People and Places
Here are three stories that I am sure you will find interesting...
oooOooo Old Glox's Ghost
By Capt. GW Mortimer
(The Compass Magazine Sept/Oct 1969)
So you're not superstitious - you don't believe in ghosts'
Neither did the master of S/S Gloxinia
Until I served in the old Gloxinia I was strongly opposed to any opinions that supported beliefs in ghosts and supernatural apparitions, spirits, and the restless dead. When I left that ship, I had an open mind on the subject and now will listen with some sympathy to narratives of experience with unearthly forces. Sailors as a group tend toward easy acceptance of superstition and belief in the hyperphysical. It has been written that ignorant people in general tend to these beliefs naturally, the supposition being that the educated mind can provide reason and explanation for most occurrences within the bounds of live agency.
When I first took over command of the old tanker during the last war, I found great difficulty in settling into my position due to a variety of factors. She was an old, rather neglected ship, full of years and sores; verminous, stinking of fish oil, her crew was slack, and the senior officers were all much older than I. They rather resented my efforts to tighten up on efficiency. This entailed some rather blunt talking on my part and liberal use of the prod toward getting the ship running as I wanted her. I was accustomed to smart ships and smart officers running them. My ideas were still not run down to the point where they found excuse in the fact there was a war on, so why bother about exerting ourselves - we might all be in Davy Jones's locker tomorrow!
In early conversations with my officers, mainly devoted to searching for information and knowledge of her, I was asked whether I believed in the existence of ghosts. In my position as master I could not, in all prudence, contribute anything to such beliefs, since I considered any convictions of this kind were apt to be a liability on board. Having ghosts in any ship's company always imposed a certain strain on the crew and officers. To the question, therefore, I gave an emphatic negative, adding that such fantasies were only the products of rather weak intellects and the imaginative minds of those who did not give sufficient concentration to the business on hand. I had better things to think about than such childishness!
This ill-natured reply was not well received, and I was told that if I stayed very long in that old ship, I would have reason to change my mind. Lightly I asked what particular form the spooks haunting the ship took. Were we bothered by groans and clanking chains? Were the decks populated by ghouls sorting heads in the scuppers? Did they promenade at night keeping the ship awake? This rather goaded the older officers and they began relating incidents of seeing, hearing, and acting upon the advice of their favourite spectre, which had long sailed in that ship. Apparently he was an old man who had served many years in sail, and his son had once commanded the old ship in which we were serving. The old chap had taken a fancy to the Gloxinia, and he was still keeping a watching brief on us all and of her conduct and safety. They quoted cases wherein old Captain Leathers had appeared and given aid and warning of peril that when acted upon, proved the old boy knew what he was doing and was still a smart sailor, it not entirely an asset to have around. I listened to a great number of strange stories, with much scepticism, one in particular trying my credibility to such a point that I burst into loud guffaws.
Gloxinia had been at sea off the North-western Approaches; dusk was shading the sky, and the captain of the ship—the son of the ghost - was in his cabin. The officer of the watch was startled when the captain dashed onto the bridge shouting "Hard - a - port!" As the ship turned to her helm, a torpedo ran just clear of her stern. But for the timely alteration of course, she would have been clobbered. The mate, who was on watch, asked the captain how he had known that a torpedo was speeding towards them.
He replied that he had not known of the torpedo, but he had known that the ship was in danger because his father had appeared at his door and told him to get up on the bridge quickly and put the helm hard-to-port. I laughed heartily at this yarn as a rather humorous piece of fiction.
We sailed in due course and crept down river in a late October mist. After the tugs had been let go, I instructed the mate to swing out the lifeboats and grip them down in the emergency position, a normal wartime practice. He protested that they never swung the boats out at night-only during the daylight hours. Curtly I told him to carry out my orders, pointing out that the war did not cease at night, and that it would be good practice in any case for him and his men to know how to do the work in the dark. He went about the task, in the course of which a man fell from the boat deck to the main deck and received such injuries that I had to land him in the care of the Examination Vessel patrolling at the mouth of the river. After we had settled again on course, the mate came to me and said that Captain Leathers was now half right in that he had told him, when the mate had met the ghost on the foredeck as he was coming aft, that we would lose two men that voyage. I snorted in disbelief and told him to keep such silly rubbish to himself, for I did not want the crew to become jittery. At four o'clock the following morning, the visibility being good and the mate picking up the watch, I decided to go below and snatch a couple of hours of sleep. Coming down off the bridge, I paused on the lower bridge and took a look at my blacked-out ship. All was quiet. I could hear the dull thud of the old engines pushing the girl along; the bow waves hissed and sparkled in the night, and my mind was at rest. She felt good under my feet, and I was warming to her with a respect difficult to define, except to say that ships have a way with a sailor, and I knew that she and I would get along all right. Glancing out to the port side of the lower bridge, I noted a figure standing in the extreme wing looking out ahead. I walked across, and as I approached, I called out, "Who is that? What are you doing here?" There was no one there. Strange! I must have been tired. Staring for long hours into the night can make one's eyes play tricks. It could not have been one of the watch, and the gunners were in the gun pits.
