Lt Commander Rose of U-53 had a remarkable record of humanity during the German assault on British merchant vessels in WW1. But was there another commander who acted in like manner? (All the pictures I have found of U-53 do not show a number on her conning tower), but the story does not quite match the account of his movements during January 1917 given at
http://www.richthofen.com/scheer/scheer14b.htm Is there another candidate for the man encountered in the following lengthy but interesting account of Leslie Vesty, 2nd Mate of the barque “Fritz”; as told to crew mates of RMS Oronsay – abridged from “50 years of Ocean Hazard” by Sir Charles Matheson of the Orient Line (1939)
I first heard we were at war in October 1914 as an apprentice in a windjammer becalmed in the Channel. A tramp steamer came alongside and shouted the news through a megaphone. I continued my apprenticeship under sail until January 1917 when the Old Man invited me to sail as 2nd mate, although I had not then qualified, aboard the Fritz, a captured German barque, and we set sail from Cardiff on 10 January 1917, bound for Port Nolloth, with coal and coke.
We sailed, frankly hoping that a U-boat would get us, and give us another spell at home. Our heart’s desire was granted about 130 miles SW of the Lizard. I was keeping watch when I heard the boom of a gun. A second later an object splashed into the sea near the ship and sent up a fountain of water. Then, a shell came screaming overhead that left us in no doubt that we were under enemy fire.
We immediately abandoned ship, then remembered the ship’s cat so one of the boats rowed back, a man leapt aboard and rescued pussy.
Minutes later, we saw the wake of a periscope and the outline of a U-boat just under water. ‘By God, he’s going to ram us’ I thought. I had read accounts of submarines ramming life-boats, but before he reached us, it surfaced, the conning-tower opened, and the German commander appeared. He at once ordered us back aboard our abandoned vessel. A junior officer was with us in the Old Man’s boat. We made several trips replenishing the enemy ship with stores. The young officer also secured our ensign, presumably as a token of proof but stayed aboard and ordered us to make sail, which amazed us, and gave us a course to steer. The submarine followed on the surface. After an hour a small tramp steamer appeared over the horizon. We sailed to within a mile of her, and were then ordered to heave to, abandon ship and row towards the steamer. The wind was against us, and after battling for some time the submarine generously took both our life-boats in tow.
The steamer was Norwegian less than 2000 tons and we were astounded to find it crammed with English seamen from the various vessels sunk over a period by the submarine. Indeed, the submarine was using the ship as a sailor’s home, rather than leave his victims to the full fury of North Atlantic winter weather. He had also supplied them with provisions, and this lasted for 10 days. At any moment a British destroyer might have steamed over the horizon and caught him above water on his work of mercy, but he took that risk. The day after our capture, he stopped another British ship. One of the life-boats capsized in a heavy sea and the Commander at once dashed to their aid, rescued every man and brought them to the Norwegian tramp.
Each day, the Norwegian captain was given a course to steer, and for an hour or so the submarine sailed ahead on the surface. Then, without warning, he would submerge, but always returned, usually just before dusk, and laid alongside all night, often with another victim, generally a British merchant ship. After ordering the crew aboard the ‘sailor’s home,’ he would at once sink the new vessel, as he had done ours. This lasted for several weeks. Sometimes we steamed at night, and he kept ahead, showing a subdued light to guide us: we travelled in darkness, not even our navigation lights showing. The accommodation was for a crew of 30 but soon there were at least 150 men aboard. When our fuel and food was nearly exhausted the Norwegian captain signalled the submarine who at once ordered us to proceed to the nearest English port, giving us a course. At dawn next morning our humane enemy had disappeared. He had no distinguishing marks at all, but we heard later he was the U-8, but this was never verified. “Whatever his number, sir,” Vesty concluded, it proved a very lucky number for us; nearly 200 British seamen remember that at least one U-boat commander was not only a very gallant foe, but a gentleman and a sportsman to boot.”
Vesty was sunk again in April 1917 on the Amulree, and in June 1917 aboard the Huntstrick. Returning home, he continues: “Nerves? Yes ! I was a bundle of nerves, and I found my poor mother in a worse state than I. During my absence—she told me—and after my third submarine experience, whenever she saw a telegraph boy in the Street, or heard an unusual knock at the door, she used to tremble like a leaf and become sick with fear. Why don’t you join the Navy, Leslie!” she suggested shortly after my arrival home. ‘You’ll be safe in the Navy” Vesty glanced slyly around “I did, sir, and I was; during my naval service, which lasted over 12 months, I never saw an enemy, nor did I hear a single shot fired in anger.” A burst of laughter greeted this, relieving the tense atmosphere of drama Vesty had created by the simple telling of his terrible war experiences.
