Testimony

Lord Montagu in an article in The Spectator in 1923 recalled:

After the ' Persia ' had foundered within five minutes of being struck, about 480 of us were left swimming in the water and only two undamaged boats were floating. When these two boats were filled with survivors the rest of us had to face being drowned quickly or slowly as the case might be. I will not tell again how, after hanging on to a signal locker, I managed eventually to swim to an upturned boat whose bottom planks were holed, and how thirty-three of us, sitting at first on the keel, were reduced by hunger, thirst, shock and exposure to eleven souls—three Europeans and eight Indians—when we were picked up thirty-two hours later. But I know what it is to sit still in a small boat knowing that death is certain eventually. Nearly every wave wetted us afresh. We had no fresh water and our one broken tin of biscuits was entirely spoiled by being saturated with salt water. We had no compass, no sails or oars and no rudder. Our gunwale was only about six inches clear of the sea, and there were four feet of water inside the boat. Before the end the dead lay in the boat as well as round us in the sea. We had no strength left to lift them out.

During the first night the sea, which had been rough, calmed down to an oily swell. I impressed on my companions, some of whom became light-headed after a few hours, the danger of drinking salt water. But many drank and all of these died. Others faded away from intense fatigue, and these drowned, after agonizing struggles, not in the sea outside, but in the water in the boat itself. When the second night came twenty-two of us had gone, and we survivors were all weakening rapidly. I thought as the turquoise faded into opal in the West that the glory of this sunset was the last I should ever see. My mind turned to home and all it meant— to the things left undone in one's life. The Mohammedan sailors prayed at intervals, turning to Mecca in the East, and I remembered the church at Beaulieu, with its grey, stone walls, overhung with ivy, where from my cradle one had learned of things spiritual. As my strength got weaker a tiredness of soul and body began to act like an anodyne. The world seemed fading away. But I never gave up hope, for something in me said, " It is not the end." At any rate, I would be the last to die, and then would do so deliberately. If any of the others remained and they could outlive me, as an example to my Indian companions it was one's duty to show that we Christians in the West knew how to endure and die as well as the fol- lowers of Buddha, Shiva or Mohammed. And I remember that, when thirst got beyond a certain point, it seemed to abate and hunger became merged in a feeling of general weakness.

But one's mind was clearer than ever. Senses seemed unnaturally acute. And so, when the s.s. Ningehow's ' masthead light came up like a star out of the East and one was certain that it was a ship's light and not a star, I felt there was not yet a certainty of life, but only a slender hope. I began to rally my fellow-sufferers, and the idea came to me to make them shout " Hitherao " (Hindustani for " Come here "), because I knew that no German in a decoy boat—and there were very many then in those seas—would cry out in Hindustani. Just as the `Ning- chow ' seemed to he going to run us down she stopped. After nearly an hour of cruising around us the great 7,000- ton ship came near, towering above us. The second officer had heard our cries, and I was able by shouting directions to her officers on the bridge, such as ".Go ahead and port your helm," to get the vessel so close that a rope was thrown to us and at last we were pulled up one by one in the bight of a rope. When I saw the last of my companions hauled on board and felt the bowline tauten round my shoulders, I looked down on the eggshell to which we had clung from 1 p.m. on the Thursday to 9.30 p.m. on the Friday night—New Year's Eve—and began to realize the miracle which had saved us. Even as one looked the cockleshell grated against the steel side of the ship and broke in two. And then came the reaction, for so much had one tuned one's mind and soul to die that the contemplation of living was curious and strangely hard. Could it be that' we were ever to see our homes again ?

The following are the testimonies given to the US consul in Malta.

Statement of Lord Montagu of Boileau

The voyage of the Persia had been a very successful one up to the time of the accident, and everyone was very comfortable and happy. On the day before the accident, we had boat drill at 10.30 a. m, and all of the passengers and crew went to their appointed stations, all the passengers with their life belts on. Owing to the ship not being full there was ample accommodation for everyone.