We steamed up the West Coast of Scotland that day and late that night. Conforming to orders, I took the ship into Loch Ewe and anchored her in the midst of other dark e ned ships. After Convoy Conference next morning, I came back on board, and all access to the shore was severed. Just before 3 p.m. we weighed anchor and began steaming slowly seaward preparatory to taking our place in a convoy bound for Iceland. At 4 p.m. the chief engineer reported that one of his firemen was missing and had last been seen just after 3:40 p.m. when he had called the four-to-eight watch. I cut speed to Dead Slow, handed her over to the mate, and went to investigate. A thorough search of the ship showed that the man was not with us. He could not have gone ashore since we were underway long before he was last seen. Then I noticed a pair of shoes near the rail on the poop. None of my crew claimed them, and they had not been there at 3 p.m. were they the missing man's? Probably. He was a type, according to his mates, whose mind was morbidly fixed on the perils of life at sea in wartime. He brooded, and his only conversation was of what would happen if.... Most of us never let our minds dwell on such things. We were prepared to fight for survival, and we did so in every way we knew, but after that was done, our minds turned away from that aspect of our existence and we trusted in that special Providence which we firmly believed looks after fools, drunken men, and sailors.
I made a signal to the Examination Vessel on duty off the entrance to the Loch reporting the missing man. In my log book, I gave the opinion that the man, scared of seagoing in wartime, may have thought that the shore looked very near as we were leaving the Loch, and evidence suggested that he perhaps believed he could safely swim ashore. The water was very cold. It was only late that night as we were being hammered by a westerly gale that I remembered the mate's words—we would lose two men on that voyage.
The day following the gale, it had just grown dark when the lookout man left his post on the forecastle head, came up to the bridge and reported to the mate that he was not going to keep the lookout forward in the bows. There was a man, or a ghost, moving around the forecastle head, and he was scared. I listened in on this report and questioned the man myself. Undoubtedly he was scared of something. The weather had moderated, and the ship was dry forward, and he seemed a sincere enough type. The mate listened quietly as I mocked at the man's childishness and fears and told him that I would go forward with him and prove that there was no one there, but he flatly refused to accompany me. Clutching a flashlight, but careful to show no light as the convoy was blacked out; I went forward and climbed the ladder to the forecastle head. A diligent search revealed nothing untoward, and I came down the port side ladder and went under the forecastle head. With the aid of the flashlight I inspected every likely corner of concealment and even went down the forepeak store but found no evidence of human or ghostly presence. I stood for a few minutes outside of the starboard entrance to the forecastle letting my eyes adjust to full darkness. I had taken only a few steps when something impelled me to turn and look back. A man stood there looking out ahead! I presumed the mate had persuaded the lookout to return to his post, and intending to speak to him; I climbed the ladder, rounded the windlass—and found no one there.
The months that followed brought to me a succession of small incidents which I found increasingly difficult to explain to myself, yet I fought against giving credence to the idea that the ship was haunted.
On a voyage immediately after the closing of hostilities in Europe, we were bound up the Irish Sea with a new crew I had shipped at Liverpool, among whom was a new second mate. I considered myself lucky to have this officer, for he boasted a first mate's certificate, and I thought he would be a man who knew his business. It was night as we held the ship on a course to clear Skerryvore, southwest of the island of Tiree and Barra Head on the southern tip of the Hebrides group. The helmsman was steering Nor-Nor-West, and at something after midnight, I decided that I could leave her to the second mate and take some rest. He appeared to understand my orders and advice on tide, and I left him with the injunction to call me at once if anything worried him or if he needed assistance.
