THE SINKING OF THE DUNEDIN

In late November 1941 the British Cruiser, HMS DUNEDIN, was casually patrolling in the Atlantic, just north of the equator and about seven hundred miles off the coast of Africa. The DUNEDIN was a light cruiser and carried a crew of 491, including officers and enlisted men. The mission of the "DEADLY DUN" as her crew called her was to find and destroy German sur­face raiders operating in the Southern Atlantic. These surface raiders called "Q" Ships were heavily-armed merchant ships usu­ally disguised as neutral ships. The DUNEDIN was working a triangle area with another British cruiser and with an American cruiser holding the western corner of the triangle although the United States was not yet involved in the war.

When I say that the DUNEDIN was "casually patrolling", it was because the commander apparently felt that he had little to fear. Sort of like the Lion on the African Veldt. At this point in the war none of the German capital ships that had escaped into the open sea were known to be in the South Atlantic. The surface raiders were a formidable opponent for the average lightly-armed merchant ship, but they were no match for a cruiser like the DUNEDIN and perhaps the commander believed that there were no German submarines this far south in the Atlantic.

On the afternoon of November 24th, 1941 the weather was fine and clear with a light breeze, almost the doldrums and there was a fairly heavy swell. The lookout in the Crow’s Nest of the DUNEDIN reported a small craft with one mast, bearing two points on the starboard bow. The bridge watch altered the course to the direction of the reported sighting and continued in that direction to investigate. The submarine submerged and the captain was fearful that he would soon be under attack. The captain of the U-Boat cautiously raised his periscope and saw that the DUNEDIN was still coming his way. When the DUNEDIN came into range the captain of the "U" boat fired two torpedoes. Both hit the DUNEDIN on the starboard side; one hit the fore part of the ship and the other near the stern. The DUNEDIN immediately begin listing to starboard and settling by the stern.

Within ten minutes the DUNEDIN slid stern first below the surface and went to the bottom of the Atlantic. More than half of the officers and crew were killed outright or trapped below deck as the stricken ship went to the bottom. Only those on deck and those able to make it to the open deck were able to jump into the water and swim away from the sinking ship. About two hundred men survived the sinking and many of them were badly injured. Very few officers were among the survivors.

The torpedo that hit forward apparently hit near the Officers Quarters. The Commanding Officer did not survive the sinking. One of the ship’s whalers and some seven life rafts floated off the ship. The survivors made their way to the rafts, but the whaler was badly damaged and soon sank. The survivors were left with very little food and water.

The German "U" boat surfaced among the survivors and spoke with some of them. From the conning tower of the "U" boat, the survivors were told that their position would be reported to the British. But the submarine did not make a report and after a few minutes turned and left the horrible scene.

THE SUBMARINE

The German Submarine "U-124" was put in service in June of 1940 and for nearly a year and a half had been wreaking havoc with British and other allied shipping in the North and South Atlantic and in the Caribbean Sea. The "U-124" made numerous patrols returning frequently to bases in Germany for refitting and fresh stores. In August of 1941 Kapitan Johann Mohr took command. In November of 1941 Kapitan Mohr took the "U-124"  into the South Atlantic looking for unescorted British or Allied ships.

On the afternoon of November 24th, 1941 the "U 124" was on the surface just three degrees north of the Equator and about 26 degrees West Longitude. The day was fine and clear. It was partly cloudy with a light breeze and a moderate swell. At about 1:00 p.m. the watch on the conning tower saw the British Cruiser HMS DUNEDIN on the horizon. It is most likely that the watch on the "U-124" saw the much larger DUNEDIN a good many minutes before the lookout on the DUNEDIN reported the sighting. By the time that the lookout on the cruiser reported the sighting the "U-124" was probably in the process of diving below the surface. After a few minutes Kapitan Mohr cautiously raised the periscope fearful because he had come upon a formidable man-o-war instead of some hapless merchant ship. He was also fearful that his vessel would be under attack soon if the lookout on the DUNEDIN was able to identify what he had sighted as a submarine.

As Mohr watched through his periscope the DUNEDIN had changed course and was headed in his direction. However, the cruiser was not approaching in an aggressive manner—in fact it was not even maneuvering in a defensive way. As the DUNEDIN came into range, Kapitan Mohr aimed his submarine at the cruiser and fired both of the forward torpedo tubes at fairly close range. In just moments the explosions were felt by those on the submarine as both torpedoes hit their mark.

For another year and a half, the "U-124" continued to take its toll on Allied shipping including American ships. But by 1943, anti-submarine warfare had evolved to the point where the hunters became the hunted. Most of the Atlantic Ocean was covered by shore-based aircraft and, what they did not cover, small aircraft carriers, called "Baby Flat-tops" covered the rest.

Newly developed sophisticated submarine detection equipment was widely in use by Allied navies. By 1943 German submarine crews leaving on patrol had less than a fifty percent chance of returning. The "U-124" was reported lost with all hands, in action, west of Gibraltar in early April 1943.

