The end was now drawing very near. The bows of the Shark had sunk until the foremost funnel was awash, and the waves were lapping over the waterlogged hull. Seeing that two German destroyers had approached to within a few hundred yards with the evident intention of administering the coup de grâce, Commander Loftus Jones gave his last order to the ship’s company, “Save yourselves!”
He was helped into the water by the coxswain and a number of others who had tended him devotedly after he received his mortal wound, and floated clear of the ship with the support of a life-belt. The remainder of the crew, to the number of about a score, swam towards the rafts and pieces of floating wreckage.
Two torpedoes struck the Shark amidships almost simultaneously. With a muffled explosion she lurched violently to starboard, flinging overboard the dead and wounded who still remained on deck. Her stern rose until it was almost perpendicular and she sank with colours flying, about an hour and a half after firing her first shot.
Stoker Petty Officer Filleul and Able Seaman Smith succeeded in placing the captain on the raft of barrels, where they propped him in a sitting position with the aid of life-belts and buoys. While this was being done the captain attempted to smile, and shook his head, saying, “It’s no good, lads.”
Stoker Petty Officer Filleul remained by the captain, and Able Seaman Smith swam to one of the other rafts on which the coxswain, Petty Officer Griffin, Chief Stoker Newcombe, Yeoman of Signals Banham, Stoker Swan, and Able Seamen Hope and Howell had succeeded in crawling. The three rafts drifted within sight of each other through the long northern summer twilight.
Shortly after the Shark sank, the British battle cruisers swept past in pursuit of the enemy. The captain asked if the pursuing ships were British. Filleul replied that they were, and the captain said, “That’s good!”
Not long afterwards his head fell forward and his gallant spirit fled.
The second life-saving raft had been so damaged by shell-fire that only two men could be accommodated upon it. The two most severely wounded (one of them had lost a leg) were helped on to it by a number of others who themselves clung to the edge, among them being the first lieutenant. Able Seaman Smith, on the other raft, realising that the majority were badly wounded, and being himself only slightly hurt, swam over to render what assistance he could. The first lieutenant, who had unfailingly cheered and comforted the stricken little band, presently asked if any could still sing, and then, without faltering, himself began:
“Nearer, my God, to Thee.”
Those who had the strength joined in as they clung submerged up to their shoulders in the icy water, almost unrecognisable from the thick black oil which floated on the surface; and so, one by one, death overtook them. Able Seaman Smith alone survived more than a couple of hours.