been removed, and the lights behind the portholes switched on. The lights on deck and on the superstructure blazed. The bridge was floodlit. Powerful projectors lit up the name and nationality marks painted on either side of the hull, while another illuminated the big flag painted on the deck. Finally, two powerful searchlights were trained on the tricolour flag that fluttered high above the stern.
The night was fairly calm, the sky clear, visibility good: the brilliantly illuminated vessel must have been clearly visible over at least 500 square miles of the Channel and over 10 times that area for any plane cruising overhead.
The ship was the Meknes, owned by the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique, and she had excellent reason for this blatant self-advertisement. Or at least, tragically, so it was imagined at the time.
The Meknes was en route from Southampton to Marseilles with 1,180 French naval officers and ratings, mostly reservists who had served aboard a French battle-cruiser until the fall of their country,then transferred to Britain. They had since elected to return to their own country. Marseilles, at that time, was technically a neutral port, and these repatriates were non-combatants: the French Vichy Government, under the aged Marshal Pétain, had just concluded a separate peace with Germany. The French repatriates, therefore, were entitled to be regarded as neutrals, and afforded the protection that international law demands for neutrals. Accordingly, the British Government had informed Vichy of the repatriation, with instructions that the Germans be advised and asked to provide a safe conduct. Precautions would be taken, the British added, to ensure that there would be no mistaking her identity.
And there most certainly was no mistaking her identity, when the Meknes left Southampton at 4.30 p.m., cleared the Isle of Wight, and steamed down the Channel at fifteen knots.
All went well for the first few hours, and even the most apprehensive were beginning to relax, becoming increasingly confident that the guarantee of safe conduct was being scrupulously observed, when, at 10.30 p.m., the officer of the watch heard the sound of powerful motor engines closing rapidly. Blinded by the intensity of the Meknes âs own lights, he was unable to make out even the silhouette of the approaching boat, but the phosphorescent gleam of the high creaming wake it left behind it and the familiar sound of the engines left him inno doubt at allâit was a German E-boat, out on the prowl. At once he picked up the phone to report to the Meknes âs commander, Captain Dulroc, but before he had even begun to speak, the E-boat opened up with its machine guns, raking the superstructure, deck and port side of the ship with heavy and concentrated fire.
Captain Dulroc, ignoring the fire, rushed to the bridge while all around him machine-gun bullets smashed with triphammer thuds against steel bulkheads, and whined off in evil ricochet into the darkness beyond. Dulroc still believed in his guarantee of safe passage. He was convinced this was an error in identification that could soon be rectified. He rang the engine room telegraphs to stop, and gave two prolonged blasts on the shipâs whistle to show that he was no longer under way. The machine-gun fire ceased almost at once, and Dulroc flashed out a âWho are you?â signal.
The reply came immediatelyâan even heavier burst of fire directed against the bridge with such venom and accuracy that officers and men had to fling themselves flat on their faces to escape the murderous barrage.
Again there came a brief lull in the firing, and Dulroc swiftly seized the opportunity to send out morse signals in the general direction of their still invisible assailant giving the name, nationality and destination of the Meknes over and over again. But the E-boat captain seemed beyond either reasonor appeal. He opened fire again, this time not only with machine guns but
The night was fairly calm, the sky clear, visibility good: the brilliantly illuminated vessel must have been clearly visible over at least 500 square miles of the Channel and over 10 times that area for any plane cruising overhead.
The ship was the Meknes, owned by the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique, and she had excellent reason for this blatant self-advertisement. Or at least, tragically, so it was imagined at the time.
The Meknes was en route from Southampton to Marseilles with 1,180 French naval officers and ratings, mostly reservists who had served aboard a French battle-cruiser until the fall of their country,then transferred to Britain. They had since elected to return to their own country. Marseilles, at that time, was technically a neutral port, and these repatriates were non-combatants: the French Vichy Government, under the aged Marshal Pétain, had just concluded a separate peace with Germany. The French repatriates, therefore, were entitled to be regarded as neutrals, and afforded the protection that international law demands for neutrals. Accordingly, the British Government had informed Vichy of the repatriation, with instructions that the Germans be advised and asked to provide a safe conduct. Precautions would be taken, the British added, to ensure that there would be no mistaking her identity.
And there most certainly was no mistaking her identity, when the Meknes left Southampton at 4.30 p.m., cleared the Isle of Wight, and steamed down the Channel at fifteen knots.
All went well for the first few hours, and even the most apprehensive were beginning to relax, becoming increasingly confident that the guarantee of safe conduct was being scrupulously observed, when, at 10.30 p.m., the officer of the watch heard the sound of powerful motor engines closing rapidly. Blinded by the intensity of the Meknes âs own lights, he was unable to make out even the silhouette of the approaching boat, but the phosphorescent gleam of the high creaming wake it left behind it and the familiar sound of the engines left him inno doubt at allâit was a German E-boat, out on the prowl. At once he picked up the phone to report to the Meknes âs commander, Captain Dulroc, but before he had even begun to speak, the E-boat opened up with its machine guns, raking the superstructure, deck and port side of the ship with heavy and concentrated fire.
Captain Dulroc, ignoring the fire, rushed to the bridge while all around him machine-gun bullets smashed with triphammer thuds against steel bulkheads, and whined off in evil ricochet into the darkness beyond. Dulroc still believed in his guarantee of safe passage. He was convinced this was an error in identification that could soon be rectified. He rang the engine room telegraphs to stop, and gave two prolonged blasts on the shipâs whistle to show that he was no longer under way. The machine-gun fire ceased almost at once, and Dulroc flashed out a âWho are you?â signal.
The reply came immediatelyâan even heavier burst of fire directed against the bridge with such venom and accuracy that officers and men had to fling themselves flat on their faces to escape the murderous barrage.
Again there came a brief lull in the firing, and Dulroc swiftly seized the opportunity to send out morse signals in the general direction of their still invisible assailant giving the name, nationality and destination of the Meknes over and over again. But the E-boat captain seemed beyond either reasonor appeal. He opened fire again, this time not only with machine guns but
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