THE RESCUE SHIP

The American Steamship SS NISHMAHA was owned and operated by Lykes Brothers Steamship Company of New Orleans, Louisiana. The NISHMAHA was a dry cargo ship of some 5,000 gross tons and could carry a cargo of up to 10,000 tons deadweight. She was a World War I vintage freighter built in 1919, but that war was over by the time she was put in service. A steam reciprocating engine gave the ship a speed of ten knots. The name was believed to be of American Indian origin but no one seemed to know what it meant. Although a strange sounding name it is not that hard to pronounce, just "Nish-ma-ha”. It is however difficult to read when being transmitted by blinker light due to the sequence of the dots and dashes. Almost invariably when sending the name it had to be repeated at least once.

In the late 1930's the NISHMAHA was used in the trade between the United States Gulf of Mexico ports and Europe, the United Kingdom and the Mediterranean. In September of 1939 war broke out in Europe and, in 1940, the United States Government defined the European War Zone and ordered all American Flag ships to stay out of the area. Because of the loss of trade routes to Europe, the United Kingdom and North Africa, a large part of the American merchant marine was put into the laid-up fleet and jobs were hard to come by. The NISHMAHA was not one of the ships that was laid up and was put in service between the United States Gulf of Mexico ports and Southern Africa.

I graduated from the U. S. Merchant Marine Cadet Corps in December 1940. It took me a good many months to find a job sailing on my license, but in the summer of 1941 I was lucky enough to be assigned as Junior Third Mate on the  NISHMAHA. I was 21 years old. I put my brand new Third Mate license in the frame on the Chart Room wall along with four Master's licenses. These were the licenses of the Captain, Chief Mate, Second and Third mate--all much older and more experienced officers—and an indication of how scarce jobs were for licensed officers.

In August of 1941 the NISHMAHA loaded general cargo at various Gulf ports. The cargoes were destined for South- and East African ports. Since the United States was not yet in the war and since the NISHMAHA was sailing in hostile waters, there was an American flag painted on each side and a large American flag painted on a white tarpaulin on the Number Three hatch to be visible to aircraft. The flags on the ship's side were illuminated by flood lights at night. She carried a crew of thirty seven Officers and men. Captain H. S. Olsen was the Master. I was assigned to the eight to twelve watch when under way.

The NISHMAHA sailed from New Orleans on August 27, 1941, bound for South Africa. She stopped at Port of Spain, Trinidad on the way to take on fuel. The first discharge port was Cape Town, South Africa. From there she went around the Cape of Good Hope and continued up the East Coast of Africa, discharging cargo at Port Elizabeth, East London and Durban, all in South Africa. Thence further up the East African Coast to Portuguese East Africa (now Mozambique) to the ports of Lourenco Marques and Beira. The last of the cargo was discharged at the Port of Beira and the NISHMAHA returned, in ballast, to Durban. There she took on a full load of coal for the Belgian Congo (now Zaire). Leaving Durban, the NISHMAHA headed south, back around the Cape of Good Hope and back into the Atlantic Ocean. There she headed north along the West African Coast to the Congo River where she took on a local pilot for the hundred mile trip up the river to the Port of Matadi. When the cargo of coal was discharged, the NISHMAHA headed back down the Congo River, back into the Atlantic and again headed north, bound for the Port of Takoradi on the African Gold Coast (now Ghana). At Takoradi the NISHMAHA took on a full cargo of chrome ore destined for Philadelphia.

On November 24th, 1941 the NISHMAHA sailed from Takoradi, homeward bound, now some three months since leaving the United States. November the 24th was the same day that DUNEDIN was torpedoed. Captain Olsen had read his instructions carefully before sailing. He was ordered to steam due south from Takoradi for twelve hours, then make a 90 degree turn to the right and steam due west until he reached a neutral zone. This neutral zone extended for 300 miles from the eastern seaboards of North and South America. Captain Olsen was under orders to keep well within the neutral zone.

But after a lifetime at sea, Captain Olsen reasoned that with most of the Old World already at war, it was only a matter of time before the United States got involved. If he wanted to spend another Christmas at home, he decided, it had better be the one coming up in five weeks.

So he sailed due South for 12 hours and turned westward as instructed. But when he cleared the bulge of West Africa, he laid a straight course for Philadelphia. Heading north-north­westerly the NISHMAHA plodded homeward at a steady 10 knots.

On Wednesday, November 26th a small mechanical defect in the ships reciprocating engine forced a stop for repairs. For eight hours the NISHMAHA drifted westward in the Benguela current before resuming her course.

The next day, November 27th, Thanksgiving, dawned bright and clear; there were scattered clouds and the heavily loaded NISHMAHA rolled easily with the moderate ocean swell. The Stewards Department had prepared a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with turkey and dressing, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie and all the other trimmings and was enjoyed by everyone on board. In another two weeks the ship would be in Philadelphia and, with a cargo to discharge and another to load, there was a good chance that the ship would be in the States for Christmas.

MY ACCOUNT OF THE RESCUE

At twelve noon on November 27th I came off watch and went directly to the Officer’s Salon and had Thanksgiving dinner and visited with the Captain and other officers present. After dinner I read for a while and took an afternoon nap. Just before five p.m. I  went to the bridge to relieve the other Third Mate so he could go to supper, just as I did every day that we were at sea.

