The Heroic Men of the Athos To the soul of America, on the eve of her entry into the world war, this stirring tale of heroism was dedicated. Printed in Le Matin, Paris, it has been specially translated for CURRENT HISTORY MAGAZINE. T is not enough to say: IT * * ** "Such a liner has sunk, gutted by a German torpedo. The conduct of the crew and of the passengers was splendid. It is necessary to go further and set forth before the eyes of the world certain explanations which will show what, in this third year of the war, the expression "splendid conduct" means in French. I wish to place on record the story of how the Athos died, with the tricolor floating from her mizzenmast. The affair took place on Feb. 17, 1917. Launched by an attacking submarine which remained unseen, the torpedo penetrated the liner. The Captain calculated that he had ten minutes to save whatever could be saved. A torpedoed steamship does not simply sink; she often blows up. She tosses into the air men's bodies, smashed, dismembered, shot forth by the explosion like stones from a sling. On board the Athos there was an engineer officer who made up his mind: "At least, I will prevent that!" The liner was listing frightfully. By the narrow steel stair, slimy with oil, the officer, whose hand was already mutilated, made his way down into the engine room, from which he knew he would never come forth again. He shut off the valves; he handled the control levers; he checked the explosion. He sleeps now in the abysses of the sea. This was his choice. His name was Donzel. Let us salute him! At Hongkong the Athos had embarked a thousand Chinese coolies, the sallowfaced workers who come to France to replace our lacking workmen. They begin their journey under contracts worthy of France and of themselves-a part of their earnings is kept back for their wives, their parents, their children, those whom they love as we love our own kin. These Asiatics were in charge of a French Captain and a dozen Corporals and interpreters. These officers and interpreters did not say to themselves: "There are four hundred million more Chinese in China! Let us think first of our own lives. They are more valuable." Until the last second they worked to secure the safety of these foreign laborers who had intrusted themselves to Fance. For themselves, the ship was their coffin. We salute Captain Silvestre and his valorous aids! The Athos was bringing back to France three German prisoners. They had been taken aboard at the port of Indo-China. They had wormed their way into our colony to whisper words of treason and of hate in the ears of the natives whom France is governing in friendship, guiding them toward a higher justice.. Pris oners below decks, they were in charge of a Sergeant. At the moment when the German torpedo pierced the hull of the French ship, this Sergeant thought: "These Germans are human beings. I will not leave them in their cells simply because their fellow-countrymen are infamous." He went below. He had time to open two cabins. He set free two Germans, who succeeded in getting up on deck and jumping into the sea. They were picked up. He, the French Sergeant, was drowned while opening the door of the third cabin to save the third of his enemies. Dear friends in America, would you not wish, in the list of your Laconia dead, to write the name of Sergeant Moujeau between those of Mrs. Hoy and Miss Hoy-of Sergeant Moujeau, who died in order to bear witness, before the world, that France is the fatherland of honor for all men, good and evil equally? Further, the Athos had taken aboard a battalion of Senegalese sharpshooters, under the orders of Major Colonna d'Istria. Paris and France know them well today and love them, these black soldiers. In our field hospitals, the hands of our wives and of our daughters have dressed their wounds. France has taught them to live and die with joy, for a bit of ribbon, for a ray of honor. They were in numbers on the Athos, and inevitably in the ship's boats and on the rafts there was not room for every one. Their officers organized the work of rescue under rigid discipline. Naturally, these officers elected to remain with those for whom there would not be room, and to go first into the abyss. This, then, is what happened: At the moment when the liner sank, drawn up in ranks as though on parade, Major Colonna d'Istria's Senegalese sharpshooters presented arms. They sank with their hands upon their rifles, with bayonets fixed. They were saluting France. Commandant Dorise, Captain of the Athos, had not left the bridge. He dominated this scene of death by the calmness of his voice and orders. When the sinking ship went under he was thrown from a height of sixty feet. But his soul remained with his ship. He was already a dying man. He was kept afloat in the water by Maurel, the supervisor of the mails, and Ensign Verdelhan, as a bit of glorious wreckage. He was dead when they landed him in Malta, where his grave will be. This, then, is what did not sink with the