About 1.10 p. m. on Thursday, December 30, just as we were sit­ting down to tiffin there was a terrific explosion just abaft the main saloon; the smell of explosives at once told us what had happened, and I realized the ship had been torpedoed; the passengers at once went to fetch their life belts, and go to their stations without any sign of panic or fuss. When I got to the station allotted for No. 6 boat, on the port side, I saw boats being lowered on that side, but owing to the list of the ship, for she had begun to heel over very consider­ably, I at once realized that it was impossible to get into any boats on the port side as the ship was lying over on them, and still retained too much way, making it impossible to hope for any safety by boats on the port side. With great difficulty I then climbed up the star­board side, trying to pull with me a lady passenger who happened to be near me; the ship was then practically on her beam ends, and this was about three minutes after she had been struck. The ship now began to sink rapidly by the stem and I was swept off my feet by the rash of water along the promenade deck, going overboard on the starboard Side. The ship then sank and I was sucked down a long way, striking my head and body against several pieces of wreckage. It seemed a very long time before I came to the surface again, though I was conscious of rising very quickly, owing to the extreme buoyancy of my Grieve Waistcoat, which certainly at this moment saved my life. Just before the ship foundered there was the usual and inevi­table uprush of steam and smoke from the engine room and stokehold.

To show the rapidity with which the vessel went down I do not think more than four minutes could have elapsed from the time of her being struck to the time she disappeared. I am convinced that the com­mander, the officers and the crew did all that was possible to be done under the terrible circumstances.

When I had recovered my senses sufficiently to look around I saw the sea covered with struggling human beings but very little wreckage, and as far as I could see there seemed to be only three boats afloat in the water. There was nothing to indicate the presence of a submarine nor did I see any sign of one while on the Persia subse­quent to the torpedoing and previous to the sinking of the vessel. I then swam towards a signal locker I saw floating in the distance and to which was clinging the ship’s doctor, who appeared in a stunned condition, as his head appeared to be injured in some way; on reaching it I found it would not support more than one person so I left the doctor on it and swam towards a boat floating upside down about fifty yards away, her bottom being covered with native seamen, far too many for the boat to support. I managed, however, to climb up and get astride of the keel band on the extreme end aft and from this position I saw a boat a short distance off, picking up people, and shouted to them to come and help us, but they rowed away, but as there were cries of help from all sides I make no complaint about them not coming to our assistance. About one hour after the disaster there were on our upturned boat four Europeans left, besides about twenty native crew, the remainder having dropped off as they became too weak to hold on. The boat at this time was righted by a big wave, and we managed after great difficulty to get into her. I then realized that not only had she a large hole in her bottom, but that her bows were split open as well, probably smashed in the lowering. She was also in a state of extreme instability for the air tanks which showed she was one of the life boats were some of them smashed and others perforated and the smallest weight on the starboard side of her tended to capsize her again, which before we were picked up happened sev­eral times. About sunset we were most of us sitting up to our knees in water, and there remained when the sun went down of the original number in the boat, thirteen native seamen and firemen, two Goanese stewards, one Italian 2d class passenger, one Scotchman, also a 2d passenger, one English Steward, named, Martin, and myself, i.e., nineteen only. Had it not been for Mr. Alexander Clark, the Scotch passenger, and Martin, the steward, who more than once helped me to climb back into the boat, after she capsized so often, I should have had no chance.

At sunset I managed to stand up in the boat and have a good look around and saw only one boat to the eastward about one mile away and one or two survivors still clinging to wreckage to the southward of us. Though there was not much wind there was a con­siderable swell on and nearly all the time the sea was breaking over us. Before the night was half gone several more natives died in the boat from exhaustion, and as the bodies were washed about in the boat we had to throw them overboard. About 8 p.m. a steamer passed with her saloon lights all showing, about one mile to the southward; we tried to attract her attention by shouting, and the other ship's boat, to the eastward, burnt two red flares, but she took no notice, possibly thinking it was a ruse of a hostile submarine. When the moon rose about 2 a. m. I saw one or two more natives had died, including the doctor’s Goanese servant, who was sitting on the gunwale of the boat next to me. At dawn next morning, Friday, the 31st, there were only eleven, all told, left in the boat. The Italian passenger then helped to pick out more bodies at his end of boat.

About three hours after sunrise we saw a two-funneled and two-masted steamer to the southward, and our hopes again raised. We managed to hoist a piece of torn flag on the one oar left in the boat, as a signal, and saw the ship’s boat to the eastward, which seemed to be floating well, do the same. The ship passed westward bound about three miles away but either did not see us or suspected a ruse. We saw nothing for the rest of this day. One of the native crew about noon managed to get a tin of biscuits from the locker in the boat under the thwarts, and we managed to eat a little of this. We then had been nearly thirty hours without food or water—that is, since breakfast the day before.