Only a few minutes after the other Third Officer left the bridge, I was on the port wing of the Bridge deck and thought I saw an object on the top of a swell about three points on the port bow. I got the binoculars and climbed the ladder up one deck to the flying bridge for a better look. The next time that it appeared on the rise of the swell I had a good look with the binoculars and it appeared to be men in a small craft of some sort. I gave the helmsman a left rudder order and brought the ship thirty degrees to port and steadied up. I blew my pocket whistle for the standby man to come to the bridge to summoned the Captain.

Captain Olsen either heard the whistle or stepped out on the Boat deck and saw the course change and came immediately to the bridge. I told him I thought that I saw some men in the water. As I handed him the binoculars he answered me with a long "well", as if to say we'll see about that. The sighting, now close on the port bow, appeared again and Captain Olsen got a good look with the binoculars. His hands shook visibly and he told me to ring Standby on the engine telegraph. The Amidships House on the NISHMAHA is directly over the engine room and the engine telegraph can be heard throughout the quarters. As I rang the engine telegraph nearly all of the crew were in the crew mess and Officer’s Salon and both rooms emptied in seconds as everyone headed for the deck. The engine telegraph sounding off at sea is unusual enough, but with war raging all around, it is especially alarming to all on board.

As we approached the sighting, it turned out to be a life raft with three men on it. By this time a seaman had climbed the foremast to the crosstrees and was pointing out several more rafts at different bearings further ahead. The ship's engines were put full astern and the ship stopped near the raft but it was not possible to maneuver the ship to the raft and the cap­tain ordered the Chief Mate, Robert Auster, to lower a lifeboat and pick up the men from the raft. None of the four lifeboats on the NISHMAHA had a motor and the Chief Mate took four seamen with him to man the oars. The raft was about a hundred yards from the ship and our lifeboat rowed out and picked up the three men and brought them back to the ship. After the survivors were on board, the ship towed the lifeboat to the next rafts. There were two at this location. The lifeboat set out to pick up these survivors, but by this time it was getting near sunset and as darkness comes quickly near the equator the Captain decided to leave that lifeboat and go to the next sightings while we could still see to find them.

When the NISHMAHA reached to next rafts, there were two more. Captain Olsen ordered the other Third Mate to take a lifeboat and pick up the occupants of these two rafts. I went to the Boat deck to help with the launching of the boat. Looking over the side I could see several ten to twelve foot sharks lazily swimming along the ship's side. The lifeboats had no releasing gear and, once the boat was in the water, the falls had to be released, by hand, together. If only one was unhooked before the ship rolled back with the fall still attached, the boat could upend spilling the boat crew in the water.

Captain Olsen then steamed away towards the last two rafts sighted. When the ship reached the location of the last rafts it was dark and a dark night it was. Captain Olsen ordered me to take a third boat and pick up the last of the survivors. At this point most of the deck crewmen were in the other boats and I had only one seaman left that was certified as Lifeboat man. I had to ask for volunteers from the Engine and Stewards departments that indicated that they could handle an oar for my other three oarsmen. As there were no deck seamen left on the ship I had to give quick instructions to engineers on how to lower the boat.

As my boat was being lowered the Captain shouted from the bridge that there were two rafts last seen before it got dark and that they should be straight abeam of the ship. I stood in the stern of the boat with a sweep oar to steer with and we rowed away from the ship. When we were about a quarter mile from the ship we could hear the shouts of the men in the first raft. When we could see it, there were six men and we took them into the lifeboat as we rowed on further out we could hear the calls of the other raft. When we came upon the second raft I was shocked to see that it contained some two dozen men. I was afraid that they would rush into my boat and overcrowd it. However, they were well-disciplined and there was a Chief Petty Officer in charge. I told him that we could not take all of the men into our boat but that they should pass over any that were injured or bad off. About six were taken into our boat and we gave the rest a rope to make fast to their raft and we towed the raft back to the ship.

When back alongside the ship the lifeboat was riding up and down the side of the ship, about eight or ten feet, as the ship rolled in the swell. A short pilot ladder was rigged over the side on the After Deck. As the lifeboat came up on the swell each time one of the survivors was passed up to crew mem­bers on deck that pulled them aboard. When all of the survivors in the boat were passed up to the deck we brought the raft alongside and passed the survivors from the raft into the boat and passed them up to the deck. When all of the survivors were safely on the ship we moved up under the boat davits and attached the falls, no easy task, and the crew on deck hoisted the lifeboat back on board. In the meantime the other two boats had arrived back at the ship, after rowing several miles and were brought on board after discharging their survivors.

It was 10:30 p.m. when all of the boats were secure and it was apparent that all of the sighted survivors had been picked up. A quick count indicated that we had picked up 72 survivors.

After securing my boat I reported back to the bridge to finish what was left of my 8 to 12 watch. Captain Olsen informed me that he had changed our destination and had set course for Port of Spain, Trinidad, some twenty-five hundred miles away but out of the war zone and the closest British Naval Base.