Off the bridge, I cleaned up and was in my bunk before 1 a.m. listening to the fresh north wind and the rattle of spray on the bridge house. Following upon long established habit, I picked up a book and began to read myself to sleep. It was an interesting book, and tiredness seemed to have left me. My bunk light left just a circle of light about my head and pillow, and the rest of the cabin was almost dark. I started up on my elbow as my door was flung open, and a man stood there in the dim light, his oilskins gleaming wetness. He was, I thought, bearded, muffled up to his chin, a sou'wester pulled well down on his head. "Captain, you should get up on the bridge at once!" Annoyed by the man's tone and his failure to knock at my door, I asked sharply, "Did the second mate send you down for me?" "No. But you get up on the bridge right away, or you are going to lose your ship!" He closed the door as I jumped out of my bunk, dug my feet into slippers, flung on my dressing gown, and dashed after him. I took the bridge ladder in three leaps, and my hair stood on end! There on the port bow with considerable elevation to it, was Oversay Light, which we were to have passed four miles distant on the starboard beam. I yelled for the second mate. He appeared, and I demanded to know where we were and how did he come to get that light on the port bow? All this took but seconds. Then I shouted, "Hard-a-port!" to the helmsman, at the same time running to the compass where I saw the ship was heading northeast—six points off her course. The second mate reckoned she was about a quarter of a mile off the rocks! "Stand by engines," I ordered. The telegraphs rang, and I sweated cold fear as I watched that light slowly, oh so slowly, draw ahead, and then swing faster away onto the starboard bow. Breakers seemed to lick at her hungrily, and I held my breath waiting for the tearing of rock on metal under my feet. My mouth was parched, and my pyjamas were saturated with perspiration. She kept swinging to her helm, and I relaxed my grip on the dodger as the light drew astern and I steadied her on a course of southwest. Angrily I ordered the second mate to do nothing on the bridge until I gave him permission and went below to dress. Returning, I took time to cool off and check bearings and to resume our proper course, then demanded an explanation from the second mate how he came to be so far off course and heading for the rocks of Islay.
In the chartroom, he showed me his workmanship. The man had no idea what he was about. Every conceivable error it was possible to make, he had made. His chart work had showed him, in error that the ship was setting heavily to the eastward and he had begun to pour allowance for this set into the course, but he applied this allowance to the eastward. If, when driving your car, you see something to which you estimate you are going to pass too close, you do not turn towards it, but this is precisely what the second mate had done!
Next I asked to see the standby man of the watch and inquired if it had been he who had come to my cabin and told me to get up onto the bridge. He denied having done so and did not; in any case, fit my picture of the man who had stood at my door. The lookout man also denied having called me, but he thought he had seen someone coming along the deck about the time in question. I saw that watch out, and when the mate came up at 4 a.m., I told him of the incident and mentioned that I was going to find the chap who had sense and initiative enough to save the ship by calling me. The next morning I invaded the crew's quarters and told the men that I owed much to one of them, and I wanted the man who had called me just after 2 a.m. that morning to step forward. There was no response, nor was there any member of the crew wearing a beard. Someone had certainly called me.
A dreadful feeling of doubt possessed me. Had I fallen asleep for an instant and dreamed the whole thing, or had some man in the ship's company indeed called me but for reasons best known to himself decided to keep quiet about the matter. I considered these and many other explanations, but reached no satisfactory conclusions. I eventually left that ship after many years of service in her, with a wide open mind on the subject of the supernatural.
SS Gloxinia
Built by Tyne Iron Shipbuilding Co. 1920 as a cargo ship. Converted at Smiths Dock to a tanker 1921 (at a cost of £ £236,235 ) she was sold by Stag Line in 1952 for £115.000 and converted to a dry cargo ship. She ended up at Spezia in April 1959 to be broken up
I should just mention that TASC Member George Wade served as an apprentice with Capt (Bill) Mortimer 1949 -50 on the s.s. Gloxinia when engaged on the West Indies Trade.
Thanks to George for providing me with the copy of The Compass magazine
And to Exxon Mobil and of course to the author
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oooOooo
Ambassador Story
UNITED STATES COAST GUARD
USCGC COOS BAY (WAVP – 376)
Portland Maine
On the morning of 18 th February 1964 the United States Coast Guard cutter COOS BAY , a 2500 ton 311 ft diesel-powered ship, was steaming in snow squalls and fog off the outer tip of the Grand Banks on her return from a three week winter weather patrol on ocean station BRAVO, located in Davis Strait off Labrador. The crew of 134 Officers, men and weather bureau observers had been alert for drifting icebergs, and now their thoughts were of homecoming two days hence. An emergency broadcast TTT was intercepted by the radio operator, advising that the British motor-ship AMBASSADOR , 7308 gross tons, with a crew of thirty five aboard was broken down and listing heavily in mountainous seas, some 370 miles south of the COOS BAY . Shortly thereafter and SOS signal was received. Meanwhile, the Commander, Eastern Area, U.S. Coast Guard in New York, had directed the COOS BAY had directed the COOS BAY to proceed and assist. COOS BAY'S maximum speed of 18 knots was soon cut down to 15 by the heavy seas as she plunged south along in the trough, rolling heavily
Meanwhile the Italian passenger liner, SS LEONADOD DA VINCE , was reported standing by the stricken AMBASSADOR . The “Ambassador” was transmitting on emergency batteries, since the engine room was flooded, and her signals grew progressively weaker. Finally the radio operator said that he too was abandoning. As the distress case progressed, ships of all nationalities and in various locations, some even several hundreds of miles away called and offered their help.