We saw nothing of any ship for the rest of the day. Personally I felt the heat of the sun, for except a small khaki scarf which I had in my pocket I should have had no protection, as none of us had any cover­ings for our heads. At sunset on Friday we had practically given up all hope of being saved, and I found it a great struggle to keep awake and hold on, as the tendency to drowsiness was almost irresistible. We capsized again about 7 p. m. owing to the instability of the boat, and in this capsize we lost the tin of biscuits and the red flares we hoped to use that night.

About 8 p.m. we saw the masthead lights of a steamer, the ship that eventually picked us up, far away to the eastward, and presently I could discern her side lights, which showed me she was coming pretty nearly straight for us. When she got dose to us we started shouting in unison, and when she was about half a mile away she ported her helm, stopped her engines and appeared to be listening. We knew now like other ships she expected a ruse and dare not approach until she made further investigations. After some time she came up closer to us and we heard the first hum an voice shout out to us; she also blew her whistle; this was about 8.30 p.m. When she came closer we tried to explain that we were helpless and bad no means of getting alongside. Eventually the captain (Captain Allen) of this ship, which proved to be the Alfred Holt steamer Ning Chow, bound from China to London, very cleverly maneuvered his ship alongside oar wreckage and threw two lines to us, thus hauling us alongside.

Bowlings were passed round us, and we were hauled on board. The captain and his officers did all they could for us and I consider it a very plucky act on their part, for they knew they were in the danger zone and ran the risk of being torpedoed themselves. I should mention it was Mr. Allen Maclean, the 3rd officer of this ship, who was the officer of the watch at the time and who first appears to have heard our cries, and our being saved is mainly due to him.

Once on board we began slowly to recover from the exposure and injuries which we had been subjected to, and we eventually arrived at Malta at dawn on Monday, January 3. We were sent on to St. Paul's Bay for examination and brought on to Valetta in a steam trawler, where we were met by Captain Andrews, the P. & 0. Co.’s agent, who showed us every consideration and kindness.

I consider that our being saved at all is an absolute miracle, as we were fast approaching a stage of complete exhaustion, and the chances of the Ning Chow passing over the spot so close were infinitesimal, and the same may be said of any other vessel.

In conclusion I would again state that everything possible was done by the commander, officers, and crew of the ship during this terrible crisis, and so far as I could see the ship was in every way well found and that boats in good order and condition up to the time of the disaster. A constant watch was kept and any warning given by a submarine would undoubtedly have been seen at once.

Montagu of Boileau, Peer.

Sworn to and subscribed in my presence this ninth day of January, 1916.

Statement of Charles Leonard Martin

I, Charles Leonard Martin, a British subject, aged eighteen years and ten months, having been duly sworn, depose as follows:I was a steward on the P. & 0. steamer Persia, bound from London to Bombay. On December 30, 1915, I was serving at table during luncheon in the dining saloon when at about 1.10 p. m. there was a violent explosion which shook the boat from stem to stem and I realized at once that the ship had been torpedoed. Immediately after the explosion I rushed to get iny life belt and then to my station, which was No. 5 boat on the starboard side. The chief engineer was also at boat station No. 5 but it was impossible to lower the boat owing to the listing of the ship to the port side. As the ship listed more to port I held on to a boat davit on the starboard side and after a very few moments I was sucked into the water. When I came to the sur­face I was dazed and floated around for a while, but finally managed to get to an upturned boat which was occupied by about 20 or 25 persons, mostly Lascars. We were taken up by the Ning Chow about 8.30 p.m. of Friday, December 31, 1915, and brought to Malta. My experience after getting to the lifeboat was similar to that of Lord Montagu, which is described fully in his affidavit.

During the time I was on deck immediately after the explosion and while in the water and later in the lifeboat I saw no sign of a sub­marine. The Persia has a 4.7-gun mounted aft, but so far as I know it was not used as there was no sound of a report previous to the torpedoing and afterwards there was not sufficient time to use the gun, the ship going down within five minutes after being hit, nor could it have been used owing to the great list of the vessel.

C. L. Martin .

Sworn to and subscribed before me this ninth day of January, 916.

Statement of Mafessanti Benvenuto, Re sinking of S. S . “Persia.”

