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Title: The Lusitania's Last Voyage
Author: Lauriat, Charles
Language: English
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THE LUSITANIA’S LAST VOYAGE
[Illustration: A Photo of The Lusitania under steam]
THE LUSITANIA’S
LAST VOYAGE
_Being a Narrative
of the Torpedoing and Sinking
of the R. M. S. Lusitania
by a German Submarine
off the Irish Coast
May 7, 1915_
BY
CHARLES E. LAURIAT, JR.
ONE OF THE SURVIVORS
_With Illustrations_
[Illustration: colophon]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1915
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY CHARLES E. LAURIAT, JR.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published October 1915_
Copyright in Great Britain, Ireland,
and British Colonies, and in all
countries under the Convention, by
Charles E. Lauriat, Jr.
TO MY FATHER
WHO TAUGHT ME IN BOYHOOD TO SWIM, AND
TO KNOW NO FEAR OF THE SEA
AND
TO MY MOTHER
WHO FOUNDED THE FAITH THAT
HAS BROUGHT ME
THROUGH ALL THINGS
I DEDICATE THIS
BOOK
THE ZONE
Avert Thy gaze, O God, close tight Thine eyes!
Glance down no longer on the ocean foam,
Lest Thou behold such horrors as can turn
Men’s burning hearts to ice, and chill their souls.
Keep Thine heart warm and full of charity
That Thou mayst yet be able to forgive,
And pity feel for those who know not when
To pause in deeds of ruthless sacrifice.
Restrain Thy wrath, and keep Thine hand in check;
Smite not, nor fiercely thrust without the pale
Those who can dare to strew the ocean waste
With fellow creatures, innocent of wrong.
Forget the studied purpose to destroy;
The launching of the missile through the deep;
The shattered hull; the crushed and bleeding forms;
The seething swirl of wreckage, women, men.
Remember that they know not what they do
Who strike in deadly fear and ghastly hate;
Remember that somehow, and at some time,
Each crime exacts its human penalty.
Remember that man’s conscience and man’s mind
Are agents of Thy purpose and Thy plan,
Which work within a deadlier revenge
Than any shrapnel shot or sabre thrust.
Remember that new generations come
Upon whom fall the burden and the curse,
The anguish of old hatreds and past wrongs,
The crushing debt, the struggle and despair.
Restrain, O God, the sweep of this vast hate;
Recall the nations to their sense of shame:
To those in blinding war, to us at peace,
Reveal anew the message of the Christ.
WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, JR.
(Reprinted by permission of the author and of the Boston
_Transcript_)
THE LUSITANIA’S LAST VOYAGE
PART I
6, NEW OXFORD STREET, LONDON, W. C.,
May 12, 1915
Our voyage from New York had been uneventful and in fact it was quite a
“Lauriat Crossing”; fine weather, smooth sea, and after the first few
hours of Sunday (May 2) there had been no fog up to Friday morning (May
7), when it came in for a short time.
The speed of the boat had not been what I had expected it would be, for
after the first full run of 24 hours, in which we covered 501 miles, the
run dropped each day to well below the 500 mark, and the last 24 hours
up to Friday noon (May 7) we made only 462 miles. This was partly
accounted for by the fact that we picked up Greenwich time at Cape Clear
and put the clock ahead 1 hour and 40 minutes.
The reason this small run impressed itself upon my mind was that I
expected that when we sighted the Irish Coast the “Lucy” would show a
burst of “top speed” and that we should go flying up at not less than 25
miles an hour. The run up to Thursday noon (May 6) had been 484 miles,
and so confident was I that she would put on steam that I bought the
high number in the pool (for Friday), which was 499. It was the only
pool I went into and I couldn’t help it, for the number sold at £3.0.0
and at that price it looked like a “bargain.”
