Prayer literally saved William Ashlock, of St. Joseph, Missouri, from one of the worst marine disasters of World War II.

In January 1942, the 34-year-old was aboard the Lady Hawkins on his way to Bermuda to help build the new baselands.

"Uncle Bill was part of the civil conservation corps (CCC)," Charlotte Oxford, 83, told The Royal Gazette in a telephone interview from her home in California. She was 14 years old when her uncle left for Bermuda.

"The CCC made a lot of the say roads and cement bridges that you see [in the US]," she said. "His whole camp was selected to go to Bermuda. They were thrilled to death because there was no work in the country, at the time."

Bermuda was a cushy place to be stationed. There were no bombs dropping. There was no combat. There was no danger of freezing due to fuel shortages. The only problem was getting here. At that time in the war, Germans found attacking allied ships, particularly merchant and passenger ships, like shooting fish in a barrel. During that month alone, at least 11 allied vessels were attacked by German U-boats. Lady Hawkins, an unarmed Canadian passenger steamer, was travelling unescorted by destroyers.

Before the war the ship had been a bright white; she was later painted grey to blend in with the ocean. On this voyage she carried 321 passengers, including 41 young men like Mr. Ashlock bound to work on the bases, and 11 women headed to Bermuda join the British Imperial Censorship Department.

On January 19, after quick stops in New York and Boston, Lady Hawkins was halfway to Bermuda about 250 miles off the Coast of Cape Hatteras. At 2 a.m. a German submarine suddenly surfaced, and shined its lights fully on the steamer.

Later it was said that the brazenness of the attack suggested that the submarine knew that the Lady Hawkins was unescorted, guarded only by a single gunner. The submarine fired three torpedoes at Lady Hawkins. Chaos ensued on the ship, with many passengers jumping into the cold ocean in only their underwear and nightgowns.

"There was a religious group on board," said Mrs. Oxford. "My uncle wasn't really overly religious at that time in his life. They were having a prayer up on deck. I guess they did that a lot when they were at sea. That is what saved their lives because they were able to get off."

Mr. Ashlock jumped into the water and was one of the lucky ones to find his way into a lifeboat. There were two other lifeboats let down, but they were never seen again.

Second mate Percy A. Kelly of Nova Scotia, became the hero of the piece. He took charge, and helped others in the water to climb into the lifeboat. In the end, the lifeboat held 76 passengers, even though it was only meant to hold about 63 people. The ship sank completely in less than half an hour. The agonised cries of people in the water around the lifeboat, went on for hours.

In the morning, the survivors were met with a view of endless grey water in all directions. The lifeboat had a transmitter, but Mr. Kelly was afraid to use it for fear of attracting the attention of German U-boats in the area. Lady Hawkins had gone down too quickly for a distress signal to be sent so there was unlikely to be anyone looking for them. On two occasions they saw the smoke from passing ships but were helpless to do anything.

At first, people stood for fear of capsizing the overloaded boat. They lay so low in the water that water came over the gunwales. Mr. Kelly arranged people sitting around the boat to provide proper balance. The men, mostly the Missouri construction workers, began a faithful programme of bailing. Some people had swallowed some of the oily seawater in their desperate bid to get to the lifeboat, and they vomited for hours.

Besides Mr. Ashlock, survivors included a 17-year-old crewman, the ship's barman, the ship's radio man, a minister's wife, construction workers, a mother, father and a toddler. The immediate threat to their safety was dehydration and hypothermia. The lifeboat included emergency supplies of condensed milk, water and biscuits, but not enough for the number of passengers on board, so Mr. Kelly had to very tightly ration everything. He passed around the condensed milk at lunch time, but quickly found that some of the passengers were sneaking more than their share — each passenger was then allowed only one capful of milk. He used the cap of his silver flashlight. He jokingly called it "silver service".

At breakfast and dinner each passenger was allowed half a biscuit and a strictly controlled amount of water.

They weren't far off from Bermuda, drifting near the warm Gulf Stream, so it wasn't as chilling as the North Atlantic. Nevertheless, it was January and with their clothes perpetually sopping they were very cold. After only a short time in the lifeboat, the winds and seas began to pick up. A storm broke over them, and for two days they were tossed about like a tiny cork in a vast, angry ocean. Waves rose between 25 and 35 feet high, but somehow they made it through.

The teenage crew member was the first to go; then the barman. The minister's wife said a prayer before they were gently let go into the sea to go their final resting place. Unfortunately, they had nothing to wrap the bodies, and nothing to weigh them down.

Mr. Kelly removed their clothes before the burial, because clothes were in such short supply on the lifeboat.

"When they were in the lifeboat they prayed a lot," said Mrs. Oxford. "My uncle said at night it was so black, and stars so bright it was like the eyes of God. He said 'All we were doing was waiting to die. We all knew we would die eventually'."

A miracle eventually did happen for the passengers. After five days at sea, within five hours of the fifth passenger dying, they were finally sighted by a passing ship. Frantically, Mr. Kelly and others flashed their lights in its direction, and fired off a flare. They were spotted and picked up by the Puerto Rican ship Coama.

"They were taken to a hospital in Puerto Rico and then taken to New York City," said Mrs. Oxford. "The story had been in all the newspapers, and no one could believe these people survived.

"He said later that the city and the people treated them like they were saints. Everywhere they went everything was free. They gave the survivors clothes and food."

The sinking of Lady Hawkins was deemed one of the worst marine disasters of the war at that point. At the time, some of the Missouri workers told the newspapers they were undeterred and wanted to continue on to Bermuda which was referred to in the papers only as a "southern base", for security purposes.

Mr. Ashlock never made it to Bermuda. He spent six months recovering in his hometown, and then was sent to serve in the Army. However, he was quickly sent home again because his lungs had been permanently damaged by his time in the lifeboat. Mrs. Oxford said her uncle was never the same after the experience.

"My uncle was the baby of the family," she said. "He had four sisters and one brother. He was always smiling and joking before he went away. After he came back, I never saw him smile again."

Mr. Ashlock went on to work in shipyards near his home. He died in 1984 from complications due to his lungs.