I, Mafessanti Benvenuto, an Italian subject, whose home address is Via Nappione 26, Turin, Italy, having been duly sworn, depose as follows:

I was traveling as a second-class passenger on the steamer Persia, Marseille to Bombay, en route to Mysore (India), as a contractor of J. Taylor & Son, 6 Queen Street Place, London, E. C., England. On December 30,1915, while the passengers were at dinner the vessel was struck by a torpedo, this being the first intimation that the passengers had of a submarine in the vicinity. It was 1.05 when the vessel was hit and it sank at 1.10 p.m. Nothing was seen indicating presence of a submarine. After the explosion I rushed to the [......] and previous to the sinking of the ship I jumped in to the sea must have gone down at least fifty feet. When I came to the surface I climbed into a small boat together with some other 28 men.

I remained in this boat, keeping it afloat with great difficulty for thirty-one hours, when we were picked up by the Ning Chow and taken to Malta. Only eleven men of the crowd originally on the boat survived, four Europeans and seven Arabs.

Mafessanti Benvenuto .

Sworn to and subscribed before me this 9th day of January, 1916.

Mary Ann Pennington

She was the General Stewardess. She related to her daughter many years later that, at the time of the sinking, she was aft looking after children while their parents were at lunch in the dining saloon forward. The ship went down by the head, so fast there was no time to lower the boats, they had to cut the falls. It has always been maintained that she escaped into a lifeboat with a baby in her arms - but no babies are listed as survivors. So did the baby not survive the open boat? Or was the 'baby' in fact a young child who did survive? That remains a mystery.

Agnes Shanks' Record

In a record we found in French the travails of the Hutchison family are related by Mrs Agnes Shanks: "Quand le bateau fut torpillé, Eulalie Hutchison et sa soeur Mrs. Shanks, sentirent une très forte explosion, autour d'elles les assiettes et les verres roulèrent par terre. Déjà la pièce s'était vidée, la petite famille suivit la foule qui, malgré l'urgence, gardait son calme.

Eulalie entendit sa sœur murmurer "merci".

Elle pensait à l'équipage qui les avait si bien entraînés à affronter cette situation.

Les passagers devinèrent immédiatement ce qui venait de se produire. Ils savaient qu'en cas d'attaque ils devaient récupérer leurs gilets et rejoindre le canot qui leur avait été assigné.

Madame Hutchison arriva rapidement à sa cabine.

Comme elles en avaient convenu au début du voyage, Eulalie pris sa fille et la nurse se chargeât du petit David.

La famille se précipita sur le pont où elle rejoignit Agnes.

Dès les premières minutes après le torpillage, le Persia pris de la bande sur bâbord Si bien qu'il fut rapidement impossible de mettre à l'eau les canots tribord.

Par chance, le canot de la famille Hutchison était à bâbord.

Sur bâbord, les canots commençaient à être mis à l'eau, mais le Persia continuait d'avancer sur son erre, si bien que plusieurs canots se retournèrent dès qu'ils touchèrent l'eau, jetant leurs occupants à la mer.

Si l'inclinaison du pont bâbord vers la mer simplifiait la mise à l'eau des canots, elle offrait un danger pour les passagers attendant l'embarquement.

Alors qu'Agnes Shanks cherchait à retrouver sa famille, elle glissât et tomba à la mer. Sa sœur et sa famille suivirent le même chemin.

Eulalie Hutchison fit surface après sa nurse qui serrait encore contre elle le petit David.

Mais, sous l'eau, dans la confusion, Madame Hutchison avait perdu la main de sa fille.

La petite ne revit jamais le ciel.

Le Persia pointa alors sa poupe vers le ciel, glissa dans la mer et disparu. L'ensemble du naufrage ne dura pas cinq minutes.

Seuls quatre canots échappèrent au naufrage attirant tels des aimants ceux qui se débattaient dans l'eau.

Peu arrivèrent à les rejoindre.

Le canot où était Miss Hutchison avec son fils et sa nurse, était sous le commandement du chief officer, Gerald Clark. Il était de quart à la passerelle au moment du torpillage mais il n'a pas eu le temps d'ordonner la fermeture des portes étanches avant l'explosion. Maintenant il ordonnait que l'on repêche le maximum de personnes jusqu'à ce que le canot soit dangereusement surchargé.