During the forenoon of Thursday (May 6) we swung out and uncovered 22
lifeboats, 11 on each side, showing Captain Turner’s preparedness
towards emergency. I was keenly interested in all that was done aboard
ship as we approached the Irish Coast, and in fact all through the
voyage I kept my eyes unusually wide open.
At night the shades in the saloon were closely drawn, and I noticed that
my bedroom steward left a note for the night watchman stating just which
ports were open when he (the steward) went off duty.
Friday noon when the run was posted I was surprised, for I certainly
thought that this was the time to put on speed. The sea was smooth as a
pancake, an ideal chance for a dash up the coast. When I heard the fog
horn early Friday morning I turned over and took another snooze, for
there was no use in getting up if it was foggy and disagreeable weather.
The fog did not last long and was nothing more than a morning mist.
I got up at noon and had time for a stroll around the deck before lunch
at 1 o’clock. I noticed that we were not going anywhere near top speed
and were following, as I remembered, the usual course up the Irish
Coast, that being about 5 to 7 miles distant. I wondered at our loafing
along at this gentle pace.
When I bought my ticket at the Cunard Office in Boston I asked if we
were to be convoyed through the war zone, and the reply made was, “Oh
yes! every precaution will be taken.”
When we got into Queenstown I found the people furious through the act
itself and disgusted that three torpedo-boat destroyers should have lain
at anchor in Queenstown harbor all the time the Lusitania was coming up
the Irish Coast. Some of the men along the sea front told me that these
boats had been out during the morning, but had come back for “lunch.”
They all turned up after the tragedy, but they could have been used to
better advantage before it.
After lunch I went to my stateroom and put on my sweater under the coat
of the knickerbocker suit that I was wearing and went up on deck for a
_real walk_. I came up the main companion-way and stepped out on the
port side of the steamer and saw Mr. and Mrs. Elbert Hubbard standing by
the rail, a little for’ard of the entrance. I joined them and was
conversing with them when the torpedo struck the ship. In fact, Mr.
Hubbard had just jokingly remarked that he didn’t believe he would be a
welcome traveller to Germany, owing to the little essay he had written
entitled “Who Lifted the Lid Off Hell.” Mr. Hubbard had not more than
finished this remark when the shock came. This “essay” appeared in the
“Philistine” for October, 1914, and Mr. Hubbard had given me a copy
earlier on the voyage. If you want to read a piece of vitriolic
English, I suggest that you send for a copy.
Where I stood on deck the shock of the impact was not severe; it was a
heavy, rather muffled sound, but the good ship trembled for a moment
under the force of the blow; a second explosion quickly followed, but I
do not think it was a second torpedo, for the sound was quite different;
it was more likely a boiler in the engine room.
As I turned to look in the direction of the explosion I saw a shower of
coal and steam and some débris hurled into the air between the second
and third funnels, and then heard the fall of gratings and other
wreckage that had been blown up by the explosion.
Remember that I was standing well for’ard on the port side, and
consequently looked back at the scene of the explosion, at an angle
across to the starboard side; therefore, although the débris showed
between the second and third funnels, I think the blow was delivered
practically in line with the fourth funnel.
I looked immediately at my watch and it was exactly 8 minutes past 9
(A.M.) Boston time, which means 8 minutes past 2 Greenwich time.
I turned to the Hubbards and suggested that they go to their stateroom
to get their life jackets. Their cabin was on deck B, on the port side,
at the foot of the main companion-way, and they had ample time to go
there and get back to the deck; but Mr. Hubbard stayed by the rail
affectionately holding his arm around his wife’s waist and both seemed
unable to act.
I went straight down to my stateroom, which, as you will remember, was
the most for’ard one on deck B on the starboard side. The boat had taken
a list to starboard, but it was not acute, and so I had no difficulty
in making my way to and from my cabin. I tied on a life belt, took the
others in the room and my small leather case containing my business
papers, and went up on deck to the port side. I went back to the spot
where I had left the Hubbards, but they had gone, and I never saw them
again.
