That night there were heavy squalls, so they had to take in sail and put out their improvised sea-anchor. On Friday morning the weather moderated, and they were able to set full sail again. An A.B. died during the day, and everyone had now begun to endure agonies of thirst. They continued to sail all Friday night, but exposure and exhaustion were reducing them to a state of callousness, and at times they suffered from light-headedness. These attacks were worse in the night than by daylight. On Saturday morning a fireman was found dead in the bottom of the boat, and during the day a third-class pantry-boy died.
There was little doubt in the chief officer’s mind that the secret drinking of salt water was hastening the death of many. He did his best to prevent it, but he was working watch and watch at the tiller, and there are limits to what one man can accomplish. They drifted with sail down all through the night of Saturday, there being no stars to steer by; but sail was re-hoisted at daybreak on Sunday. A cattleman, who had been behaving in a peculiar way for two days, made three attempts to jump overboard, and at last succeeded. The enfeebled state of his shipmates rendered his rescue impossible, although they turned the boat round and sailed about in the position where he had disappeared.
To-day their last tot of water was served out—a mouthful apiece—and they tried to collect rain water from the occasional showers that swept past them. Everything was saturated with salt, however, so that the little they caught was undrinkable. Then they took to licking the oars, the tiller, the seats and the woodwork of the boat, in their frantic efforts to gather up the rain-drops; but the salt spray came flying in-board continually and frustrated their hopes. At last a happy thought occurred to them; they broke up the empty water-breaker and licked the inside, which they found to be saturated with moisture and delicious to their parched tongues. That night the deck-boy, who had been quietly sinking all day, passed away.
They sighted land at 3 p.m. on Monday, and made what haste they could to approach it. This they accomplished late in the evening, but darkness had set in and there was a heavy northerly swell, which rendered any attempt at landing too dangerous. They lay-to, therefore, awaiting daylight. Their mast was carried away at the heel during a squall, but it acted as a sea-anchor, and in the morning they pulled in towards the shore until their strength gave out. Then two fishing-boats were observed coming out from the harbour, and they towed the survivors into Carino.
The villagers, headed by the priest, came to the assistance of the boat’s company, most of whom were unable to walk. The linen-keeper died as he was being lifted ashore; two of the crew, who had gone mad, refused to leave the boat, and had to be dragged out. The villagers were very kind, and carried the survivors to their cottages, while their wives paid special attention to the two women and the baby. This morsel of humanity seemed well enough at Carino, but died six days after being admitted to hospital at Ferrol. A trimmer died of gangrene in the same hospital two weeks later. The chief officer bears testimony to the splendid behaviour of the boat’s crew during the eight days of hardship and exposure which they endured. Forty lives were lost through the sinking of the Alnwick Castle.
When about 150 miles S.E. of Cape Clear, at 3 o’clock in the afternoon of 29th April, the British steamer Daleby was torpedoed without warning. She was struck twice, the second torpedo blowing up all the life-boats and causing her to sink immediately. The last man to leave the ship dived off as she was sinking. The submarine then came to the surface and circled round him, but no attempt was made to pick him up. Afterwards he noticed the ship’s dinghy floating a little way off, and swam towards it. The wind, however, was behind him, and kept blowing the boat away, so that he did not reach her for two hours.
Having baled her out, he returned to the scene of the disaster, where he managed to pick up a fireman, who had been wounded in the head and was unconscious. He revived this man, and together they started rowing for land, although the fireman was not able to do much work. They were at sea in the dinghy for 24 hours, when they were picked up by a steamer, having rowed 30 miles. Through the sinking of the Daleby 26 men perished.
When about 8 miles south of Beachy Head on the 20th May, the British steamer Tycho was torpedoed without warning and began to go down by the head. The order to abandon ship was given at 5.10 p.m., ten minutes after the ship had been struck, and was carried out without casualties. The vessel went down at 5.20. The crew then pulled towards the steamship Porthkerry, which had seen the explosion and was standing by about 200 yards away on the port beam.
As the Tycho’s boats came alongside her, another torpedo was discharged by the submarine. This blew up one of the boats, killing the master and 14 men, and capsized the other boat. The Porthkerry was abandoned, with eight casualties, the vessel going down in three minutes after being struck by the torpedo. The survivors from both ships were picked up at 7 o’clock that night by a small coasting steamer and landed at Newhaven at midnight on the 21st May.