COOS BAY arrived the morning of 19 th February to find several merchant ships standing by the stricken freighter. The wind was very strong and the seas were running high. Even the large ships were yawing wildly back and forth. On the scene were the Italian passenger liner VULCANIA , and the French merchant ship CARAIBE , the American ship CITY OF ALMA , and the Norwegian ship FRUEN.
United States Air Force and Coast Guard and Canadian aircraft had been searching since the previous day for liferafts and survivors. Just before COOS BAY arrived on the scene she recovered a deflated life-raft sighted by one of the look-outs.
The FRUEN was laying about 200 yards to leeward of the AMBASSADOR and had thrown a line-throwing gun to the stricken freighter just as GOOS BAY had arrived. Five men had already been taken off by FRUEN however there were still sixteen men on board the AMBASSADOR . The previous day, most of the crew of 35 had taken to the liferafts. The port lifeboat of the AMBASSADOR had been crushed by the seas and the heavy port list prevented the starboard boat from being launched. The operator had radioed the previous day that they didn't think the ship would last another eight hours.. The first crewman to reach FRUEN told of how two of the rafts had upset almost immediately near the ship and that fourteen men had been lost. They said that three men had been seen drifting away in a small raft. Twenty one of the men in the rafts made it back on board the AMBASSADOR and spent the night huddled in the lee of the bulwarks on the bow of the steeply listing ship.
Since the FRUEN had a line fast on the AMBASSADOR , COOS BAY stood by and directed the various merchant ships and aircraft to search the different areas of possible drift of the liferafts. The odds were heavily against finding anyone alive by this time because of the weather and the fact that two of the first liferafts had upset, nevertheless, the search went on. Over the space of the next two hours four more men made it across to FRUEN on the long line. The waves were breaking over their heads and often they would disappear from sight.
The first line that FRUEN put aboard the wreck snapped after a while, as did the second but a few men got off each time. When a total of nine men had been removed, the third line also parted and FRUEN radioed that she had no more lines to put out. The radio operator was a woman and the COOS BAY had considerable difficulty understanding her accent until fortunately, the Master of the Dutch salvage tug ELBE cut in and offered to translate and relay messages. The ELBE was still a hundred miles away and was coming in to attempt to tow the derelict into port should she remain afloat. Although FRUEN was out of rescue equipment and was several days late on her voyage, she remained on the scene while COOS BAY attempted to remove the crew, FRUEN then stood off to windward to watch.
The Master of the FRUEN , a ship of 10,000 tons (larger than the AMBASSADOR ) displayed admiral seamanship in manoeuvring such a large vessel in the vicinity of a foundering wreck and successfully putting a line aboard three times. Fortunately the two ships drifted about the same rate, making the operation possible.
COOS BAY manoeuvred her bow close to the bow of the AMBASSADOR and fired a line-throwing gun. The first shot was true and the crewman of the AMBASSADOR pulled the line aboard. COOS BAY , being a lighter draft ship with a lot of superstructure to resist the wind, drifted to leeward faster than the wreck. Thus it was readily apparent that the rescue operation was not going to be a snap. The men on the wreck hauled away as rapidly as they could and soon a fifteen-man rubber life-raft was on the way. The seas were not as steep as on the previous day, yet they were still about 25 feet high with the tops breaking and blowing spume in the 40 knot wind. COOS BAY rolled heavily 20 to 30 degrees with all hands hanging onto whatever they could.
Launching of the ships boats was out of the question. The rubber life raft seemed the men's best chance for getting off. COOS BAY drifted away as the men hesitated to board the bouncing craft. Finally five men jumped towards the stern of the ship. Look-outs were immediately alerted to “keep those men in sight at all costs” Again a wave surged over the raft and the remaining two men went overboard. COOS BAY immediately got underway at best speed to get the first man who had drifted farthest from the ship upwind. It was hoped that the crewman still aboard the AMBASSADOR would help the other men back aboard who were still floating near the ship.