Parmi les passagers du canot, il y avait aussi Miss Gabour. Elle et le petit David furent les seuls enfants rescapés. Les quatre canots s'attachèrent ensembles pour être plus facilement repérables. Le Chief Officer transféra une douzaine de ses passagers dans des canots moins chargés.

Sous la direction de Gerald Clark, ils commencèrent à gouverner en direction de Port Saïd, une tache rendue difficile par le manque d'équipages entraînés et les forts courants.

Quand la nuit tomba tous essayèrent de trouver une position plus confortable, les hommes donnèrent leurs manteaux pour réchauffer les femmes et utilisèrent les voiles comme couvertures. Les biscuits et l'eau contenus dans les canots furent rationnés.

Un instant, une lumière fut aperçue mais le navire ne changea pas de route malgré le tir de fusées.

Le soleil matinal réveilla les survivants, de l'eau et des biscuits furent à nouveau distribués. Au loin, quelques navires étaient en vue mais aucun n'approchait. L'humeur des passagers s'assombrit. Une femme essaya de chanter un cantique, au dire de certains témoins, le résultat fut particulièrement hideux.

Le chief officer hissa la voile de son canot et tenta de remorquer les trois autres mais dû abandonner devant la difficulté.

Quand plus tard un autre navire fut aperçu, les canots se signalèrent à lui mais encore une fois le vapeur s'éloigna d'eux. On apprendra plus tard que le navire avait été chassé par un sous-marin.

Voyant un nouvel espoir de secours s'évanouir, les passagers prirent peur et commencèrent à débattre sur la meilleure chose à faire. Finalement le chief officer pris le meilleur équipage dans son bateau et s'éloignât à la recherche d'un navire.

De leur coté, les survivants des trois canots encore attachés se préparaient pour une seconde nuit en mer quand les secours arrivèrent. Craignant que ce navire les trahisse aussi, les passagers allumèrent des feux et, vingt minutes plus tard, le Royal Naval minesweeper HMS Mallow arriva avec à son bord les membres du canot du chief officer.

On ne sait que peu de choses sur ce périple solitaire du canot de Madame Hutchison et de Gerald Clark.

A bord du mouilleur de mines, on donna un peu de confort aux rescapés ainsi que de quoi manger. Ils furent conduits vers Alexandrie.

Eulalie, sa famille et d'autres survivants embarquèrent pour l'Inde le 12 janvier, à bord du SS Médina qui faisait escale à Port Saïd.

Edward Berryman

The memoir of Edward Berryman of the events is located here: http://www.familyletters.co.uk/2-january-1916-ted-the-sinking-of-the-persia/

He writes: "I will try and give you some account of the sinking of the poor old “Persia” while it is still fresh in my memory, though I don’t think I’m likely to forget it in a hurry, much as I should like to.

It was just after one o’clock on Thursday, Dec 30th, and the gong had just sounded for lunch; consequently the majority of passengers were assembled in the saloon and a good many had actually begun lunch. (As this is a personal account, you must excuse the continual occurrence of the personal pronoun “I”, but I’m afraid it is unavoidable). I was a trifle late and strolled in about 5 past, and was just sitting down in my place when there was a muffled “bang”, though it sounded loud and clear enough and one felt the concussion quite distinctly.

Everyone of course knew at once what had happened; we all rose from our seats and begun to file out of the saloon. There was no panic, no rush, it was, as someone described it later “just like going out of church”. I heard only one remark, someone saying “not much doubt about that” otherwise everyone was quite calm and collected, outwardly at any rate. We all went to our cabins and got our life belts and went on deck, and proceeded at once to our boats.

My boat was No 7 on the starboard side, and when I got there the crew were already endeavouring to lower it. This must have been a minute after she was struck, and the “Persia” was already beginning to list to port a bit. Our boats seemed to stick in the davits and refused to be lowered, despite the efforts of the crew and ourselves. The list to port was now becoming very marked, and it soon became quite 45° and one had to hang on the rail to prevent oneself sliding across to the port side, and anyone who was the least bit late in coming on deck had perforce to go to the port side.

It was soon obvious that our boat could never be launched in time, as the old “Persia” was now almost on her side. Someone said “time to go now” so in company with several others, I scrambled over the rail and walked down the side of the slings, which was now of course nearly level, she had heeled right over to port. No 7 boat was still fast in the davits, though a little lower down than before and I thought the best thing to do was to hang on to her as she might still get loose.