I found those who needed the life belts, put them on, tied them
properly, and then went aft along the port side of the ship, for I was
confident that all hands would naturally rush to the starboard side and
so there would be more opportunity to help along the port side. I turned
and walked for’ard toward the bridge, and Captain Turner and Captain
Anderson were both calling in stentorian tones not to lower away the
boats, ordering all passengers and sailors to get out of them, saying
that there was no danger and that the ship would float. A woman
passenger beside me called out to Captain Turner in a perfectly clear
and calm voice, “Captain, what do you wish us to do?” “Stay right where
you are, Madam, she’s all right.” Then the woman asked him, “Where do
you get your information?”--and he replied in rather a severe and
commanding voice, “From the engine room, Madam.” She and I turned and
walked quietly aft and tried to reassure the passengers we met.
As I looked around to see to whom I could be of the greatest help it
seemed to me that about everyone who passed me wearing a life belt had
it on incorrectly. In their hurry they put them on every way except the
right way: one man had his arm through one armhole and his head through
the other; others had them on around the waist and upside down; but very
few had them on correctly. I stopped these people and spoke to them in
a calm voice and persuaded them to let me help them on with the belts,
for they certainly stood no show in the water rigged as they were. At
first they thought I was trying to take their jackets from them, but on
reassuring them they let me straighten them out.
I had been watching carefully the list of the steamer, and by now I was
confident that she wouldn’t float and that the end was coming fast. I
remembered one or two personal things in my stateroom which I very much
wanted, and I figured that I had time to go down and get them. If I
didn’t come through the final plunge, I wanted to feel I had them with
me, and if I did get through, I was just as sure I wanted them, so there
didn’t seem anything to do but to get them, which I did.
There was a companion-way for’ard of the main staircase, about half-way
between it and my stateroom, so I went along the port passage inside of
deck A, down that companion-way, and along the starboard passage to my
stateroom. It was not until I walked along this passage that I realized
how acute was the list of the ship. My stateroom was an inside one
without a porthole, and consequently could be lighted only by
electricity. I pressed the switch, but the light had gone, so I put my
hand on a box of matches; for each night when I retired I placed a box
in a particular place, just in case I needed it. With the aid of these
matches I found the little article for which I was looking, opened my
travelling bag, and took out some papers which included my passport and
other envelopes that could easily be slipped into my inside pocket.
I had kept my drafts on my person, for I figured that there was no use
in giving them to the purser, except as a precaution against theft, and
that was negligible. If what had happened was to happen, I knew there
would be no time to reclaim them from the purser.
I made my way back along the passage, walking in the angle formed by the
floor and the side walls of the staterooms rather than the floor, and
went back up the for’ard companion-way, the same that I came down. Going
along the passage (on deck B) I looked down some of the cross passages
that lead to the staterooms, and at the bottom of the ones I passed I
saw that the portholes were open and that the water could not have been
more than a few feet from them. Here let me state that I consider it
most extraordinary that the portholes on the lower decks should not have
been _closed_ and _sealed_ as we steamed through the war zone. At
luncheon the portholes in the dining-saloon on deck D were open, and so
I doubt not that all the others on that deck were open. I mean those in
the staterooms. I cannot speak with certainty in regard to the portholes
on deck E. I believe that the first list the ship took brought her down
to these open ports on the starboard side and that she sank much more
quickly from filling through them.
On my return to the deck I felt that the steamer must make her final
plunge any moment now, and as there was nothing more that could be done
on the port side--for there was no discipline or order with which to do
it--I passed through to the starboard side. Men were striving to lower
the boats and were putting women and children into them, but it seemed
to me that it only added horror to the whole situation to put people
into a boat that you knew never would be cleared and which would go down
with the steamer; better leave them on the deck to let them take their
chance at a piece of wreckage.
True, there was no panic, in the sense that anyone crowded or pushed his
way to the lifeboats, but there was infinite confusion, and there seemed
no one to take command of any one boat.
