An account of the sinking - from The Elder Dempster Fleet in the War - 1914-1918

The Elder Dempster Fleet in the War 1914-1918 (Printed 1921)

Chapter XI.

The R.M.S. "BURUTU."

To realize what is meant by the "fortunes of war," one should read the story of the R.M.S. Burutu during one of the most eventful years in British history - 1918.

To engage unaided an enemy submarine and escape after a fierce running fight lasting an hour and a quarter, with the loss of but one man, during which time the Burutu, which had many passengers on board, fought in a manner which would have done credit to a ship of war, let alone a peaceful liner, and then a few months later to go to the bottom the victim on a tragically sad marine disaster brought about by the exigencies of war when almost within sight of Liverpool, and alas ! the ends of the war, is as a sailor-man tersely puts it : "the hardest of hard luck."

It was on April 6th, 1918, that the R.M.S. Burutu, one of the mail steamers of the Elder Dempster Line left Lagos bound for Liverpool, calling en route at Accra, Seccondee and Sierra Leone. 

The voyage as far as Seccondee was accomplished without any untoward event. On the second day after leaving Seccondee, which was April 10th, at precisely 5 p.m., when off Monrovia, Liberia, on the way to Sierra Leone, all on board were startled by the cry that the periscope of a submarine had been sighted. A few minutes later the submarine came to the surface about 2,500 yards away on the starboard bow.

It appears that on the afternoon of the day upon which the Burutu was attacked, a submarine commenced shelling Monrovia, which is the capital of the Republic of Liberia. A fair amount of damage was done to the town, and it is open to question how long the shelling would have continued had it not been for the appearance of smoke on the horizon. Seeing the smoke, the submarine at once made towards it, which proved to be from the oncoming liner, on board of which everyone was taken unawares - the possibility of a submarine about that part of the West African Coast seeming next to impossible.

Prepared or not, the Burutu set about things in a business-like manner. Her Commander, Captain Henry A. Yardley, soon had the gunners at their posts, and they were reinforced by volunteers from the passengers, the leader of whom was Lieut-Col H.C. Moorhouse D.S.O. The first two shots fell short; the submarine replied, and with her first shot carried away the wireless, but not, however, before a call for help had been sent out, which, however, remained unanswered.

For an hour and a quarter, a running fight continued, the Burutu zig-zagging in order to present a more difficult target. Many of the passengers were assembled in the saloon, and there was a remarkable absence of panic or commotion amongst them. The two six-inch guns of the submarine rained shells over the ship and high explosive shells riddled the doors like so much paper, but not for a moment were those on board dismayed. The submarine's guns having a longer range, she kept up a continuous fire, without any hope on the Burutu's part of ever registering a direct hit. The native "black squad" became restless, and refused to stay in the engine-room. These men were persuaded to go below again and were joined by volunteers from the passengers.

Minutes, which to those on board seemed like hours, wore on, bringing nearer the help of Providence  in the war of a West African night. If only the ammunition could hold out until dark, the West African night, which comes with a suddenness unknown to those living in England, was looked upon on this occasion as the only salvation.

Would it ever come? As six o'clock drew near dark clouds hovered across the sky; shells began to fall thicker as the submarine was making a last desperate effort to sink its quarry. The shots were not so wild now; more deliberate came the shooting from the enemy craft, but would these efforts be unavailing? Crash! The Burutu shivered from stem to stern - the passengers turned pale. Two feet above the waterline on the starboard side a huge hole had been rent - a few feet lower and the end would have arrived.

Darkness seemed to come across the tropical skies slower than usual that night. Providence could not be on the side of an enemy whose maxim was "to sink at sight." The ammunition locker was fast emptying, and only twelve more shells - and then they were at the mercy of the enemy.

At 6-10 all was dark but the running fight continued. Nothing save the flash of guns illuminated the impenetrable darkness of the night.

Suddenly the enemy shells stopped, but the Burutu held her course. Was the submarine still following? - the ammunition locker of the Burutu only contained five shells.

At 8-30 on the morning of April 12th she steamed into Freetown. Throughout the terrible encounter the death-roll was but one. But what a fate awaited her! She went down a few months later on a cold, bleak night in sight of home - rammed by a ship as British and peaceful as herself.

