November 5th, 1940
North Atlantic, 52°45 N. 32°13 W, 16:30. - The tanker San Demetrio is part of convoy HX.84, coming from Halifax (Nova Scotia) for Avonmouth (England) with a load of gasoline.
"We had been sailing in convoy since we left Halifax under the protection of HMS Jervis Bay, a liner of the Aberdeen & Commonwealth Company armed as an auxiliary cruiser with seven outdated 6-inch guns, a coat of grey paint and the right to wear the Royal Navy's White Ensign. Her crew, composed of a large majority of reservists did not look much more warlike, but her 255 men were going to prove ttheir value. This type of ship was used to escort convoys against German raiders, which were thought to be, as in 14-18, armed merchant ships; against them, the Jervis Bay was able to put on a good show. In addition, three small corvettes, the "Flowers" HMS Clematis, Cyclamen and Geranium, provided us with an anti-submarine escort. Thanks to the French assistance, all the convoys benefited from this kind of ASM coverage.
Four days after departure, we had machine problems and had to let the convoy go ahead. After sixteen long hours of effort and worry (we were a perfect target for a submarine), we had caught up with the convoy by steaming ahead, when, as we were rejoining the herd, we realized that we would have been better off staying behind: a big German ship, a battleship, coming from the north, was coming at us.
Our little Jervis Bay didn't hesitate to run towards the enemy with all her speed - 15 knots - opening fire with her old guns, but the response was not long in coming. After a few exchanges of fire, I could see clearly that the Jervis Bay was hit and on fire. But it did not stop firing. In a very short time the fire seemed to be under control and the auxiliary cruiser continued to challenge the German battleship. The German battleship was furious and decided to finish the job, firing numerous shots at the Jervis Bay until it was finally silenced. The unfortunate ship was nothing more than a burning wreck, yet it still seemed to be trying to stand in the way of his adversary until he came to rest before sinking. A little more than twenty minutes had passed - 24 to be exact, it seems - between the the first gunshot and the end of the drama.
Once the enemy had gotten rid of the troublemaker, they began to fire on the freighters, which had taken advantage of this short respite to move away a little. First they hit the Fresno City. The three corvettes (which had no weapons that could interfere with the battleship) tried to lay a curtain of smoke, but it was not dense enough and the moon was already high enough to keep the shots accurate. However, we soon saw only the start of the battleship's shots and further on those of the tiny guns of the corvettes that were vainly trying to distract it.
Although we were running as fast as possible, we were still in the line of fire of the beast.
On our starboard stern, we heard the thud of shots on the Beaverford, which was following a parallel course at a short distance. The ship caught fire as her stern rose above the surface. It was close enough to us that we could make out the cries of the wounded.
Then it sank rapidly and soon there was only a lifeboat with a few men and some debris and bodies floating around.
A little further on, we passed the hulk of the Maiden, which was finishing burning before sinking by the stern.
We were next in line. Two shells hit us in the middle superstructure killing all those on the bridge, including the commander, and setting fire to both floors of the castle. Given the nature of the cargo, I decided, as the only surviving officer, to evacuate the rest of the crew in the lifeboats and to wait near the burning ship. The fire seemed to have subsided. I later learned that the corvettes, hoping that in the darkness they would be mistaken for destroyers, had simulated a torpedo attack!
In the early morning, we were still in our dinghy watching the fire in the middle of our tanker. The metal sheets were reddening and the smoke was blowing in the wind, but the cargo was untouched and the hull seemed to be intact. The raider had abandoned the pursuit around midnight, having destroyed only four ships in all. The sacrifice of the Jervis Bay and her Captain, Fogarty Fegen, and the desperate maneuvering of the corvettes had saved most of the convoy, allowing the ships to get some breathing room and buying time until nightfall. As for us, the survivors of the San Demetrio, perhaps we owed them our lives, for God knows what we would have become in our two boats, in November, on the Atlantic at war. At about 5:30 p.m., the fire seemed to diminish significantly in intensity. Half of the castle had melted away, but only a few flames were still rising from the pile of twisted sheets. I then decided to go back on board, hoping that the fire had not gone down under the tanker deck - in which case it was an assured explosion. The time to restart the boiler to get enough steam to power the pumps and we were able to attack the remains of the castle fire and convince ourselves that the ship was safe.
The next morning, the engines were restarted and a speed of 6 knots was achieved continuously. We could have gone faster, but we had discovered cracks between the tanker deck and the plating through which the cargo was spilling out with each roll. As it was to make the ship suffer a little more, we limited ourselves to this speed. However, the main problem was elsewhere: all the navigation instruments, the charts and radio had burned up with the bridge. All that was left in the aft castle was the emergency wheel and a magnetic compass that was not necessarily well compensated. Even worse, all the navigation officers had been killed and so I was left alone to command this ship, with a few navigation notions learned at school.
We sailed like this until November 12th, keeping a rough course to the east and trying to repair here and there what could be repaired. In particular, we tried to seal the cracks with rings riveted to the plate and chain hoists to maintain a minimum of rigidity to the structure.
On the morning of November 13th, we were in sight of the coast, not knowing if it was Ireland or occupied France! In any case, we could not see even but a cat. As well as we could, we went to anchor in the first accessible bay. The next morning, a seaplane flew over us and I thought I could see roundels on its white hull. In the evening, two tugs appeared in front of us, displaying the Red Ensign. We were out of danger.
On the 14th, we were on our way to the Clyde, escorted by the destroyer HMS Arrow. On the 16th, wewere finally in port to unload our precious cargo. Of the 11,200 tons
of aviation gasoline, there were still 11,000 tons left! This was my greatest satisfaction in this adventure: delivering my cargo intact.
You understand, cadet, that, like all the survivors of the convoy, I honor every year at this time the memory of Captain Fegen VC and that I had good reason to ask your mother to give you the name you bear."
Excerpts from letter dated November 5th, 1970, written by Chief Officer (ret.) Charles Pollard (Lloyd's War Medal for Bravery at Sea), chief engineer of the tanker San Demetrio, to his grandson Fogarty Pettigrew, a cadet at the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth.