between the mainland of Scotland and the Hebrides. Most of us were astonished to see land on either side when we came on deck this morning. I served at Holy Communion at 7 a.m., and after boat drill at 10 a.m. we held Divine Service in the music room.2 The Naval Chaplain, Worrel, officiated and gave a good address “ Ambassador of Jesus Christ,” and a Dutchman played the piano for four well-known hymns. The convoy has now formed up in seven or eight parallel lines, and three destroyers and about three corvettes are escorting us. At regular intervals planes circle overhead. At 6 p.m., off Cape Wrath, we turned west and began to steam out into the Atlantic.

  Monday, 5th May

  We are now getting out into the ocean, in a very northerly latitude, probably about 60° North. We have steamed 201 miles between noon yesterday and noon to-day. The convoy has kept in the formation adopted yesterday evening, and planes still continue to circle the ships at regular intervals. This is comforting, and gives a sense of fair security. We are still at the beginning of a long, tedious and somewhat dangerous voyage, and we are entering the most perilous region. The ocean is big, pitiless and deep, but God is good and his mercy is great,

  Tuesday, 6th May

  Escorting planes still coming out to us, but later in the day they leave us on our own. A Sunderland flying boat paid us a visit at about tea-time. There is nothing much to report. Sea still calm, and we steamed 202 miles in the last 24 hours. I nearly won a game of chess against Maurice James (another young chaplain) to-night.

  Wednesday, 7th May

  To-day will live long in our memories. The weather was exceptionally fine. Even the Captain remarked that not in his long life had he known the Atlantic so calm so far to the north. But in spite of the brilliant sky evil things were at hand. A signal for “ Action Stations ” came at about noon, the Commodore sounding his siren and other ships following suit. Three destroyers, two corvettes and a Sunderland flying-boat went off to the south-east, and we heard depth charges being dropped. This caused some excitement, but passengers and crew were very calm. The convoy turned north, and after half an hour wheeled back to its proper course, zig-zagging as it went. The “ All Clear ” was given at about 1.30 and most of us went to the dining-saloon for lunch. It was good and comforting to see the Captain at his table eating a hearty meal !

  We then steamed steadily West by North. The weather was without blemish. At 7.30 p.m. I went to my cabin to say my evening prayers. I specially prayed that God would bless this convoy with his Almighty protection. No sooner had I risen from my knees and gone on deck than I saw that a big armed merchant cruiser and several more escorts had joined. It seemed as though this was in direct answer to my prayers; but the devil’s will was otherwise. Feeling tired I went to my cabin and turned in at 10 p.m., and at about 11.15 heard two distinct explosions. I got out of my bunk, put on my life-jacket and my heavy coat, and went on deck. A terrible sight met my eyes. Two ships in our convoy, not quarter of a mile away, had been struck by torpedoes. One of them was on fire, with a terrible volume of black smoke pouring from her, and the other was listing heavily. For a second my mind went blank, but things were happening near at hand, where a U-boat was lurking, and I felt as though we were now truly in the Battle of the Atlantic. I could see one boat leave the burning ship— thank goodness there were some survivors. Our convoy immediately took a right-angle turn to starboard, destroyers raced to the spot where the U-boat was thought to be, and ship-shaking depth charges were dropped. I felt sorry for the U-boat, but this ghastly ship-sinking business is nothing but sheer cold-blooded murder. Our ship’s company and passengers, standing by the lifeboats, were splendidly steadfast. By midnight both ships could be seen well down in the water. One of the rear ships of the convoy acted as rescue ship, and picked up survivors—at least that is what we hoped. I offered prayers for the souls of the departed. By 1 a.m. things were quieter, escort vessels were signalling by flashlight, and the convoy was back into its normal night routine. We were very fortunate to escape in our first U-boat attack. However brightly the sun may have shone earlier the day ended terribly for us all. Sleep did not come until 4 a.m. Mileage from noon to noon 198.