For the rest of the night the crewmen off-watch and the Steward Department worked at getting the survivors fed and bedded down and caring for the sick and injured. For some reason the Nishmaha had a supply of folding cots, blankets and other bedding. The survivors were bedded down in the ship's hospital, spare rooms, recreation areas and in the rooms with officers and crew members. Five of the survivors died during the night. We were told that some of the five had drunk salt water just before being rescued. The five deceased were given a Seaman’s burial that same afternoon. The ship's Bosun sewed each into white canvas shrouds. The engines were stopped and the ship's bell was tolled. Captain Olsen read a burial prayer and the British flag was placed over each man, one at a time, and their bodies were committed to the deep.

The loss of the five rescued survivors was upsetting to the crew of the Nishmaha. It was sad to think that these five had survived the sinking of their ship and even more sad that they survived nearly four grueling days in the ocean without food and water only to die after reaching safety. The other exhausted and wounded survivors were hardly aware of their passing and having just witnessed the death of more than four hundred of their shipmates were not as effected as they might have been. Had a survivor died five or six days later, when all were rested and more or less back to normal, it would have been more traumatic. Fortunately those five were the only ones that did not survive. Of the remaining sixty-seven survivors, about fifteen were bed ridden and had to be attended as if they were hospital patents.

As the Nishmaha plodded westward with its new human cargo the stewards department had the task of feeding nearly three times the number of people. Food supplies had to be stretched. The menus had to be altered but everyone had enough to eat. The crew members going on watch and others were fed first and then the survivors were fed. Trays had to be carried to the bed ridden and some of them needed help with eating. This was done by off-watch crew members and uninjured and healthy survivors. The survivors were issued cigarettes and clothing from the ship's store, called the "Slop Chest". I never understood why the sea men called it that. The "Slop Chest" on the Nishmaha was well-stocked and it was where the crew could buy cigarettes, dungar­ees, warm clothing, work gloves, shoes and other supplies that they might need. In this case the "Slop Chest" on the Nishmaha was nearly cleaned out supplying the survivors with clothing and other necessities.

The Chief Mate fell into the routine of making daily rounds attending to the sick and injured survivors, assisted by the ship's Purser, and carrying medicine and supplies from the ship's medicine chest. The survivors got to looking forward to his visits and treatment and began calling him "Doctor".

Ten days after picking up the survivors, the Nishmaha steamed through the "Dragons Mouth", the entrance to the Gulf of Praia and anchored off Port of Spain on the morning of December 7, 1941. The Nishmaha anchored about a quarter mile from the anchored U. S. Cruiser Indianapolis.

DISCHARGING THE SURVIVORS

For security reasons Captain Olsen did not send out any radio reports of the rescue so the first the British knew of the survivors was when a British Navy Officer boarded the NISH­MAHA on arrival at Port of Spain. The British Navy sent a converted trawler flying the British Navy white ensign to take the survivors ashore. As the trawler pulled away from the NISHMAHA, the survivors gave three cheers for the Captain, officers and crew of the S.S. NISHMAHA.

Before leaving the S.S. NISHMAHA, the survivors composed a letter of thanks addressed to Captain H. S. Olsen, Master, S.S. Nishmaha and signed by all 67 of the survivors. The letter is as follows:

“We whose names appear below, having been rescued from the ocean on November 27th, 1941, by the S. S. Nishmaha, wish to place on record our deep appreciation of the skillful seamanship by which we were picked up from our rafts; and our heartfelt gratitude for the constant care and attention which have been lavished upon us during the subsequent ten days passage.

“In caring for 67 men, a large number of whom were injured and helpless, the task so willingly undertaken by the 36 members of your ship's company was one whose magni­tude we fully realize, and we find no words adequately to express our thanks for all they have done for us. The gen­erosity and kindness which we have experienced under the United States Flag, and the skillful care by which so many have been nursed back to health by yourself, your officers and your crew will never be forgotten by us.”

This letter was signed by the sixty-sever survivors just before they left  the NISHMAHA at Port of Spain, Trinidad.

The admiral in charge of the British Naval Base at Port of Spain sent a letter to Captain Olsen as follows:­

“Dear Captain Olsen,

Naval Reserve Office

Port of Spain Trinidad, B. W. I.

Dear Captain Olsen:

Since seeing the survivors landed here, I have learned of the exceptional kindness shown to them on board your vessel. Will you please accept on behalf of the Admi­ralty my very warmest thanks to you and your officers and men. Your humane action has I am informed been the means of saving many of those who would not have otherwise recovered from the terrible ordeal that they had been through. I shall have the greatest pleasure in informing the Admiralty of what we owe to all on board the "Nishmaha".

Yours Sincerely,

 W. T. Hodges, Admiral

On December 17, 1941, the day that the NISHMAHA arrived at Philadelphia to discharge her cargo, the British Government issued a short press release announcing the loss of the H.M.S. DUNEDIN. The release was carried by the Philadelphia newspapers. No mention was made of the S.S. NISHMAHA'S part in the rescue of the survivors. Despite Admiral Hodges' promise in the last sentence of his letter, to inform the Admiralty, the British Government never gave any recognition or accommodation to the Captain, Officers and crew of the NISHMAHA.