Athos! O A Harrowing Sea Story NE of the most heroic and terrible sea episodes of the war is enshrined in the report made by Captain Benjamin Chave to the owners of the British merchant steamer Alnwick Castle, which he had commanded. The Alnwick Castle was torpedoed without warning by a German submarine 320 miles at sea, off the Scilly Isles, in April, 1917, and the crew were left in six open boats at the mercy of wild North Atlantic gales. Some of these boats were never heard of again. The one with Captain Chave contained twenty-nine men, and their awful sufferings are an index to what the missing ones endured before they perished. The Captain's boat soon lost sight of the others. There were only three men with him who could help him to steer, and one of these soon became delirious. The wind and waves were unsafe for sailing. There was a terrible fight with the sea, and the men were constantly soaked with spray and pierced with the bitter north wind. Water was served out twice daily-each portion about one-third of a condensed milk tin. A can of milk was divided among four men once a day, and a six-pound can of beef was apportioned daily among twenty-nine persons. The men's thirst became terrible, and pitiful appeals for water were made. An extra ration was served to a few of the weaker men. The ship had been sunk on a Monday, and on Thursday morning the wind fell for a couple of hours, and several showers of hail fell. The Captain continues: "The hailstones were eagerly scraped from our clothing and swallowed. I ordered the sail to be spread out in the hope of catching water from a rain shower, but we were disappointed in this, for the rain was too light. Several of the men were getting light-headed, and I found that they had been drinking salt water, in spite of my earnest and vehement order. "It was with great difficulty that any one could be prevailed on to bale out the water, which seemed to leak into the boat at an astonishing rate, perhaps due to some rivets having been started by the pounding she had received. "Our water was now very low, and we I decided to mix condensed milk with it. Most of the men were now helpless, and several were raving in delirium. The foreman cattleman, W. Kitcher, died and was buried. Soon after dark the sea became confused and angry. I furled the tiny reef sail and put out the sea anchor. At 8 P. M. we were swamped by a breaking sea and I thought all was over. moan of despair rose in the darkness, but I shouted to them to Bale, bale, bale!' and assured them that the boat could not sink. How they found the balers and the bucket in the dark I don't know, but they managed to free the boat while I shifted the sea anchor to the stern and made a tiny bit of sail and got her away before the wind. A "The wind died away about midnight, and then we spent a most distressing night. Several of the men collapsed, and others temporarily lost their reason, and one of these became pugnacious and climbed about the boat uttering complaints and threats. The horrors of that night, together with the physical suffering, are beyond my power of description. "When daylight came the appeals for water were so angry and insistent that I deemed it best to make an issue at once. After that had gone around, amid much cursing and snatching, we could see that only one more issue remained. One fireman was dead and another nearly so. My steward was almost gone. We tried to pour some milk and water down his throat, but he could not swallow. No one could now eat biscuits, it was impossible to swallow anything solid, our throats were afire, our lips furred, our limbs numbed, our hands were white and bloodless. During the forenoon on Friday another fireman died and my steward died, also a cattleman collapsed and died about noon. "To our unspeakable relief we were rescued about 1:30 P. M. by the French steamer Venezia. A considerable swell was running, and in our enfeebled state we were unable properly to manoeuvre our boat, but the French Captain, M. Paul Bonafacie, handled his empty vessel with great skill and brought her alongside us, sending out a lifebuoy on a line for us to seize. We were unable to climb the ladders, so they hoisted us one by one in ropes until the twenty-four live men were aboard. The four dead bodies were left in the boat, and she was fired at by the gunners of the Venezia, in order to destroy her, but the shots did not take effect." An illustration of the spirit that animates officers of the British merchant service is found in the concluding words of Captain Chave. In spite of the fact that when he was torpedoed he had survivors of another vessel on board, which in its turn had observed another steamer blown up, and that he himself witnessed a further steamer sunk, in spite of the terrible sufferings which he had experienced, he adds: "At present I have not regained fully the use of my hands and feet, but hope to be fit again before arrival in England, when I trust you will honor me with appointment to another ship." |