WW2 Torpedoed & Adrift

January 15th, 2005 by JCB
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One of the sadder aspects of being the editor of The Pilot is the regular receipt of obituaries which frequently reveal remarkable careers

undertaken by pilots, especially those who served during the war. Neil MacNeil, whose obituary appears on page 13, was one such pilot who following being torpedoed in the Atlantic survived for 11 days in an open lifeboat prior to reaching the Caribbean island of Tortola. The British Virgin Islanders appear to have offered full hospitality to the survivors and prior to leaving some two weeks later to return home Neil wrote an article for the British virgin Islands bulletin. A masterful understatement of what must have been an appalling ordeal, Neil’s account provides a vivid description of survival at sea

in an open lifeboat. I therefore feel that it is worthy of inclusion unedited. It is somewhat sobering to think that following what must have been two weeks of paradise, the survivors returned to face the rigours of war in the merchant navy for another three years!

“In my school days I often read thrilling adventure stories such as Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe but little did I realise then that I would one day have to undergo

a somewhat similar ordeal. The morning of the 11^th May was uneventful. Our ship plodded her way through the crystal clear tropical waters of the Atlantic in perfect peace and quietness. As usual I took over my watch at noon from the third Officer and determined the ship’s position by Solar observations. All that afternoon I had a peculiar feeling that something was going to ‘happen’, although I was almost certain that we were well clear of the real danger area. At 1450 the ship was shaken by a terrific explosion which flung me fully four feet into the air and landed me flat on the bridge deck. Explosions in war time are a common occurrence and therefore none of us was caught really unawares. Emergency signals were immediately sounded and orders were given to abandon the vessel as it was clear by now that she was sinking fast. Everyone took up his respective station on the boat deck and the two lifeboats were lowered without anyone displaying the least sign of panic. As the last boat pulled away from the sinking ship the long grey hull of a submarine was observed to surface

approximately 2000 yards distant. By now the ship was, well down by the head and sinking fast although apparently not fast enough for the Sub Commander. He manoeuvred into a position abeam and opened fire with his 4.7 inch gun on the

ship’s superstructure until finally the inevitable happened – a tremendous explosion, followed by a huge cloud of thick black smoke – another of Britain’s Merchant Ships sent to the bottom or should I say sent to the skies The sub then steamed slowly towards us with her two machine guns trained on each lifeboat. Everyone thought his fatal hour had come but still no one budged. The bearded, shorts-clad and sun burnt

commander stood inside the conning tower. He was a tall, slender and well-muscled

individual, of unmistakable Italian origin. As he came closer he hailed us in the most

fluent English and asked if there was anyone injured. Fortunately we had no casualties and did not require his services in that respect. He then summoned us alongside and after holding a brief consultation he rather apologetically wished us a safe landfall and then made off at high speed leaving us at the complete mercy of the wind sea and scorching sun in an open boat some 700 miles from land with no navigational instruments whatsoever at our disposal. There were 18 in our boat, including the Captain, and 19 in the other. This was the entire ship’s complement of 37 men.

Before we set sails it was agreed that the boats were to keep within sight of each other as long as possible and so at length we started on our voyage to an unknown destination. The first night passed without incident. The men’s spirits were very high as everyone was certain they had a good chance of being sighted by a plane or rescue ship which  may have been dispatched in response to the distress message sent out before the ship was abandoned. We reckoned that we had enough food aboard to last 7 days but fresh water was our greatest problem. Soon, however, we settled down to our daily routine and meals of corned beef, hard biscuits and condensed milk. So far the weather had been very favourable to us. A light NE breeze prevailed throughout the night and the next day, enough to-give the boat ample steerage-way with full sail set. The sky was

of its perennial blue, and the sea was almost flat calm, with a long peaceful swell. About

1030 on the third day Bowyer (our gunner) was sitting up in the bow. Suddenly he said,

“I can see a plane right ahead”. All eyes immediately turned in that direction. Sure enough it was a plane and heading towards us. He circled round us for fully ten minutes as if checking up on our course. He then swooped close to us and dropped two tins containing emergency rations and a very encouraging message in which he assured us that assistance was en route and would arrive that night or the next morning. I regret to have to say that this assistance never turned up. After the plane flew away we all sat down and indulged in what I may describe as the heartiest meal we had had since we left the ship. It consisted of corned beef, biscuits and chocolate dropped by theplane and of course nearly all the fresh water we had on board as we were expecting to be picked up that night or the following morning. That night passed and at the first streak of dawn everybody was awake and active in anxious anticipation of the rescue. Eighteen keen eyes constantly scanned the horizon in the hope of seeing any rescue ship or planes but alas our hopes were doomed to disappointment. When that day passed and night fell my heart sank and a moment of deep black fear entered. I fell into contemplation for a while and thought there is a war on – total war. I knew that the American Navy had more to do and contend with than spend their time searching the ocean for one or even two lifeboats with survivors. For us it was a hard pill to swallow but it was simple military logic. Having contemplated all these gloomy possibilities for a while I soon thrust them aside with determined optimism. The next day predicted a still gloomier outlook. The wind which had so far been in our favour had shifted round and come in from the South West with much greater force. This made it necessary for us to tack in order to make a little headway in the right direction or even hold our own. Dark clouds gathered round us and by noon it was deemed necessary to heave to as it was now blowing a moderate gale. To stop drifting in the wrong direction and keep the boat’s head to the wind a sea anchor was

