Out of the Sleep of Death
Rescue of a Submarine Crew Imprisoned Fathoms Deep for Three Days
By an act which must stand among the most heroic in the records of the war, Commander Francis H. H. Goodhart sacrificed his life to save the crew of a British submarine, fast in the mud in thirty-eight feet of water. It was in the first week of May, 1918, that the commander's vessel found itself in this perilous plight. When the air supply of the imprisoned men was about exhausted, Goodhart entered the conning tower, giving instructions that he was to be blown upward in the hope of reaching the surface and bringing aid to the imperiled crew. As he entered the tower with the senior officer a small tin cylinder containing instructions for rescuers was fastened to his belt, and the commander's last words were: "If I don't get up, the cylinder will."
Air at high pressure had been forced into the conning tower, and the lid was opened. Taking a deep breath, Commander Goodhart was shot upward, but he struck a portion of the superstructure and was killed.
The senior officer, who had intended to remain in the submarine, was forced from the tower by the air pressure and reached the surface safely. The remainder of the crew was rescued soon afterward. A posthumous reward of the Albert Medal for gallantry in saving life at sea was conferred on Commander Goodhart.
The sufferings of the crew were thus described by one of the rescued sailors in a letter to The London Telegraph:
When the first night of imprisonment passed, and it appeared from our watches—we had artificial light enough to see the time—that the dawn of a new day had come with no sign of release, some of the company threatened to chuck hope. But others of us put as bright a face on a black outlook as we could, and gave them such cheer as a waterless and breadless situation would allow. Of course, too, we had to remember that our air supply was running out.
Speak of dropping sovereigns down a well! Every tick of my watch I knew was as a lost sovereign, so far as air was concerned. But those of us who were blessed with big batteries of optimism did our best to distribute the current, and so the time dragged on. Then a great thing happened. Two heroes came forward and offered to risk all in an attempt to win to the surface. All honor to them! How they did it and at what a cost may be told later on, but the thing was done, and the outer world was thus made aware of our terrible plight. That much we realized when we knew of the presence of divers about our craft. What a relief! We had been located, practical measures were being taken for our salvage, and that splendid prospect made us take in a draught of new life. Artificial light was fast failing, but hope was burning brightly, so what did it matter?
Our ordeal, as it turned out, was but a young thing as yet, however. We had still a long way to go. The day dragged through, and when we entered on the silence and uncertainty of the night we were a forlorn enough lot, I can assure you. The nerve of the toughest of us was wearing thin. My fear that it might snap suddenly all round was not realized, however, for we were given further indications, which our practical ears were not slow to catch, that the great work of rescue was well in hand. The constant tapping of the divers outside was a cheering sound, and brought hope to those of us who, in the steadily increasing stifle of the atmosphere, were now breathing hard to live.
But rescue was long delayed, and in the early hours of the following day most of us wrote our last farewell to our loved ones—short, tender messages scrawled in pencil—and some of us made our wills. Then, as if by a miracle, three strong strands in the ladder of escape came to us from above. Exactly in what manner this was made possible I cannot tell you. We got air, water, and food, in only the smallest quantities, but just enough to stir us into new life. That was a godsend as welcome as it was unexpected. And we had not to wait long for the opening of our prison door. When the details of that liberation are given it will cause surprise and congratulation everywhere. It verges on the miraculous. When we scrambled into freedom we were a dazed and shaken lot of men, but I warrant you our hearts were full of gratitude to God for saving mercies.
It was left to others to give fuller details of the impression caused by the unexpected arrival of the three "strands" in the life ladder. The first was air—life-giving air—which was forced into the stifling compartment from above. The boon came just in time; the prisoners had had about fifty hours of captivity, their last light was burning dimly, and the atmosphere of their prison house was vile. More than one of the company had lost consciousness, but the effect of the tiny air current was instantaneous. The senseless men stirred as if in troubled sleep, and opened their eyes, breathing hard, while those of the company who had stood up to the ordeal with all their senses about them felt instantly the glorious effect of the air draught.
The second strand was water—fresh, cold water—also forced down by the splendid salvage party. The quantity was very small—only a sip to each—but, oh! the refreshment of it! "We were parched in lip and mouth and throat," said one of the prisoners, "and never was a drop of water more welcome." The third strand was food, pellets of compressed food. The salvage party had accomplished almost the impossible. And this was not their greatest achievement. It was the forcing of a way of escape for the entombed men that was the marvel. Ingenuity backed up by tireless tenacity, resourcefulness that absolutely refused to own either defeat or despair, triumphed over difficulties that seemed insuperable.