However, just then the “Persia” gave a final lurch, and her keel appeared above water, and a huge rush of water from under her caught me fair and square just as I was hanging on to the life-line of No 7 boat, and I was carried right away from the ship.

I then saw it all, the last few seconds of the old barge. She half-righted herself and then sank with appalling rapidity, the last thing I saw being her bows standing right out of the water, about 30 feet of them, and then these slid out of sight silently and suddenly. The sinking slings caused very little suction, but the water all round was of course very much disturbed. The whole tragedy had taken just 5 minutes, from the time the torpedo struck, till the “Persia” disappeared.

The scene that followed was too terrible to describe in any detail, even if I could do so. The sea (which had quite a nasty swell on though not exactly rough) was full of human beings and floating wreckage, chairs, tables, broken spars and beams were everywhere. The air was full of groans and cries, and everywhere one looked it seemed one saw human beings struggling in the water. It was awful. Our lifebelts kept us afloat easily, but we all hung on to wreckage. Each bit I got on to seemed to be chosen by several other people, so I had to change several times, as there were too many on several places to support the weight.

I looked round, a bit dazed of course, and could see four boats some way off, and one upturned one. Obviously the thing to do was to swim for the boats, so, shouting out this to the others I started off. It was difficult work, as the sea was so full of wreckage that one got knocked about a lot and it’s hard work swimming in a lifebelt too. The boats seemed miles off and I seemed to get no nearer.

By now the swell and current had scattered everyone over a very large area, and the boats were packing up as many people as they could. While swimming along I heard groaning and crying close to me and saw a lady lying on her back, apparently utterly exhausted and just drifting helplessly away, supported by her lifebelt. She was delirious I should think, and kept saying she was dead and dying, so I took her in tow though there seemed little chance of our reaching the boats, as I seemed to get no nearer. Fortunately she lay quite still and though my legs kept getting mixed up in her skirts, and she was rather a dead weight, I managed to swim on and at last succeeded in hailing a boat.

They fortunately saw me and waved back; I had already got near one boat but they handed oars out and I was carried away from it again by the sea. How hopeless it all seemed then. After more struggles I at last reached the boat; after three ineffectual grabs at a rescuing hand, I seized it and we were hauled on board.

I was thankful to get in. I must have been in the water half an hour and felt quite done up. I’m afraid anyone who was afloat when she went down and couldn’t swim must have been lost, as the boats soon drifted away from the scene, the swell and current being very strong and I’m afraid, too, many people got injured by the floating wreckage.

The boat I was in contained about 40 people. We got oars out but it was hard to make any headway in that sea and with such amateur oarsmen. We looked around for more survivors but could see none, and except for a few pieces of isolated wreckage which were here and there visible, the rest having been scattered, it was hard to realise that a ship had gone down.

There were now four boats afloat all full, and one upturned one in the far distance with a few people clinging on. Some people swear to having seen a fifth boat full of people but nothing has been heard of this since. The chief officer of the “Persia” (to whom we owe our lives as he cut away 3 boats from the davits with a hatchet, there being no time to launch them; the fourth had been launched somehow or other) was in one of these and he shouted out orders to all keep together in a line. The chief officer then transferred some from his boat (which was only the small “accident boat” for use in case of man overboard) which was carrying about 10-12 more passengers than it could hold, to ours, and the others.

We had now just over 40, including 6 women and 2 children. 1 ship’s officer, 4 male passengers and the rest stewards and native crew of the “Persia”. All our watches had stopped at 1-15 or 1-20, but it must have been 2 o’clock now. We tried to keep our course S.S.E. towards Port Said, so as to fall in with other ships if possible, but it was a difficult job in that sea.

About 4 o’clock I suppose we sighted the masts, funnels and smoke of a ship on the horizon, which cheered us all up and her hull soon appeared. (I must tell you here that there had been no time to send off an S.O.S. signal by Marconi, so no one knew what had happened). Suddenly a huge column of water was seen to shoot up by her, followed by 5 shots from a gun. It seemed she too had been torpedoed or shelled by a submarine, and perhaps was firing at the submarine. In any case she got no nearer to us, although she did not sink at once, she gradually faded away in the gathering darkness.