Within minutes the COOS BAY was alongside the man who now was 500 feet to windward. A standard ship pick-up (as practiced in Man-Overboard Drill) was made and swimmers with lifelines went into the water to help the up the embarkation net. The first man was exhausted but required no treatment. Then the loo-outs spotted another man drifting under the stern of the AMBASSADOR. COOS BAY ran over close aboard and threw a line to him which he had just enough strength to grasp until he had been pulled a hundred feet clear of the ship. Then he too was brought aboard by the swimmers. These six men who volunteered for swimmer duty risked their lives many times before the day was out and were all recommended for commendation. The second man to come aboard required the service of the ship's doctor who was ready on deck with a resuscitator. It was touch and go for a while but finally he was revived and by the following was up and about.
Meanwhile COOS BAY steamed around to leeward of the wreck to see what had happened to the tree other men in the water. They were not in sight, however the life-raft was seen drifting off to windward. In the chance that they had been able to climb back aboard, FRUEN was asked to recover the raft.
Since darkness was approaching, it was decided better to take COOS BAY right in close aboard the wreck, pass a line for the men to secure around themselves, and pull them aboard through the ward Gulf Stream water, one at a time. Since the ships drifted at different rates, COOS BAY could not lay close aboard long enough for more than one man to be hauled aboard. COOS BAY waited until the man had jumped into the water, then took a light strain on the line to pull him clear of the derelict's bow while the man was being hauled alongside where the swimmers in their rubber wet-suits could help him aboard.
As soon as one man was aboard, COOS BAY steamed around to make another approach, fire a line aboard, and repeat the operation. Since the life preservers worn by the first two men were observed to keep the man's head above the water it was decided to send over COOS BAY jackets on the line. The jackets had a collar to protect the mans head.
After two men had been recovered in the above manner, and since time was running out, it was decided to take them off two at a time on the line. Two jackets were sent over the next time. This worked well until the next to the last trip when there were four men remaining on the ship.
Suddenly all four men were seen to jump overboard tied on the line and it was too late to try to stop them. The COOS BAY was drifting onto the wreck and nothing could be done but get them on board as quickly as possible. The first man on the line was seen to lose consciousness about mid-way and to go face down in the water. The other men were too far away to help him and there was nothing to do but haul them aboard as fast as possible, hoping that quickly applied resuscitation would save him. The line was leading through a block just above the embarkation net and there was no delay in hauling the first man quickly aboard. The doctor applied emergency measures even before he was cut loose from the line but it was too late. The other three men came aboard in good condition.
COOS BAY then left the wreck under the observation of FRUEN who would warn passing ships of the unlighted derelict, and proceed to search for a life raft that had just been located by an aircraft 26 miles away. The plane dropped float lights to mark the spot and circled the area until COOS BAY arrived. The fully inflated raft was located floating upright by searchlights but no survivors were found. COOS BAY then steamed west to look for a light that had been reported by another aircraft. Although by this time the VULCANIA had by this time been dismissed to proceed on her voyage, she remained to search to this light until COOS BAY arrived. COOS BAY and various aircraft searched throughout the night and the flowing day without results. The weather was worsening and the search visibility was almost nil, therefore active search was discontinued late in the evening of the 20 th pending further developments.
The eleven survivors responded rapidly to treatment as the entire crew of COOS BAY pitched in to make them comfortable, outfit them with clothing and personal needs. By the next day they were all up and about the ship. During the night of the 20 th and for the next couple of days they had a rough ride as COOS BAY fought her way back to port against 30 foot seas and winds gusting to 80 knots.
In commending his crew, the Commanding Officer, COOS BAY said, among other things, “This was certainly an ALL HANDS effort” and he meant not only his own crew of whom he was justly proud, but also the crew of the aircraft who flew many hours low over the water in hazardous weather, and the Master and crew of the m.v. FRUEN and the other ships who actively participated in the search, all of whom lived up to the highest traditions of the sea and its brotherhood.
C.W. Bailey, Commander U.S. Coast Guard Commanding Officer
Ambassador
Ambassador Built by William Doxford & Sons for Hall Bros. Launched March 1945
Recorded to have foundered 37.22N/48.51W on the 21 st February 1964
Footnote:
A copy of the report which is reproduced here was presented to each of the survivors of the AMBASSADOR by the Author of the Report. . One of these survivors presented his copy to TASC Member George Wade; when George was employed by the Shipping Federation. We thank George for making it available to share on our website.
oooOooo
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The Behar tragedy
by David Sibley
(From SHIPPING Today and Yesterday)
IN SEPTEMBER, 1947, a British Military Court war crimes trial was held in Hong Kong in to the execution of crew members and passengers of the British cargo ship Behar, 7,840grt, owned by the Hain Steamship Co., a subsidiary of the P. & 0.Steam Navigation Co. The Behar had been sunk on Mar. 9, 1944, by the Japanese heavy cruiser Tone, under the command of Captain Mayazumi.