To this day I am proud of the professionalism shown by the officers and crew of the NISHMAHA. They were just normal mer­chant seamen going about their daily work when they came upon the survivors of the DUNEDIN. The boat equipment that they had to work with was antiquated. The boats had no motors. The boat davits were the quadrant type that had to be cranked out by hand. The boat falls were wooden blocks and manila rope. Just block and tackle and the boats had to be lowered and raised by manpower. There were no power winches. Except for being larger, the boat equipment didn't represent a lot of improvement over what Christopher Columbus had on his ships. Despite the crude equipment the crew of the NISHMAHA launched three boats in mod­erate seas, picked up 72 exhausted survivors from seven rafts scattered over several miles of the South Atlantic Ocean. The survivors were brought aboard the ship and the three boats recovered all done without a mishap of any kind, not so much as a smashed finger. Most of it was done in the dark.

A SURVIVORS STORY

One of the survivors was a young electrician named E. J. Stevenson. In 1981, working from notes made shortly after the rescue, he wrote his account of his ordeal and the rescue of the survivors. He must have been in the last raft picked up because he describes the rescue as being carried out entirely in the dark. He sent his story to Lykes Brothers Steamship Com­pany in New Orleans. Lykes printed the story in their in-house magazine called FLEET FLASHES in their 1981 November/December issue. Mr. Stevenson's story follows:­

The DUNEDIN, hit by two torpedoes, was listing heavily to starboard and sinking from the stern by the time I plunged into the water. The sea was pleasantly warm but already covered by a thick film of fuel oil. I swam over to join four men who were clinging to a broken spar of the ship's whaler boat. Working together, we began try­ing to put more distance between us and the stricken ship.

The ship's bow was already clear of the water; soon, the visible forward part of the hull was vertical. The ship hung in that position for what seemed to be an inter­minable period. A great rumbling sound came from within the hull as equipment and fittings broke loose. There was a loud clinking, metallic roar as both anchor cables ran out of the chain locker. In a cloud of reddish brown rust particles they hung, perpendicular and parallel to the fo'c'le deck.

Then almost silently, the ship began to slip stern-­first below the surface of the ocean. As the bows disap­peared there came from the men in the water a sound that will haunt me for the remainder of my life - they gave "DUNEDIN" three hearty cheers.

After the disappearance of the ship, the five of us clung hopelessly and bewildered to the spar. All around us the sea was covered in debris floating in a film of fuel oil. Most of the life rafts were damaged and were drifting. A stoker petty officer named Speaky Lowe and I decided to swim to a carley float (a kind of life raft) we had seen in the distance. We let go of the spar and, with a steady breast stroke, swam toward the float. The sea was rela­tively calm, but there was a heavy swell and only when both we and the raft were on the crest of the swells were we able to check our directions. Finally, we reached the raft and were helped inside by the handful of men already there.

The carley float was an elliptical ring of cork filled peer tanks about ten feet by eight feet. The tanks were lashed together and covered with canvas. Inside, a grating of wooden slats was suspended on rope netting. The raft was designed so that the men standing on the grating were immersed waist-deep.

This particular carley float had sustained several punctured tanks and listed so that it was submerged at one end. The wooden grating had broken in half, and there were about twelve men within the ring, holding on to life lines and treading water.

The four officers with us were hurriedly tearing off badges of rank because the submarine has surfaced and was maneuvering around, taking photographs and possibly searching for an officer to take on board for interrogation. We watched apprehensively. The officers debated their chances of being taken as prisoners; the remainder of us reflected on the stories we had heard of Nazi atrocities and wondered if we would be machine gunned. However, after a few minutes, the U-Boat submerged and left us to our fate.

We set to repairing the raft with pieces of debris, including the mast and sails of one of the ship's whalers. We lashed together the raft's wooden grating so that men could stand on it.

By this time other men had drifted or swam to the raft until there were 36 survivors in the raft and many more clinging to the ropes around it. The raft had sub­merged even deeper, and by now the men standing on the grating were immersed chest deep. Many of the men were severely wounded; Tom Bruton, an engine artificer, had both legs blown off below the knees; there was a boy seaman with a broken arm, a royal marine with a compound fracture of his left thigh, and the assistant canteen man­ager, who was unconscious, had been scalded from head to toe. The float's paddles were used to form a platform for the wounded and for other survivors to raise themselves clear of the water for short periods. The raft mast was raised and a large red-and-yellow flag flopped noisily in the wind. More rafts of survivors were sighted, and by night fall six floats were lashed together in a chain, with some two hundred men in and around them. Several of the wounded survivors died during the afternoon. The assistant canteen manager, who had been scalded so badly, was the first to succumb. I had supported him in my arms for four hours, keeping his head above water, until I became aware that he was no longer breathing. Sadly, we lifted the dead man over the side of the raft and let his body float away.

The tropical darkness descended rapidly, and there sprang up a chill wind. We submerged deeper into the water in an effort to keep warm. The wader's sails were used as a windbreak, and men huddled together with the wet sails draped over their shoulders in an attempt to ward off the biting, cold wind.

During the first night, the strain and delayed shock began to tell on a number of the men. Some imagined the stars shining toward the horizon were lights of a railway station and they swam away to find a taxi in order to catch a train. Others borrowed money with which to pur­chase beer. Some men swam from raft to raft in an attempt to find missing shipmates until, overcome by exhaustion and fatigue, they drifted away and disappeared into the night.