We now tried to make ourselves comfortable as possible for the night. We were all wet through of course, and it soon got very cold. The four women were very thinly clad but we gave them coats and sail covers and there happened to be a very thin blanket on board. But it was so bitterly cold for them I’m afraid. However they were just splendid, one poor girl had got a nasty cut on her head from a piece of wreckage and fainted, but we made her as comfy as possible. Of course, the boat was crowded and one couldn’t move about at all.

We put out “sea anchors” to keep the boat’s head to the sea, and let ourselves drift. The current taking us in the desired direction, soon after dark the lights of a steamer appeared so we burnt glasses to attract her attention, but she put out all her lights and cleared off; she evidently thought we were a submarine and suspected a trick. (I believe the Admiralty have issued orders accordingly so as ships may not go to any promiscuous lights as the enemy are up to all sorts of dodges).

So two ships had gone by and no rescue. It was rather disheartening, but we were not downhearted yet by any means. I had to lie right up in the bows, looking after the painter which was joining our boat to the next one, as it kept parting and coming undone. It was cold, as I was so wet. I shivered all night and most of next day, even in a hottish sea.

The night dragged itself through. Sleep was out of the question; we made the women as warm as we could and gave them all the coverings in the boat, but I’m afraid they suffered a lot, but bore it like Britons and never complained once. The two kids rescued were both in our boat; one was a French little girl about 6, in the bow with me. Poor kid, I tried to keep her warm, but she kept asking in a plaintive voice “Where is the big boat which was coming to help us”. It was awfully pathetic, as we could only say that it was soon coming now.

Dawn at last came, and we had a dry biscuit and a sip of water each. We had 2 kegs aboard, but the stopper had come off one so only one was filled. The other boats were in an equally bad way for water. Early in the morning we hoisted a sail in our boat and tried to tow the other three along, but it was not much good and we made slow progress. About 9 o’clock, I suppose, we sighted a ship on the horizon, so it was decided that we, having a sail, should go after it alone and try to hail it.

We sailed away and carefully watched at the chance of a rescue, and tried to cut her off. She must have been able to see our sail, but she sheared off eventually and disappeared. Another chance gone, and one or two began to lose heart, though I must confess that all the time I felt confident that something would find us, provided the weather held and we were not swamped.

It consequently turned out that this ship was actually at the time being chased by a submarine, so of course, could give us no attention. We forgave her then, though at the time it was not blessings we called down upon her head.

Heated discussions now took place as to what the best thing to do. Some were in favour of each going our own way and trusting to being picked up and telling the rescuing ship that other boats were still afloat. Others were all for sticking together chiefly because only two boats had sailors in them, the other two only passengers and stewards.

All the sailing about on our own and returning to our comrades after one fruitless mission of course took many hours and the sun was now high in the heavens, 12 o’clock. We all tied together again, lowered our sail and had a rest, just allowing ourselves to drift. The chief officer then said that he was going off in his boat to look for help, and the other 3 were to stay together. So off they went with our blessing and fervent hopes for success, while we stayed on.

Night began to fall and we rearranged our boat and made the ladies more comfortable than they were the previous night. Watches were told off to look for rescuers and look after the boat, and the rest made snug (?) for the night. You must remember that all the time we were filling up odd moments with bailing out water, rowing, and generally trying to keep afloat, so we were all quite tired enough though of course had lots left in us yet. It was now the second night after the tragedy.

I know I was just dozing off, though it was almost impossible to sleep in that crowded boat and of course we were bobbing up and down like a cork the whole time, when someone shouted out ship ahoy.

Imagine it, how we all bucked up once more. It was quite dark and we fervently hoped that this ship would not treat us like our friend of the previous night. She seemed to be making straight for us by her lights, but the thing was to attract her attention. We burnt a red flare in each boat (they are of course kept in water-tight tins in each life-boat) and rowed in her direction.

Great speculations as to what she was, a sailing ship? a cruiser? a liner? Impossible to tell of course. As we got nearer we all gave three yells (we were ahead, the other two boats following some way behind) and burnt more flares.

At last, after about 20 minutes she loomed up out of the darkness. “A destroyer” said some knowall in the boat, and then an unmistakable English voice hailed us from her “Hello you fellows we’ve got the other boat all right, come along the starboard side with you”. And so we were rescued. It was just after 7 o’clock I think, so we had been about 30 hours in boats, not so very long, but quite long enough, so we all thought.