The cruiser was part of the Japanese 16th Squadron of the South West Area Fleet under the command of Vice-Admiral Sakonju, who flew his flag in the cruiser Aoba.
At the trial, Vice-Admiral Sakonju was charged with giving the order to execute the approximately 65 prisoners, and Captain Mayazumi was charged with carrying out that order. However, the owners stated to the court the official figure was 72.
The Japanese South West Area Fleet headquarters was located at Penang and at a conference held in February, 1944, it was decided that Allied shipping was to be attacked in the Indian Ocean with a view to disrupting the Allied supply routes.
The order was given that wherever possible. Allied ships should be captured and not sunk. The order also stated that if it became necessary to sink ships, only the minimum number of prisoners thought necessary for interrogation were to be taken on board the Japanese warships and brought back to base. The Japanese hoped to learn something about Allied shipping movements from the prisoners.
On Feb. 27, the 16th Squadron task force consisting of the three heavy cruisers Aoba, Tone and Chikuma, under the command of Vice-Admiral Sakonju, sailed from Singapore and the following day the ships left the Banka Strait and then headed through the Sunda Strait and in to the Indian Ocean.
The task force headed for an area south-west of the Cocos Islands where it searched for Allied shipping sailing between Australia and India, but after a short time in this area without success, the Japanese ships turned northwards. On Mar. 9, the Tone sighted a ship which turned out to be the Behar.
The twin-screw motor-ship Behar had only been completed by Barclay Curle & Co., on the Clyde, in August, 1943; the ship, which had a speed of 16.5 knots, was not of a standard war-built design but had been built under special licence to her owner's accommodation for 12 passengers. The Behar was more heavily armed than most cargo ships in wartime, having one 4-inch and one 3-inch dual-purpose guns, a multiple rocket launcher, 20mm. Oerlikons. , and a .5- inch Browning machine gun. In addition, and most unusual for a merchant ship, she was fitted with Asdic and carried depth charges.
The ship had a complement of 102, comprising 18 British officers, 67 Indian ratings, 15 Royal Artillery Maritime Regiment/DEMS gunners, and two Asdic operators. The Master was 51-year-old Captain Maurice Symonds, born in the West Country but living in Glasgow; the Chief Engineer, James Weir, aged 58, of Glasgow, had along with the seven Scottish engineers stood by the ship whilst being built. The Chief Officer was William Phillips, of Cardiff, and she also carried 2nd, 3rd, and 4th officers and two apprentices. The radio department consisted of three Radio Officers, Arthur Walker being the First Radio Officer. The gunners were led by Petty Officer W. L. Griffiths.
The Behar sailed from Melbourne on Feb. 19, bound for Bombay and carrying only a cargo of 796 tons of zinc, her ultimate destination being the U.K.
She also carried nine passengers, comprising Captain P. J. Green, of the Indo-China Steam Nav. Co.; three Royal New Zealand Navy officers; a Royal Air Force Flight Sergeant; two female passengers; Dr. Lai Young Li, a Chinese physician; and Duncan MacGregor, a retired Australian bank manager.
On the morning of Mar. 9, the weather was quite hazy, with visibility less than two miles. Suddenly, out of the haze came the cruiser Tone, her guns already trained on the Behar. The signal lamp on the cruiser ordered the cargo ship to heave to.
Capt. Symonds ordered the radio officer on watch to send the 'RRR' signal ('I am being attacked by a raider'). As the signal started to be transmitted, the cruiser opened fire. At such short range, it was devastating.
Such was the ferocity of the Japanese attack that the gunners on the Behar were unable to fire a single shot before the order was given to abandon ship as the Behar was soon ablaze and sinking. Two of the DEMS crew and a rating died in this attack. In all 108 people managed to get away in the four lifeboats, an amazing feat under such terrible bombardment. The ship is recorded as sinking south-west of the Cocos Islands at 20.32S 87.10E.
Shortly after the Behar had been abandoned, the Tone hove-to near the lifeboats and, under threat of machine gunning, ordered all the survivors on board the cruiser.
Once on board, the survivors were relieved of most of their clothing, their arms were tied behind the back, and they were forced upwards by a rope tied around their necks.
The two women were not excluded from this ordeal.
Chief Officer Phillips, a heavily-built robust man, vehemently protested at this violation of the Geneva Convention and was rewarded with a savage beating with a baseball bat. On his knees and bleeding, he continued to protest until the arrival of a senior officer who released the women.
The prisoners were then made to sit on deck in the hot sun for several hours, bound up, before being taken down below. Here, they were beaten, and kept in a badly-ventilated and poorly-lit compartment for six days. They were just let up on deck for brief spells.
