Lord Montagu

On the 9th of January 1916, the American Consul in Malta, Wilbur Keblinger, took a sworn statement from the always loquacious Lord Montagu...

"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 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 bolts, 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 stern and I was swept off my feet by the rush 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 an inevitable up-rush 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 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 2nd class passenger, one Scotchman, also a 2nd class 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 over-board. 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 cu 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-funnelled 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 close 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 human 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 had no means of getting alongside. Eventually the captain (Captain Allen) of this ship, which proved to be the Alfred Hold (sic) steamer Ning Chow, bound from China to London, very cleverly manoeuvred his ship alongside our 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. Allan 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 Valletta 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 the 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".