For all their meritorious services on the occasion recorded above, Captain Yardley received that award which all seamen strive to merit, the Distinguished Service Cross, whilst Chief Officer J. McCormick and Chief Engineer J.B. Popplewell were "Commended in the Gazette."

It would appear that the Burutu bore a "charmed life" as far as attacks from submarines were concerned. On November 27th 1917, she was attacked, but, thanks to skilful handling by Captain W. Walker, who was then in command of her, she escaped.

But what fate! Truly the glorious history of the work of our Mercantile Marine has few sadder stories to relate than the one which surrounds the tragic end that overcame the "West Coasters' favourite ship." as the Burutu was affectionately called.

She left Sierra Leone on September 19th, 1918, bound for Liverpool, carrying a full cargo of West African produce. She had 103 passengers on board and a crew of 95 hands. When leaving she was one of a convoy of nine vessels escorted by the auxiliary merchant cruiser Almanzora. On October 2nd the convoy was joined by six destroyers and subsequently later in the day by patrol boats. On the same day six vessels of the convoy left, escorted by the destroyers and the convoy thereafter consisted of the Burutu, the Deseado (which belonged to the Royal Mail Steam Packet Company) and the Queen Louise, all escorted by the Almanzora and three patrol boats.

The convoy order on the night of October 3rd was as follows :- The Almanzora in the centre, the Deseado on her starboard beam, the Burutu on her port beam and the Queen Louise following the Almanzora. One patrol boat preceded the convoy and the other two scouted to either side.

The weather on the night of October 3rd was dark and squally with frequent rain squalls. There was a strong breeze from the S.W. with a rough sea. At about 10-50 p.m., when in the Irish Sea about 25 miles South-West of Bardsley, the Burutu collided with the Ellerman-City liner City of Calcutta, with the result that the former vessel sank within ten minutes. The City of Calcutta was on a voyage from Liverpool to Montreal in ballast and carried a crew of 151 hands and 5 passengers.

The loss of the Burutu was unfortunately attended with heavy loss of life, only 25 of the passengers and 25 members of the crew being saved. The Commander, Captain William E. Potter, and all the officers who were on duty at the time were drowned. A quartermaster at the wheel, an apprentice making his first voyage, and another quartermaster "standing by" were the only members of crew on duty who were saved.

The facts concerning this fateful collision, claiming as its toll a fine ship which had proved her superiority over enemy submarines many times during the war, are still somewhat obscure. It appears that Captain Potter, the 2nd and 4th officers and an apprentice were on the bridge, with a quartermaster at the wheel, three men on the look-out - one in the crow's nest, another on the fo'castle head, and a third on the boat deck.

The Burutu was making a good 10 knots and was some four cables length from the Almanzora, when the look-out fo'ard reported a vessel on the port bow. Captain Potter immediately switched on the navigation lights, which were electrically controlled from the bridge, ordered the helm to port, and immediately afterwards to hard-a-port. One blast was, at the same time, sounded on the whistle. She had just commenced to swing to starboard when she was struck on the port side between Nos 1 and 2 hatches by the City of Calcutta, bow on, the blow being at a somewhat broad angle. The engines of both vessels were stopped, and the Burutu's port side swung around alongside the City of Calcutta's starboard bow. The engines were then put astern and both vessels cleared. It is estimated that the time which elapsed between the reporting of the City of Calcutta by the look-out and the impact was about 40 seconds.

As the vessels separated, the Burutu listed heavily and began to sink rapidly, thus preventing the launching of some of the lifeboats. The port lifeboats, which were ready for lowering, were soon filled, but only No. 1 port lifeboat got away safely, and that was taken in charge by a boat which had put off from the City of Calcutta. As No. 2 port lifeboat, filled with passengers, was being lowered away, a rope snapped and the occupants were thrown into the water. The Burutu was now almost under water; no more boats could be got away, and the situation became desperate. Many passengers were still on deck, and at 10-59 the vessel took her final plunge. At 11-00 p.m. all was over - another ship had gone, and she had carried down with her 148 lives. Out of a complement of 198 only 50 people survived.

Captain Potter and his gallant officers died as true British seamen at their posts doing their duty. The Commander had survived when the Karina was sunk beneath him by enemy action earlier in the war.