Meanwhile, Capt. Mayazumi had informed Vice-Admiral Sakonju of his success in sinking the Behar and that he had 108 prisoners. Sakonju was annoyed that the Behar was not captured as stated in his orders and was furious that so many survivors had been taken on board. He re-minded Mayazumi to follow orders of keeping only a few survivors.
Capt. Mayazumi asked what he was to do with the 'other' survivors? Back came the reply: "Dispose of them." Capt. Mayazumi disagreed with this order as did Commander Mil, of the Tone, with whom Mayazumi had consulted. Mayazumi then requested that he be allowed to land all his prisoners at Tandjong Priok, the port for the capital city of Batavia in Java. The order came back: "Dispose of the prisoners immediately."
Capt. Mayazumi had still not carried out this order when the three cruisers arrived off Tandjong Priok on Mar. 15. Capt.Mayazumi went to visit the Vice-Admiral and begged him to spare the lives of the prisoners. Sakonju's wrath was such that Mayazumi's previous defiance of the order evaporated. Mayazumi returned to his ship and informed Cmdr. Mii that it was hopeless - the order must be carried out when the ship sailed. Capt. Mayazumi was unusual for a Japanese, in that he was of the Christian faith, while Cmdr. Mii was not a Christian but he shared his Captain's view of human life in not wanting to kill innocent prisoners.
Later that same morning, the obscene selection of those who would live and those who would die took place on the Tone. The following were selected to live, in captivity: Capt.Symonds, Chief Officer Phillips, Chief Engineer Weir, Radio Officer Walker, Petty Officer Griffiths, 21 English-speaking Indian ratings, the two Asdic operators, and seven of the nine passengers, including Doctor Lai Young Li and the two women—a total of 36.
Those who were to live were transferred to the cruiser Aoba and were later landed at Tandjong Priok. Those who remained on the Tone probably had no idea of the fate awaiting them and may have thought that the selection of senior officers from the Behar was an indication that they were being taken away for special interrogation.
The Tone sailed on Mar. 18, and that evening, Capt, Mayazumi ordered Cmdr. Mii to execute the prisoners. The Commander refused to carry out this order. Capt. Mayazumi then instructed a Lieutenant (Ishihara to carry out the order. That night, Ishihara, Lieutenant Tani, Sub-Lieutenants Tanaka and Otsuka, plus several other officers, lined the prisoners up on deck. Each prisoner was felled by a blow to the stomach and kicked in the testicles before he was beheaded. Meanwhile, the prisoners who had been taken ashore were kept in a small room in the local office of the Dutch shipping company Royal Interocean Lines for two days. Then the Chief Officer, Chief Engineer, the two Asdic operators, Petty Officer Griffiths, Dr. Lai Young Li, and six or seven ratings were moved to a prisoner-of-war camp outside Batavia.
Capt. Symonds, Capt. Green and Radio Officer Walker were thus separated from the others and never saw them again in Java. The two women were taken to a women's camp. The survivors who had been taken to the camp outside Batavia were kept in isolation from prisoners in the rest of the camp for many months, suffering privation, beatings and interrogation in various buildings in Batavia.
Chief Officer PhiIIips, who had already been badly beaten on the Tone for protesting about their treatment, was placed in solitary confinement. Bound hand and foot, with a bamboo lashed across his throat to prevent sleep, and thrown into a small wooden hut not much larger than a dog kennel, Mr PhiIIips kept his sanity, as the days went by, by forcing himself to do intricate feats of mental arithmetic and studying a young plant seen growing through a tiny window. Eventually, the Japanese accepted that nothing of value could be learned from the men of the Behar and they were moved in to the main camp, which held British, Australian, American and Dutch servicemen and civilians.
Unknown to the other survivors, Capt. Symonds, Capt.Green, and Radio Officer Walker were sent to Japan to work in the mines. For 15 months, the survivors endured a starvation diet and ill treatment, and as Japan's situation in the war worsened, so did the treatment suffered by the prisoners, who feared what the Japanese might do to the the face. But liberation finally came. Chief Officer Philiips reached home in October, 1945, and one of his first sad duties was to call on the wife of Second Officer Gordon Rowlandson and the mother of Apprentice Denys Matthews, both fellow Welshmen, with a few words of comfort.
At the military trials in Hong Kong of Vice-Admiral Sakonju and Capt. Mayazumi, Commander Mii gave the following evidence:"On the evening of Mar. 18, I was told by Captain Mayazumi that the execution of the prisoners still remaining onboard must be carried out that night at sea. I refused to be associated with the execution, so the captain issued orders direct to Lieutenant Ishihara."I cannot now remember the names of the members ofthe execution party, but learnt that most of them were gunroom officers, although Lieutenant Tani and few other wardroom officers were in the party. I later heard Sub-Lieutenants Tanaka and Otsuka boasting of their participation of the execution. As I was not an eyewitness, I could not describe the exact method used."
The owners of the Behar supplied the following information to the court:
On board: 44 Europeans, 87 Indians
Saved: 15 Europeans, 17 Indians
Killed in enemy action: two Europeans, one Indian Died in internment: four Indians Murdered by Japanese on or about Mar. 19, 1944: 27 Europeans, 45 Indians.
The court convicted Vice-Admiral Sakonju and sentenced him to death, but showed sympathy for Capt.Mayazumi and sentenced him to seven years in prison.
Authors Note:
I am greatly indebted to Captain Bernard Edwards for allowing me to use material he researched for his book 'Blood & Bushido' and to quote widely from the book. There is so little published about the loss of the Behar and the atrocities carried out to the crew and passengers that one could take the view that it has been swept under the carpet, along with other atrocities committed at sea by the Japanese to Allied merchant seamen.
Capt. Edwards is to be thanked for drawing attention to this dreadful episode of the war at sea. The Hong Kong Military Court evidence given by Commander Mii can be found in Lord Russell's book 'Knights of Bushido' which I have quoted from. Also it should be noted that the spelling of the Japanese captain's name is given as '' Mayazumi” The other point of difference In Lord Russell's book is the statement that 32 survivors were landed in Java, 15 Euro- pean and 17 Indians. Could it be that Captain Edwards is correct in stating that 21 Indians went into captivity and that the four dying in captivity would make the correct figure of 17 saved as per the owners' statement to the court?
The General Register of Shipping and Seamen in Cardiff lists in their records, taken from the ship's articles, that there were 63 Indian ratings, of whom 17 survived, one was killed by enemy action, 42 died on or about Mar. 18,1944, whilst prisoners of war, and three dying in imprisonment during 1944.
There is certainly conflict with the numbers given to the Hong Kong court by the ship's owners.
With regard to the passengers, the G.R.S.S. records show only one female passenger being on board, but lists another passenger Mr G. Pascheove. However, in a written statement, Petty Officer Griffiths clearly states that there were two lady passengers and he visited them in their camp when the war ended.
The location of the Military Court papers is a mystery. Are they still in Hong Kong? These are now trying to be traced to find the charge sheet. In the book 'Blood & Bushido', the 2nd Engineer is reported to have been taken into captivity. However, in the register from whtoh the Merchant Navy Memorial names are taken, the date that Mr Edward McGinnes died is recorded as being on Mar. 18-19,1944, which is the date of the mass execution on board the Tone.
Yet another mystery remains, the identity of the second passenger murdered by the Japanese. Mr Duncan Macgregor is reported to be one of the two passengers executed.
However, If 15 Europeans were landed, four being the Behar officers, the Petty Officer gunner, the two Asdte operators, then the remaining eight must have been passengers, and only one could have been murdered. It is known that CapL Symonos, Capt. Green, Mr Phlllips, Petty Officer Griffiths and the two lady passengers survived captivity.
The Hain Steam Ship Co. ceased to exist in the early 1970s. Does anyone know what happened to the company's records?
I am grateful to Mr S Cook, curator of the St Ives museum and to Mr George Monk for their help. My thanks to Mr P Dunbavand for giving me my first sighting of Capt. Edward's excellent book, which gives a very detailed account of the Behar and other harrowing stories of atrocities committed by the Japanese at sea during the Second World War.
If any person can help fill in missing names, or has newspaper cuttings concerning survivors or the Military Court trial, I would very much like to hear from them.
My aim is to fill in the missing names, so that in the case of the Behar, for the first time, names of those who died, then it can be stated: "No one is forgotten, nothing is forgotten".
DAVID SIBLEY
Webmasters note:
I am indebted to Shipping Today and Yesterday for permission to reproduce this article and of course to the author David Sibley. Thanks also to TASC Member George Wade for highlighting this account of the fate of the Behar. I certainly was not aware of it, and I imagine this atrocity which took place 65 years ago is not widely known.
The original article that appeared in SHIPPING Today and Yesterday contained a full list of the crew and passengers that were on the Behar. If you are interested in seeing the list, please put your request through on the contact page.
The Hain Steamship Co. Cargo ship Behar 7849 grt built by Barclay Curle & Co. On the Clyde in August 1943 and sunk by Japanese cruiser Tone March 1944
Japanese heavy cruiser 'Tone' (From a plastic-model box by Fujimi)
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