When morning came our numbers were sadly depleted. Sometime during the afternoon, a ration of water and a piece of ship's biscuit was shared out to each man. A gal­lon stone jug of water had been salvaged from the wreckage of the ship's motor boat before it sank, and a small tin of ship's biscuits had been found floating in the sea. The oily, salt-contaminated water was dispensed in a small tobacco tin. The piece of biscuit was too hard to chew, but I placed a large, tough crumb under my tongue to help alleviate my growing thirst.

As morning progressed, many false alerts were raised by men who anxiously scanned the sky for aircraft, but clouds gradually closed in and the sky became overcast. By nightfall our spirits were very low and all thoughts of rescue had been abandoned. The chief yeoman of signals tried to dispel some of the gloom and despondency by assuring anyone who cared to listen that he had managed to send a distress signal before leaving the ship, and that help was doubtlessly on its way. (Those of us who survived learned later that the signal was not received by any allied ship or shore station.)

The weather deteriorated during the second night. From sundown rain lashed down and hissed. Whitecaps lum­bered out of the blackness, making the rafts tilt to crazy angles, yaw madly and lurch and crash against one another. The heavy seas, breaking over the men's heads, caused one raft to capsize. Some of the men were trapped under the grating and, because of their utter exhaustion, were unable to fight their way clear and were drowned.

Continually thrown against each other and buffeted by the waves, hungry, thirsty, growing more despondent but still hoping for rescue, the survivors spent a sleepless night in keeping the rafts from further damage. The storm moderated a little with the moonrise, but intermittent squalls continued as the rain stung their heads and exposed^-shoulders of the men crouching in the rafts. All talking had ceased, and even the grim humour and obsceni­ties of the British matelot had been silenced.

Toward dawn it rained very heavily, and some water was caught in the whaler's foresail and was stored in the stone jar. Most of the men managed to slake their thirst during the night by catching rain in their mouths and by licking their skins and those of their neighbors.

In the predawn light, the surrounding ocean was a wild, turbulent, windswept expanse of tossing waves, laced with spindrift, flecked with foam and capped with flying spumes of spray.

A count of heads showed that the rigours of the night had taken further toll, reducing the number of men who still clung to the rafts.

After daybreak the weather began to moderate and the survivors spirits rose. Feeble jokes were made, but these were quickly hushed, for with the sun came the tropical heat - and with it, the return of thirst. The water obtained during the night had alleviated the men's thirst for a while, but with lips that were cracked and encrusted with salt and tongues that were swollen, the survivors' need for water became an obsession.

Some of the men began to drink salt water, although the stronger willed tried desperately to restrain them. The results were soon apparent. With their thirst becoming more and more unbearable, the men who had drunk salt water soon showed signs of weakening -- some became violent, others lost their reasoning; inevitably, they died.

It was during the morning of the third day that a large school of Portuguese men of war floated among the men. There was a wild thrashing and beating of the water with the paddles as the men tried to drive these creatures away. One man was severely stung across the stomach. He gradually lapsed into a coma and because of his weak and exhausted condition, died later in the day.

About midway came the first attack of barracuda. One of the officers lurched into the center of the raft, gasp­ing with pain and clutching his shoulder where a fish some 15 inches long, protruded rigidly from his shoulder blade.

The barracuda was quickly removed, but not before its teeth had left a deep, round wound which exposed the bone of his shoulder blade and was the diameter of a tennis ball. Another man cried out as huge piece of his calf mus­sel was bitten away. In all the rafts, tired men galvan­ized into action as fish darted between their legs, nibbled at their toes or leapt out of the water toward them. The intermittent attacks lasted for a considerable time, but concentrated defensive efforts prevented the huge school of barracuda from inflicting further severe woundings.

As attacks by the fish gradually became more spo­radic, the remainder of the afternoon passed quietly. A few minutes before dark, a large shark swam towards the raft and poked its nose over the rim of our raft. One of the men grabbed a paddle, turned and gave the creature a heavy blow over its eye. The shark flipped its tail, backed off and swam away.

We faced the approach of another restless night, tor­mented by thirst and dispirited by the thought that rescue was nowhere at hand. More of our comrades had died during the afternoon. Simple burial rites were spoken as their bodies were committed, head first over the rim of the raft into the sea, into whose blue depth they sank slowly until they were lost to sight.

The night passed quietly as the men, exhausted, struggled to keep from collapsing face-down into the water. When a man did collapse and fall forward, he was awakened either by the shock of attempting to breathe salt water or by pummeling of his neighbors.

When the morning came, those of us who could still take an interest in our surroundings found that during the night, more of our comrades had gone. Tortured by thirst and overburdened by fatigue, men had climbed quietly out of the rafts and had drifted away into the oblivion that came swiftly and silently as they sank beneath the surface of the sea.

The survivors moved slowly and awkwardly as they vainly tried to ease aching limbs swollen by long immer­sion. The rafts bumped against one another as the survi­vors huddled wearily, some fortunate enough to doze fitfully, and each one subjected to an agonizing thirst and to the pitiless tropical sun which burned down on unpro­tected heads and bodies. The hours ticked slowly away.

