DRAMATIC coverage of a World War I tragedy at sea has surfaced in a letter home, penned by a New Zealand medical orderly.
A German U-boat torpedoed the HMTS Marquette on October 23, 1915, in the Aegean Sea, 57km south of Salonika Bay, Greece, claiming 167 lives.
Of those who died 32
were New Zealanders, being 19 attached to the NZ Medical Corp, three Infantry medical orderlies and 10 nurses serving with the New Zealand Nursing Service.
The sinking was later found to be within the bounds of the rules of war as the Marquette was a British troopship and of the dead 128 were troops.
But its sinking, which shocked the Allies, nevertheless led to representations being made by the New Zealand Government to the War Office in London seeking no further transfers of medical staff be carried out on troopships and to instead use hospital ships.
The letter published here was written by Wilfred Frank Stone who emigrated from Britain to New Zealand in the early years of the 20th century.
He was a private orderly assigned to the medical corp and having survived the sinking of the Marquette went on to serve in a stationary field hospital behind the front, in northern France.
Having safely returned to New Zealand at war's end Mr Stone lived in Queens Drive, Lyall Bay, Wellington, and worked in administration on the Wellington wharves.
He died in Wellington on December 19, 1950.
Times-Age chief reporter Don Farmer last week met Wilfred Stone's grandson Ewan Thom, of Masterton, who supplied the newspaper with this letter written only three days after the loss of the ship, and which is reproduced verbatim.
Dearest Wife,
I expect that long before this reaches you, you will have had news of the catastrophy that has happened to us, but no doubt you will like to have a detailed account of it, so I will write it down just as I remember it.
We were three and a half days out from Alexandria and about two hours sail from our port of destination when a few minutes after 9am a torpedo from a submarine got us on the starboard side under the foremast.
I happened to be on the foredeck at the time, just over the place where she struck but on the port side.
There was a dull boom, a cloud of smoke and fumes and a column of water rose on deck.
The deck heaved, throwing me off my feet and I was drenched with water.
As soon as I collected my senses I made for the hospital cabin below the saloon deck which was my station, there being four men down there.
I had to climb up a stanchion on to the saloon deck as the ladders were jammed with soldiers.
On reaching the hospital I found nobody there so I grabbed a couple of lifebelts and made for the deck. Here the scene was indescribable. A number of doctors were busy tying belts on the sisters, 35 of whom were on board. The boats were being lowered from above and were jammed full before they reached the saloon rail.
I came upon one of our sick men standing, shivering in his pyjamas. He said "what shall I do, I can't stand?'' but I managed to shove him into a boat in which were several sisters and almost immediately the forward fall was let go or cut. The bow of the boat went down and they were all shot into the water.
The next boat was let down, full up with shouting soldiers and crew members. He got into the water all right but, owing to the vessel still having a good way on her, the forward fall immediately became taut and it was impossible to unhook it, with the consequence the boat immediately aft of it was let down on top of it crushing several men to death. The shrieks were simply awful.
At this moment I and several soldiers spotted the periscope of the submarine about 150 yards away evidently watching the result of his deadly work.
The soldiers picked up their rifles, which were on deck, to shoot but were persuaded not to as we thought it likely the sub would retaliate. The vessel had now listed right over to port and one of our doctors standing alongside me said "better take your boots off".
I thought it a good idea and did so at once. I had quite made up my mind it was hopeless to attempt the boats, so crossed the ship to the low side through the saloon companion.
The water was lapping the rail here and I thought the vessel was going to capsize on top of us.
There were a couple of sisters standing there with belts on in a dazed condition. Not seeing how I could help them I stepped into the water and swam for all I was worth out from under the ship.
I shall never forgive myself for not pushing those nurses into the water but it did not occur to me at the moment.
As I drifted by the ship I noticed several men swimming about and clinging to wreckage and one man was clinging to a propellor blade.
At this moment the vessel seemed to right herself and her stern rose out of the water taking the man on the propellor up with her. I swam about 100 yards away and turned around to have a look.
The ship was right on end with half her length out of the water. A couple of men were standing on the very top. They jumped, one struck the side of the vessel and they both landed in the water with a terrible thud.