put over the bow and an oil bag attached to it. This helped to smooth the frothing billows. During the night we lost our rudder, presumably due to the constant pitching and pounding of the boat. With this the situation became more serious. The boat was now unmanoeuvrable under sail except with the assistance of a steering oar on which we could not greatly rely. We were now of course at the complete mercy of the wind. When it blew from an Easterly direction our spirits rose because we knew that it would eventually blow us to safety but when it shifted-round to the South West, as now, we were depressed for then we were heading for disaster and probably death. We were now two days hove to and still there were no signs of any assistance forthcoming. The weather had now moderated slightly so it was decided to set sail once again although the breeze was not

very favourable. In view of the obvious fact that we were growing weaker and weaker

every day we considered it feasible to put four oars out, and cover as much distance

as we could while we were still able to row. It was on this evening that we lost sight of

the other boat. On about the eighth day the lack of water began to bother us seriously.

The wind had been blowing us along at a fast clip in the general direction of Southwest but we had no rain. Our salivary glands dried up and our mouths were parched, making swallowing difficult. All that morning we had watched showers approaching and then fading away. Hour after hour we sat in the broiling sun. We were surrounded by sharks and didn’t dare venture over the side for a swim so instead we kept our clothes soaked with salt water, rewetting them every few minutes to keep our bodies cool. All that morning we sat and waited for rain. We knew that if we did not get any we would not last long and that death by thirst is one of the most terrible forms of torture. Still, most of the men were in fairly high spirits with the exception of one or two who were firmly convinced that we were doomed and that there was no use in trying to put up a struggle. One constantly predicted disaster and neither of them could tell direction from the stars and they would ask every few minutes how she was heading. It was on the morning of the 9^th day that someone suggested that we should pray for help. Later that afternoon; the wind shifted abruptly to the North East, a tremendous black cloud appeared overhead and soon, to our great joy and relief, down from the heavens poured the rain. To acquire the full benefit of the deluge we took off all our clothes and sat stark naked. This lasted for about half an hour and we had our first real drink in days. Just before dark that night I heard a scratching noise on the top of the mast. I looked up and saw what then looked to be a huge black bird hovering around the sail and you may imagine with what admiration everybody on board gazed at this wonderful bird that had come to keep us company. Like most seamen I am

inclined to be slightly supersticious. The recent prayer and the resultant rain and favourable wind had made me both more religious and superstitious. My mind

wandered back to my school days and Coleridge’s Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner,

especially the part that goes: At length did cross an albatross Through the fog it came

As if it had been a Christian soul We hailed it in God’s name. And a good south wind struck up The albatross did follow And every day for food or play Came to the mariner’s halloo However, the bird turned out to be of some other species and not an albatross although it followed us faithfully to land. Next day, what I had been fearing all along happened. We ran into a heavy squall which drove us to the South West. The sky

became dark, the rain whistled down around us, the waves roared louder and louder and poured gallons of water into the boat. We thought that this was the end. In our weakness and unhappiness we hardly had strength enough to bale. But somehow,

bale we did. There we were I thought, completely returned to the primitive, stark naked in the howling storm, fighting the unbridled forces of nature with little hope of Victory. After the storm the sun came out fierce and burning and our bodies, unprotected by clothes, burned and peeled and burned again. Mostly we lay back in our cramped and uncomfortable positions, not caring much longer what happened. Deep in our hearts we were all beginning to resign ourselves to our fate. Towards afternoon the sky began to cloud over and a cooler and more refreshing breeze blew from the South East. I knew from dead reckoning that we should not be far from land now unless by a stroke of misfortune we had passed through Mona Pass and missed the islands. On the morning of the eleventh day to my great delight I saw a coconut and a green branch floating by. I remembered reading Christopher Columbus’ trials and tribulations on his voyage to an unknown destination in 1492 and that it was the green branch that saved him at a time when his sailors were on the verge of mutiny. Likewise it gave me the impression that