  1 See p. 56.

  1 These merchantmen were the Cardium (Brit, tanker, 8,236 tons), the Bradglen (Brit. 4,741 tons), the Borgfred (Norw. 2,183 tons) and the Gunvor Maersk (Dan. 1,977 tons).

  1 See p. 61.

  1 See Map 2 (p. 87).

  1 Until shortly before the Eastern Star sailed on her last voyage Mr. Olav Østervold was Chief Officer of the ship, and his father Mr. Jan Østervold, was the Master.

  1 See Diagram 3 (back end paper).

  1 Now (1958) Vicar of Aldingbourne, nr. Chichester.

  2 The times given in this diary are, of course, the local times kept in the convoy. In the rest of this book ail times (British and German) have been adjusted to Greenwich Mean Time.

  CHAPTER VII

  The Second Attack, 9th May

  AT 10 p.m. on the 7th, only about an hour after U.94 had torpedoed the Ixion and Eastern Star, the corvettes Aubrietia (Lieutenant-Commander V. F. Smith, R.N.R.), Nigella (Lieutenant T. W. Coyne, R.N.R.), and Hollyhock (Lieutenant T. E. Davies, R.N.R.), and the trawler St. Apollo (Lieutenant R. H. Marchington, R.N.V.R.) joined the convoy with the four west-bound merchantmen from Iceland. The Commodore had just resumed his north-westerly course after making the emergency turn to port, and the newly arrived merchantmen promptly took up the vacant stations in the convoy. There was now an exceptionally powerful escort available; for the 3rd Escort Group’s nine ships had all joined up, and the 7th Escort Group’s four corvettes were still with the convoy. But as the Bulldog, Amazon and Rochester were still hunting U.94 well astern of the convoy, it would be some time before all ships had concentrated again for its defence. Lieutenant-Commander T. Taylor in the Broadway took command of the escort until Baker-Cresswell rejoined with his Bulldog; but that did not happen until the following afternoon.

  At 11.35p.m. on the 7th by which time the convoy had reached latitude 62° North, Commodore Mackenzie altered to a due westerly course in accordance with the order passed by the Admiralty earlier that day.1 The reason was that the Submarine Tracking Room apparently thought that another U-boat might be lurking further to the north. The night passed quietly, however, and at 7 a.m. the Broadway signalled the convoy’s position and its new course. The message was picked up in Britain and re-broadcast by Admiral Noble, so that the detached escorts should know where to look for the merchantmen. At 8.30 another of No. 204 Squadron’s Sunderlands from Iceland joined up to give close escort until early in the aftern
oon, when the renewed threat of fog at its base caused its recall. Meanwhile other Sunderlands were sweeping to the south-west of Iceland; but they sighted no enemies. This was the last occasion on which air escort was provided for OB.318.

  On rejoining the convoy at 4 p.m. on 8th Baker-Cresswell released the 7th Escort Group’s four corvettes (the Dianthus, Nasturtium, Primrose, and Auricula), which were due to make for a rendezvous with the homeward convoy HX.123, with his grateful thanks for their help. He now had his own three destroyers, three corvettes, and three trawlers, and decided to adopt his favourite day screening disposition. Ahead of the convoy, from left to right, he stationed the Amazon, Hollyhock, Bulldog, Nigella and Broadway. The trawler Angle and the corvette Aubrietia he tucked into the port and starboard wing columns, so that if a U-boat penetrated the screen ahead and attacked from either beam they would be well placed to deal with it; and the trawlers Daneman and St. Apollo he stationed astern to round up stragglers and look after any ship that got into difficulties. He felt confident that he had shaken off, and perhaps damaged the assailant of the previous night, and as no more warnings had come through from the Admiralty he had no reason to foresee further trouble. At 8.45 p.m. the convoy reached the position on the course laid down by the Admiralty where it was to turn from a westerly to a southwesterly course1, and the Commodore therefore altered to South 30° West (true). It was now about 300 miles to the south-west of Reykjavik in Iceland.