As the vessel rose out of the water you could hear the contents of her holds rattling down like bolts in an empty can. The water was covered with oil and soot.
The ship did not remain long in this position but took a sheer underwater as gracefully as a man diving.
I remember crying out "goodbye old Marquette'' the name of the ship, one of the old ATLN Atlantic boats, Bert will remember her.
Although this has taken some time to tell it must have been less than half an hour from the time she was struck until she went under as my watch stopped exactly at half past nine, five minutes after she was out of sight. I now swam for the nearest bit of wreckage. One of our chaps was on one end of it. He invited me to catch hold, which I did.
I don't remember feeling scared but the thought struck me that the main thing was to keep the blood circulating as one could hardly sink with a good lifebelt on.
So after hanging on for a couple of minutes I told my mate I was going to make for a big wooden cookhouse that was floating away to leeward.
I passed several of our chaps on the way and sang out to them to keep in good heart.
I was making good headway towards the cookhouse when I noticed several nurses hanging on to some wreckage.
They were screaming for help, so I made towards them. I spoke to them and tried to cheer them up and then I noticed a lifeboat about 100 yards away.
I told them I would try to get her, if I could, so I made towards her. There were some men on board her and I managed to attract their attention and pointed to the nurses.
They pulled over to them and after some difficulty, as the boat was half-full of water, we managed to hoist them in.
I looked around and seeing no one else I managed to scramble in myself. I must have been in the water about an hour.
The mate of the ship was in the boat and told the men at the oars to pull away as she could not hold any more in her sinking condition, however a chap drifted by pretty far gone. I grabbed his arm and after some argument he was got on board.
I recognised him later as one of the patients I had had in hospital.
We were now bailing out for all we were worth. There were 24 on the boat including six nurses, one with broken ribs, and to make matters worse they were all seasick.
After about an hour I took a turn at an oar. We were pulling towards land about 12 miles distant, and we were passed by several ships three or more miles away but did not succeed in attracting their attention.
They must have seen us but perhaps suspected a trap.
Eventually, after about four hours pulling, we were sighted by a French destroyer who picked us up. We gave him three heartfelt cheers, I can tell you.
They had got the SOS signal from the Marquette and we were the first picked up. We directed them to the scene of the wreck and they treated us right royally. The nurses were taken down below and we were all given brandy. The crew emptied their kits to give us some dry clothing.
We reached the scene of the wreck after 45 minutes. It was a heart rendering scene, most of the men and one or two nurses were more dead than alive. Some died afterwards, and there were several dead bodies floating about.
I heard afterwards that some men down below decks had been injured by the explosion and others who had jumped overboard too soon had been cut up by the propellors, but it was cramp that finished most.
I don't know how many lost their lives as we were all taken aboard different boats, another destroyer and a ship having come to the rescue.
Two boats succeeded in getting to the opposite shore, some of these men were got off and others I suppose will be interned as it is Greek territory.
The crowd that I am with were put on board a French hospital ship for 24 hours. We were treated royally but had to leave, that is those who were well enough, to make room for some French wounded.
We were taken on to an empty Indian troopship with iron decks. My heart fell a bit but they did the best they could for us, heaps of blankets to make up for the hardness of the decks and plenty of good food soon made us all cheerful again.
We are now awaiting orders what to do as all our valuable hospital material, some 450 tons in all that we had packed so carefully, had gone to the bottom.
That is the tale Min, as near as I can remember it. God has been our good shepherd, dear.
I seemed to feel his presence when I was in the water as I never had before and that is why I did not feel afraid even if I had gone under.
Of course, I lost all my nicknacks. I found my pay book in the pocket and my old Bible in the other pocket of my tunic afterwards and I had a few shillings in my belt.
We have been given boots, shirts and caps and makeshift suits - to all without clothes.
Probably we will have to go back to Alexandria to be refitted.
If you could send me a few things like handkerchiefs, sox, toilet articles - articles the government doesn't supply. I should be very thankful of them now.
I recovered from my dipping very quickly and am practically none the worse.
Lots of love to Mum, Rho and Don and big cuddles and kisses for Jacky and Ted and yourself Dear Wife.
Your ever loving Billy.
