A TERRIBLE tragedy of the sea was how the Craven Herald reported the sinking of the hospital steamer ship, the Rohilla, 100 years ago on October 30, 1914. Lesley Tate reports.

THE Rohilla - a 'splendidly appointed' ship, newly converted to transport wounded soldiers at the outset of World War One - ran aground and sank just half a mile off the coast of Whitby.

The sinking, which occurred in one of the worst storms to ever hit the Yorkshire coast, was particularly poignant because 15 of the 229 on board were ambulance men from Barnoldswick, and only three survived. In all, 146 were either saved or managed to swim ashore.

The captain stayed on the wreck for more than 50 hours as it was battered by strong winds and watched by thousands of onlookers, including the relatives of Barnoldswick men.

He and more than 40 others were eventually plucked to safety by an early motorised lifeboat, which had come all the way from Tynemouth and by pouring gallons of oil into the sea, had calmed the waves long enough to reach the wreck.

The Herald, which reported the disaster in its edition of November 6, 1914, said Barnoldswick was a town in mourning. As it went to press, only three of the 15 had been accounted for.

When it had become known that the lifeboats had been unable to help, a number of relatives and friends had travelled from Barnoldswick to Whitby by rail and motor car. Others followed a few days later.

The Barnoldswick men had been called up at the outbreak of the war and had only just returned from annual training, several of them having been serving on men-of-war in Bantry Bay, Ireland. They had been given a hearty send off on their departure to headquarters at Chatham, where the fateful 15 were drafted for services on the Rohilla.

They had spent three months around the Scottish coast and were on their first attempt to reach the Continent when disaster struck.

Eight of those who lost their lives were married men and most had devoted years of service to ambulance work. One, Sgt Petty was secretary of the Barnoldswick Ambulance Brigade, and with two exceptions, Dunkley, a baker, and Barter, railway goods porter, all were employed in cotton manufacturing.

The ship was just within half a mile of land when it broke in two and was battered to pieces in front of thousands of helpless spectators.

It had been on its way to Dunkirk to bring back wounded soldiers from the Front. There were 229 on board, including medical staff and five nurses.

Shortly after 3.30am on October 30, a sentry on duty at Pier Head, Whitby, was astonished to see a large vessel loom up out of the darkness and pass silently within a few yards of the pier. Almost at the same time, a coastguard sighted the vessel and saw her peril as she skirted the submerged rocks - he tried, but failed, to get her attention, and the inevitable happened.

The Rohilla struck the rocks with a grinding crash and in a few minutes, rockets were sent up from the ship and answered by the coastguard station, from where the call for help was made, alerting the town. It appeared to be just 800 yards from the cliff and at the mercy of a terrible sea, which pounded her on the rocks.

A cheer went up from the crowd on the cliffs when a small number of men were seen dragging the smaller of the two Whitby lifeboats along the beach where after a superhuman effort, a suitable place for a launch was found.

At the same time, one of the Rohilla boats had been successfully launched and was making for the shore. The boat was carrying the second officer and five crew members, and the rescue of the remainder of the crew seemed assured as it was also carrying a line from the steamer. But to the dismay of all, the strain on the line was too great and it snapped.

It remained for the crew of the John Fielden, Whitby's smaller lifeboat, to do what it could. It put to sea and after a great effort, reached the Rohilla. The lifeboat and its crew saved 17 from the wreck, including all of the women. On its second trip it saved a further 18, but the boat was unable to return a third time because of the battering it received on the rocks.

Word was sent to Upgang for the lifeboat to be sent from there and there was a terrible period of waiting. All the time, the steamer was being slowly broken up and at about 10am the stern, upon which a number of men had clung, was completely overwhelmed by an unusually large wave. When it passed, the spectators saw the stern had turned turtle and there was no trace of its former occupants. Eventually, all left on board who were still alive were clustered on the bridge.

News then went around the onlookers that the lifeboat from Upgang was on its way. It had been dragged to within a mile and a half of Whitby, where it was met by a team of six horses and pulled the rest of the way. It was then lowered 250ft down the cliff by men using heavy ropes. But having got the boat on the beach, it proved impossible to launch her - a situation much criticised by the crowd. Meanwhile, attention was taken up by all those brought ashore, many of who were half naked. Throughout the following day, thousands watched as the remnants of the ship battered against the rocks. Two men, determined to reach the shore, leapt off the ship with life-saving jackets, and after much buffeting were flung ashore, breathless and exhausted.

Captain Neilson continued to signal ashore from the wreck with an oil lantern and as night fell, the coast guards signalled to suggest those left should attempt to reach the shore by rafts. To that, the captain replied 'no thanks, I prefer to wait until morning'. By midnight , the survivors on the bridge were still keeping their vigil. At break of dawn on the Saturday - some 24 hours afterwards - the superstructure of the Rohilla and its tragic human load was still in the bay.

There was an attempt by the crew of the Upgang lifeboat, but it was impossible to reach the wreck. The Scarborough lifeboat, which had been standing off shore all night, could not get near, and the Redcar motor lifeboat broke down three miles outside of the town.

A semaphone message was then sent out from the wreckage to "prepare for men swimming" and three men were seen dropping into the sea. All arrived safely and more and more went into the water, to be met in the heavy surf by volunteers. Some were semi-conscious when they reached the shore and were carried away by stretchers.

As the day went on, the tide cut off the wreck, rendering further attempts at swimming ashore impossible. Wreckage was continually being washed ashore and occasionally a body was found.

At 10pm on the Saturday, a message was flashed to Capt Neilson urging him to hold on until daybreak when help would arrive from the Tynemouth motor lifeboat and two or three trawlers.

At 4am on the Sunday, the purr of a motor boat announced the arrival of the Henry Vernon from Tynemouth. As dawn was breaking, it got to within 200 yards of the wreck, stopped and discharged gallons and gallons of oil into the water. The effect was a flattening of the waves, allowing the lifeboat to reach the wreck. With only a short time before the waves returned, a rope was let down to the lifeboat and immediately, figures could be seen scrambling down. In less than 15 minutes more than 40 had taken to the boat.

The last man to leave his lost ship was the captain, and as he slipped into the lifeboat, the crew gave a rousing cheer that was echoed time and time again by the people on the shore.

In a short time, the lifeboat reached the harbour and townspeople, having heard of the rescue, rushed with blankets and comforts. Not one was so utterly exhausted that he needed carrying, but many tottered and all were pale and hollow eyed. Some were bleeding, nearly all were barefooted and some were in their pyjamas. The captain seemed a man of iron. Unassisted, he walked up the steps to the harbour in his great overcoat and pincenez and looking as unperturbed as if he was returning from a pleasure trip.

As soon as he reached the top of the quay, he asked for a smoke, and then he stood quietly by watching he other survivors being hurried off after being given hot tea, to the Cottage Hospital, the Convent, and to private houses where hospitality had been offered.