To most of the men in the rafts, the sight of a smok­ing funnel between two masts seemed to be just another hallucination. But this time, instead of dissolving into cloud formations as other hallucinations had done, the mast and funnel gradually drew closer and became more sharply defined against the darkening sky. The survivors' flagging spirits braced against the thought of another night of drifting, exposure and misery, were replaced by a terrific upsurge of hope.

A waterproof torch, which had been kept in reserve, was held up. A cap was used as a light obscurer, and the Morse code signal was flashed: "B-R-I-T-I-S-H  S-U-R-V-I­V-O-R-S".

With hands and paddles, the survivors propelled the rafts clumsily toward the oncoming vessel, which by this time had all steaming lights burning, along with flood lights that brilliantly illuminated an American flag on her side.

Suddenly from the bridge of the ship a signal lamp was flashing the letters: AR ...AR... ("I am receiving you"). The ship altered course towards the rafts and lowered one of her boats. Soon the DUNEDIN's survivors were being helped gently onto the ship. Some were too weak to climb the ladders and had to be carried up. They were made com­fortable and were given small amounts of food and liquids throughout the night. Five of the survivors died during the first night on the ship. They were buried at sea with full honors.

Capt. Olsen, with 67 survivors aboard and the knowl­edge that at least 20 of them required hospital treatment, shaped his course for Port of Spain, Trinidad. For 13 days, "NISHMAHA" ploughed westward toward Trinidad, as the survivors gained strength and responded to the care lav­ished on them by their shipmates.

Finally, on Sunday morning, Dec 7, 1941, "NISHMAHA" passed through the entrance of the Port of Spain ancho­rage, where she was met by a naval tug. After prolonged farewells, the DUNEDIN's survivors boarded the tug. As the vessel pulled away from the "NISHMAHA'S" side, they gave three cheers for the captain, officers and crew of the ship to whom they owed their lives.

After they reached shore, and the injured were placed in hospital beds and the other survivors repaired to their respective messes, they were greeted by the news that their friends and rescuers aboard the "NISHMAHA" were now their allies.

That morning the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. The following day, the United States entered World War II.

COMMENTS AND CORRECTIONS

E. J. Stevenson, the sailor who wrote the preceding account, retired in Cheltenham, England, where he named his house "NISHMAHA" in memory of the Lykes Ship and the men who saved his life. He died on November 21, 1981 a few days shy of the 40th anniversary of the sinking of the DUNEDIN and his res­cue.

Seaman Stevenson's recall of the rescue reveals several differences from those previously mentioned in this story. He stated that the survivors were on the NISHMAHA 13 days, making the sinking November 21st, the rescue on November 24 and the arrival at Port of Spain December 7th. My records, including the log of the "U-124", put the sinking on November 24th. The rescue took place on Thanksgiving day which fell on November 27th in 1941. The letter to Captain Olsen signed by all of the survi­vors mentions them being on board the Nishmaha for only ten days. His account indicates that the rafts were lashed together throughout their ordeal. However when the NISHMAHA arrived on the scene the rafts were scattered over several miles of the Atlantic Ocean.

THE NISHMAHA AT WAR

Shortly after the survivors left the NISHMAHA news was received on board that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor and that the United States was in the war. The NISHMAHA now had the problem of getting back to the United States through hostile waters.

he NISHMAHA took on stores, mainly food, and fuel oil the rest of the day, December 7^th, and on the morning of December 8th sailed from Port of Spain, unarmed and unescorted, bound for her original destination, Philadelphia.

Running blacked out at night and hoping for the best dur­ing daylight the NISHMAHA made it safely to Philadelphia arriv­ing in mid-December. When the cargo was discharged, the NISHMAHA was ordered to proceed to New Orleans. Leaving Philadelphia and again running alone and unarmed Captain Olsen stayed close to the shore going down the east coast as submarines do not like to come into shallow water. At New Orleans the NISHMAHA went into the shipyard where she was painted gray from the mast tops to the water line. Some World War One armament was installed on board. Some of it, like 30-caliber machine guns were useless. A small detachment of U. S. Navy gunners was put on board to care for the guns and train the merchant seamen in their use.

With the United States now in the war there was suddenly a shortage of licensed officers and crew for the merchant marine. One of the other deck officers left the NISHMAHA and I was promoted to Third Mate.

After a month in the shipyard the NISHMAHA again loaded a cargo for South and East Africa and sailed on February 2nd, 1942. Running alone again the NISHMAHA stopped at Port of Spain in to take on fuel oil. At daylight the next morning the NISH­MAHA sailed along with another vintage American freighter the S.S. WARRIOR. The WARRIOR was loaded with war material with Mitchell bombers on deck and headed for the Eastern Mediterra­nean by way of the Red Sea. The two were not in convoy and not escorted. They simply sailed at the same time and were on the same course. At about 1:00 p.m. and still in sight of land the two ships came under submarine attack. The WARRIOR was hit by a torpedo. The torpedo missed the NISHMAHA. The WARRIOR went down in ten minutes and all four lifeboats were seen pulling away. The NISHMAHA could not risk stopping to help and risk the loss of another ship and it's cargo. The NISHMAHA escaped and conti­nued on her voyage. On the return leg of the voyage the NISH­MAHA returned running alone until she reached the Caribbean where she joined up with an already formed convoy of twenty­five ships. German submarines followed the convoy for two days, sinking five of the ships. The small escort vessels were unable to protect the convoy and the convoy was ordered to disperse. The ships scattered and the NISHMAHA again running alone made it safely to Baltimore.

