The stretch they devoted most of their attention to, was between the Firth of Forth and the Humber. Further south the Convoys were more or less under the protection of sandbanks. Poor old Falcon. She was not destined to see much service up there. The second night out we were cut in half and sunk.
It’s a risky job working a Convoy at night time without lights. A slight misjudgment like the Gunner made as Officer of the Watch and it is all over. A destroyer’s plating is only three-sixteenths of an inch thick, so there is not much to come and go on. We were almost cut through. In fact the forepart broke off during the night and sunk. Before this happened I had ordered “Abandon ship.” First the engineers and stokers were got away on to a trawler. That made her more workable, but it was not long before it was very evident she was not going to last the night. So, later on, the general order, “Abandon ship” was carried out and every one was sent away, except the First Lieutenant and the Gunner, who stayed on board with me, until she went altogether.
There was just the possibility of getting hold of a trawler and towing the after end in, if it would float long enough. If it went down, we went too, but we always had the chance of being picked up. What did trouble me was the fact that one of the depth charges wouldn’t set to “Safe” properly. It is the Gunner’s job, when there is any likelihood of a ship sinking, to put all depth charges to “safe.” When he reported, he imparted the cheerful information that there was a sporting chance that one of them would go off if the ship sank.
If one of them did go off then the whole blame lot would undoubtedly follow suit. In that case it meant that all three of us would get a good start on the way!
It was a bitterly cold night in February, raining and blowing to beat the band and we were wet through and mighty cheerless. The wind being strong from the westward, we were steadily drifting out to sea and across towards the German coast. I really don’t know why I stuck to her, as obviously she was bound to go down before long. I suppose it could only have been one’s natural reluctance to leave your ship whilst she still floats.
About midnight the fore part , after wobbling about independent of the rest of the ship, broke right off and sank. The after end was down at an angle of about 30є at the time and steadily sinking. There were no boats as they had all gone away with the crew. The whaler did stand by until the crew was exhausted with the cold and wet.
I was also frightfully anxious about one of the stokers who had been badly scalded in the stokehold, when some of the steam pipes burst immediately after the collision. He had been put on board a trawler, as it turned out later on, but even the help they were able to give him was of no avail, he died.
The dreary night dragged out its cheerless prospect. There was nothing we could do and we had nothing to eat — -though the Gunner did manage, after much effort, to get a fire going in my cabin and make some tea. That drink of scalding hot tea put new life into us.
By 1 a.m. she was getting very low and at a still more acute angle. It seemed it could only be a matter of minutes before she took her final dip. How the minutes dragged by with nothing to do. It was bad enough in the Titanic, but in that case there was plenty to occupy both our hands and our minds.
Two o’clock came and she was still afloat; 2:15 and the end was surely near. Then, without a moment’s earning, a bulkhead suddenly carried away and she sank like a stone, almost to the minute the Titanic sank and we were, as then, left swimming around in the icy cold water.
As the ship disappeared under the waves, out one and only thought was, “Are those infernal depth charges going off under us, or are they not?” It was not a bit of use doing anything whatever until that question was settled. So we just paddled and waited. After a minute or two it was evident that they were not, so that was one relief. We joined up with some wreckage and swam and whistled and shouted in the hope of attracting someone’s attention. About half an hour later a trawler hove in sight and, near as a toucher, ran us down. Had I not had the usual officer’s whistle in my pocket, I believe she would.
We were taken on board and given blankets and a good hot drink.
It had long since become the rule in the Navy that whether a ship was lost through negligence, accident, enemy action or what not, a Court Martial must be held, whereby the Captain is either blamed or exonerated. It was a good practice. Then, as in the case of the Falcon, there was no stigma remaining. Poor Gunner, he thought there was going to be some stigma all right, and had made up his mind from the outset that he, at any rate was finished, as far as the Navy was concerned. He would be sent back to big ships, and never get another chance of a Destroyer (which is everybody’s aim and ambition.) “Well,” I told him, “you just wait and see.”
Eventually we got into harbour and went through the usual formalities attending the loss of one of H.M.’s ships. Gunner still one hundred per cent. pessimistic. Then came the great day of the Court Martial. Deputy Judge Advocate up from Whitehall and quite a big show. Plenty of three and four stripers to collect sections of our hide.
By the time the Court had assembled, the Gunner was still down and out. I still told him the same Asquithian story, “Wait and see.” I assured him, somewhat blindly, that the tale was not yet all told and anyway in the back of my mind that things were not going to break so badly as he thought.
I’m afraid the solemnity of a full blown Naval Court Martial, with all its traditions and red tape did not strike me as as awe inspiring as it might have done. I know I inadvertently and ignorantly broke a number of those Naval relics. The first tradition or custom to go by the board was for the prisoner (that was me) to appear without a “Friend.” It’s the custom for a “Prisoner” to choose someone well versed in legal lore, King’s Regulations and so forth, to act as his sort of Naval Lawyer. I chose the Navigator out of the Barracks, simply because we were very good friends. But it so happened that on the great morning when escorted by Provost Martial (in ordinary walks of life he’d be called the Bobby) and I called for my “Friend,” I found him wading knee deep in charts. Half jokingly he said, “Look here, old man, can’t you manage without me? I’m frightfully busy.” I said, “Yes, of course. Don’t bother. I’ll manage fine.” And marched off quite happily.
The proceedings commenced by reading over a Narrative of Events which I had prepared, instead of being cross-questioned. This, in itself was no small departure I found out later, but on the other hand it saved quite a lot of time. I had carefully tabulated and typed several copies of all that had occurred on that eventful night, hour by hour and even minute by minute, adding a rider to the end to the effect that “The highest traditions of the British Navy were maintained throughout.” I also gave the Gunner a good boost up by saying: “Especially would I bring to the notice of the Court the behaviour of the Gunner, Mr. Shonk, who remained with me on the wreck and maintained an attitude of the utmost cheerfulness,” etc., etc., “who frequently went down the after stokehold reporting conditions to me and at other times, made tea and played the gramophone.” The tea and gramophone touch was perfectly true, but I included it partly as a joke, when I was writing the narrative and never for an instant thought it would be read out before the whole Court. I can yet see the Judge Advocate (who, to my horror, said he would read it to the Court), with solemn jowl reading out loud and me wondering if there would be an earthquake when he came to the last item. However, it just seemed to strike the right chord and caused a grin — much to my relief.