land was imminent. Later that forenoon Vincent, an able seaman, who was lying  tretched out on the fore thwart said “Second, I think I can see land, I’ve been watching it now for over half an hour”. What I saw then made my heart jump and sing with the greatest joy it has ever known. There lying ahead was a beautiful green island’. “Boys” I exclaimed, “You can thank the Lord. He has delivered you to land, to safety”. The boat suddenly burst into activity the men hardly able to stand or sit still in the prevailing infection of excitement. In place of the gloomy atmosphere which had prevailed during the last eleven days could now be heard all the latest songs from New York’s studios. Even the Captain, whose face had just previously resembled a minimum sized fiddle with eyes painted on it joined in. All that day we rowed to that beautiful patch of land. Shortly after dark we came across a perilous reef extending in a semi-circle round the South Eastern approaches to the island. Owing to this we were forced to turn out to sea and cruise around till daylight. Early on the twelfth day we set our sail again and made for the land endeavouring to dodge the reefs the best way we  could. We did not know what land it was but whether friendly or hostile we were determined to land there. Shortly afterwards we saw a sailing sloop away on the horizon, and heading towards us. It was decided to wait for this sloop so that we might acquire some information as to our present whereabouts. The sloop turned out to be the Sparrow of Virgin Gorda commanded by Captain Robinson O’Neal. We were more than delighted when O’Neal told us that the islands on which we were about to land constituted a part of the mighty British Empire, one of the outposts of Freedom which we are desperately fighting to preserve and will

preserve in spite of such brutal attacks as are directed against us by Hitler’s, Mussolini’s and Hirohito’s representatives. The Sparrow’s crew, treated us right Royally. They presented us with tobacco, cigarettes and water which we sorely needed, later they even went to the trouble of cooking fish for all of us and you can just imagine what that fish tasted like to our ravenous appetites. Never in my life did I know or realise the value of fresh water and never again will I underestimate it. The Sparrow took us in tow and landed us at Road Town, Tortola about seven o’clock that night, where the Commissioner and nearly all Road Town were down to greet us with open arms. Soon every one of us was comfortably housed and enjoying the remarkable hospitality extended to us from every corner of the island. That night I slept in a real,  comfortable, bed in Government House with my body stretched as nearly full length as I could get it after the twelve days of living in the cramped boat. We had gained “terra firma” just in time since a day or two more and the scorching sun would have accomplished what starvation, thirst, wind and sharks had failed to.

NM MacNeil, 2^nd Officer, July 1942 ex SS Cape Of Good Hope

Details of the Cape Of Good Hope

Shipbuilder: Lithgows Port Glasgow.

Built: 1925. Tonnage: 4963 grt. Length: 405 feet.

Owner: Lyle Shipping Company, Glasgow.

Remarks: Early pioneer in ships’ diesel propulsion.

Details of the U-502

After a bit of research I have discovered that the Cape of Good Hope was torpedoed by U502. The Commander Jürgen von Rosenstiel, was not in fact an Italian, having been born in Kiel in 1912. He was appointed to the U502 when she was commissioned

in May 1941. He undertook four patrols between 31 May ’41 – 5 July ’42 during which time he sank 14 ships and damaged 2, placing him in the top 20 U-boat commanders. On 5 July, whilst returning from the successful patrol in the Caribbean which saw the sinking of the SS Cape of Good Hope, U502 was sunk in the Bay of Biscay by depth charges dropped from a British Wellington bomber from 172 Squadron. All 52 persons on board were lost and U502 became the first submarine to be sunk by

a Wellington bomber.

From: http://uboat.

Neil MacNeil

 

It is with sadness that I report the death of Captain Neil MacNeil of Barra on the 12^th

October at his home in Castle Bay. Neil was a most respected and well loved person, both in his private life and by his colleagues in the Trinity House Channel pilots service at Gravesend. He was born on 29^th September 1918 and went to sea when he was 17.  Whilst serving with Lyle shipping Company as Second Mate on board the SS Cape of

Good Hope he spent twelve days in an open lifeboat following the ship being torpedoed and sunk in the Atlantic before reaching landfall at the Island of Tortola. Having concluded his service with Lyle Shipping company on the 12^th September 1949, Neil joined the Ben Line where he served until he was licensed as a Trinity House Channel Pilot on 18^th August 1953. Neil leaves a wife and three children having sadly lost two other children in sorrowful circumstances. Whilst a serving pilot he will be  remembered with respect and affection. As a representative at UKPA conferences with

suspicion and apprehension! His overtures to a proposal or referendum, delivered in his soft West Highland lilt, lulled his listeners into a sense of sanguine acceptance, until, arising from a torpor of lunchtime gin and tonics they would realise that they were being led down a road that they had no wish to travel! What an orator, sadly missed.

Donald McLean,

Chairman, Trinity House Channel Pilots’ Society.