The NISHMAHA made one more voyage to Southern Africa. The two voyages took the entire year of 1942. Each time the ship returned to the United States she went into a shipyard and had her defensive armament upgraded. More modern anti-aircraft guns were added and additional quarters for more navy gun crew. With a few crewmen added to her regular crew and now twenty-four navy gun crew members, the NISHMAHA now carried a total crew of sixty-four.

At this time Captain Olsen retired and Chief Mate Robert Auster became Captain. By this time I had been on the NISHMAHA over a year and while the ship was in the shipyard in Baltimore I raised my license to Second Mate and was promoted to Second Mate.

In Early January, 1943 the NISHMAHA loaded a cargo of ammunition, food and other war supplies destined for the Rus­sians by way of the Persian Gulf. The ship left New York in convoy to the Panama Canal. After transit of the Panama Canal the NISHMAHA headed west alone across the South Pacific. Then, south of Tasmania and Australia and stopping at Freemantle on the west coast of Australia. The run from the canal to Free­mantle took fifty days and the ship ran out of food. After tak­ing on food and fuel at Freemantle, the NISHMAHA proceeded across the Indian Ocean to Iraq at the head of the Persian Gulf.

After a long wait for a turn at the docks the NISHMAHA discharged her cargo at a small place up the Shatt Al Arab River called Khorramshahr in the country of Iran.

On leaving the Persian Gulf the NISHMAHA headed south along the East African Coast to Durban, South Africa. Before reaching Durban the NISHMAHA was almost out of food again. At Durban she took on a partial cargo and on leaving headed south again, around the Cape of Good Hope and headed across the South Atlantic Ocean to Argentina. At Buenos Aires she took on more cargo and headed north to Rio De Janeiro, Brazil where she topped off her cargo holds. On leaving Brazil the NISHMAHA headed north and for home at last. She arrived in New York and discharged her cargo of raw materials at the end of September, 1943. On this voyage the NISHMAHA went around the world and was gone almost nine months. At the end of this voyage I was pro­moted to Chief Mate.

The NISHMAHA made three short voyages to the West Indies from New York to finish the year 1943. From Cuba and Puerto Rico she brought back much needed raw sugar. On one trip while the lower holds were loaded with raw sugar the entire tween decks were loaded with a cargo of rum and other spirits for the 1943 and 1944 holiday season for East Coast cities.

Beginning 1944 the NISHMAHA was operating in the North Atlantic Ocean, carrying ammunition, tanks and other war mate­rial to England for the build up of supplies for the invasion of Europe. Running with the large convoys out of New York she made three voyages to various ports on the East Coast of England. On "D" Day the NISHMAHA was in the North East English channel port of Sunderland.

The large convoys out of New York usually consisted of a hundred ships. The making up of these convoys was something to see. A hundred ship leaving New York all at about the same time
and headed for a predetermined rendezvous and each ship maneuvering to get to it’s designated position in the convoy. The old NISHMAHA was a sight to see with all of her signal flags flying and black smoke bellowing from her tall smokestack as the engineers tries to coax another half knot of speed out of her twenty five year old engine to help the captain get to his position in the convoy. When maid up and under way these convoys consisted of twenty ships in a row across the front and in columns five ships deep. Such a convoy was ten miles across the front. The commodore ship was usually In the center of the first line of ships and ships on the outer perimeter could not always see the commodore ship’s signal flags so repeater ships were designated to display the visual signals that that were used to indicate course and speed changes and other orders.

In the last three months of 1944 the NISHMAHA was taken off of the North Atlantic run and sent to the West Coast of South America. She carried mail, consumer goods and other consumer goods and other needed supplies for the South American economy and brought back a cargo of nitrate from Chile.

In Valparaiso, Chile, Captain Austerwas taken very ill and had to be removed from the ship, was hospitalized and had to be flown back to the United States. Being the Chief Officer I was the one to replace the captain but there was a problem I did not yet have my master’s license. Since it wartime it would it would take a while to send a replacement captain from the United States. Not wanting to delay the ship the U, S, Council, on the Captain Auster’s recommendation made an exception and appointed me as master of the NISHMAHA for the remainder of the voyage.

I completed the voyage arriving in Norfolk, Virginia in early December, 1944. I then left the NISHMAHA took a thirty day leave, during which time I took the examination for my masters license. After receiving my master’s license I was sent to the West Coast and spent the rest of the war sailing as captain on another cargo ship in the Pacific.

The NISHMAHA was a gallant old ship and a lucky ship. She served the war effort well, operated in all theaters of the war. She was in the war from the beginning to the end although under attack several times was never hit and finished the war without a scratch from enemy action. I last saw the NISHMAHA at a cargo dock in Houston in 1949. She was under foreign flag. I went on board, for old times sakes and visited with the Greek officers.