Our rescuers proved to be H.M.S. “Mallow” a mine sweeper. She had heard nothing of the “Persia”, but the chief officer’s quest had been successful, and they had seen his flares and picked them up, and he had of course told them whereabouts we were and they came straight to us.

They were good to us. A good meal for all, clothes and every possible attention; no one could have been kinder. I could have cried with relief; to see those poor women and children looking more or less happy again, at any rate relieved beyond words at being rescued, was a sight for the Gods.

We were soon accommodated in hammocks and got some much needed sleep. They sent wireless messages off at once, and those must have been the first news of the loss of the “Persia”.

The “Mallow” was just out on her own, hunting mines and submarines, so we were lucky indeed as she was keeping no particular course, but wandering about anywhere, and just happened to meet the chief’s boat by a mere chance. We made all speed to Alexandria, a wireless having been sent off there for the despatch of another boat to look for any more possible survivors.

We reached Alexandria at 3 p.m. next day (Jan 1st) and were taken on board H.M.S. “Hannibal” where again they were more than good to us. We must have presented a sorry spectacle; dirty and bruised in many cases, many with cuts and wounds caused by wreckage, looking a trifle worn and haggard I expect, but none the less happy at our rescue. We went ashore and made the more immediate purchases necessary for our comfort and stayed that night aboard the Hannibal, and came ashore next day and put up at the Savoy hotel, where we have been ever since.

We are more or less clothed and in our right minds now and everyone has been more than good, but I fear the mental and physical results of all we have been through are beginning to make themselves felt now, though I think everyone is remarkably fit under the circumstances.

I will continue with a few disjointed remarks on circumstances connected with this awful business.

No one saw the submarine, though the officer on watch on the bridge saw the track of the torpedo for about the last few yards, but she had struck before he could give any orders. She struck almost amidships, just under the funnels, bursting a boiler and killing I’m afraid all the engine room staff who were on duty at the time.

Only one boat was lowered in the orthodox way. The chief cut away 3, and the 2nd officer 2 more. These latter two, however, full of passengers and crew were caught by the davits as the ship heeled over and were swamped.

I’m afraid nearly all the first class passengers (there were only 14 I think saved out of 80, and only one lady first class passenger) were caught up on the port side when she heeled over and were carried down with her.

The behaviour of the ladies was just priceless, they bore their sufferings wonderfully and did all they could to help. There was no panic on board, but the whole thing was over in 5 minutes and gave little time for thought. Some people had marvellous escapes. Two second class passengers, sisters (one married with a little boy) when she was struck went to opposite sides of the ship, all three went down with the ship and came up again side by side in the water, though they were on opposite side of the ship when she sank; they were all three rescued.

As the ship heeled over a huge blast of ashes etc came out of the funnels just as they were level with the water, and several of the rescued were coal black, including the chief officer, who also got a nasty knock on the head from one of the funnels.

All the Christmas mails for India, China, Aden, B.E. Africa and Egypt went down, terrible isn’t it. No one saved a thing except what they stood up in. The sensation of walking solemnly over the side of the ship into the water is indescribable. For myself (and the others tell me the same) I felt no fear, more annoyance than anything else; but I know I shall funk it now. Everybody’s nerves seem to have gone a bit. It seemed so deliberate but was the only thing to do of course. I’m afraid a great many people didn’t leave the ship, or jumped too late and so were drowned.

The engine kept going to the last and when she was lying on her side the propeller was racing round, half out of water and causing a tremendous stir, splashing up the water to a tremendous height.

The chief engineer on hearing the explosion went down to the engine room to turn off the steam and was last seen down there disappearing into a cloud of steam. A very plucky thing to do, but it was hopeless and he was never seen again.

The captain was not rescued. I saw him on deck just before she sank, tying a life-belt on to a lady. He had not got one on himself. He must have gone down with the ship. Fortunately she was an empty boat as regards passengers. Only about 80 first class and not many 2nd. The horrible part is the number of women missing, and children too; but I think that all that was possible to rescue were rescued.

I hope I never go through such a terrible experience again. A pal of mine, one Fisher of the Indian Army, summed it up by saying “It was worse than any attack”, and I think he is right.

I have tried to give you a comprehensive account of this awful business. Please forgive the many literary shortcomings, but it’s a hard thing to write about, but I know you would like to know all about it, as I don’t suppose you’ll get much from the papers".