As I came out on the starboard side, I saw, a little aft of the main
entrance, a lifeboat well filled with people, principally women and
children, that no one had attempted to clear from the davits. The
steamer was rapidly sinking, and I realized that the boat must be
cleared at once if the people were to be saved.
I climbed into the stern of the boat, which was floating flush with the
rail of deck B, so far had the steamer settled, and helped clear the
fall. We freed our end and swung the ropes clear, but we couldn’t make
anyone for’ard understand what to do or how to do it.
I remember looking for’ard and seeing someone, I think it was a
steward, bravely cutting away at the thick ropes with a pocket knife.
How I wish he had had an axe! What would I have given for one real
sailor man for’ard; we could have saved that boatload of people. I
started to go for’ard, but it was impossible to climb through that
boatload of people, mixed up as they were with oars, boat hooks, kegs of
water, rope ladders, sails, and God knows what--everything that seemed
to hinder progress to getting for’ard. The steamer was all the time
rapidly settling, and to look at the tremendous smokestack hanging out
over us only added to the terror of the people in the boat. I certainly
did not blame them, for it was a harrowing sight, even to one as
familiar with the ocean as I am. However, I should have gone for’ard and
made the try, except that the stern end of the boat was raised by a
small swell of the ocean and I was impressed by the nearness of the
davit by getting a blow on the back which nearly knocked me overboard.
Then I admit that I saw the hopelessness of ever clearing the for’ard
davit in time to get the boat away, so I stepped out and made a try for
it by swimming. I spoke to several and urged them to come; but truly
they were petrified, and only my training from boyhood up, in the water
and under it, gave me the courage to jump. I swam about 100 feet away
from the ship and then turned around to see if anyone was following to
whom I could lend a hand, and found several who needed encouragement.
Also I wanted to see when the final plunge of the steamer came, that I
might be the more ready to fight against the vortex and tell the others.
The Lusitania did not go down anything like head first: she had, rather,
settled along her whole water line. This convinces me that practically
all the ports must have been open, even those as far down as Deck E. The
stern did not rise to anything like a perpendicular, nor did it rise so
high that I could see a single one of the propellers or even the end of
her rudder. Not one of her funnels fell.
The last I saw of the lifeboat out of which I jumped was that she was
being pulled down, bow first, as the tackle had not been freed and the
stern of the boat was rising high in the air. While the people were
thrown out, they were not so violently thrown as those from some of the
lifeboats that were dropped when half lowered into the water.
There was very little vortex; there was rather a shooting out from the
ship instead of a sucking in, after she sank; this I am told was
_partly_ caused by the water rushing into her funnels and being blown
out again by explosions made by the mixing of the cold water of the sea
with the steam of the boilers. I saw an interesting statement in one of
the papers, purporting to have come from Captain Turner, in which he
stated that the small amount of suction was probably due to the fact
that the bow of the boat was already resting on the bottom when the
stern went down. This seems quite feasible, as she sank in about 60
fathoms (360 feet) of water and she was 755 feet long.
The sea was wonderfully smooth, and it seemed to me that if one could
keep clear of the wreck and pick up a lifeboat, that it could be manned
and that we could go back and get many survivors. I was able to work
this out quite as I planned.
As I waited for the final plunge something caught me on the top of my
head and slipped down to my shoulders, pressing me under the water; I
couldn’t imagine what it was, but on turning to see I found that it was
one of the aërials of the wireless that stretched from topmast to
topmast.
The present style of life belt, or rather jacket, is not the
old-fashioned kind filled with hard cork, but a larger and more bulky
affair filled with fibre, and when you have it on you look and feel like
a padded football player, especially around the shoulders. When I shook
this wire off my head, it caught me around the shoulders on the soft
pad, and I couldn’t shake it off. It took me down under the water and
turned me upside down. I tell you I “kicked.” I came up none the worse
for my ducking, for it simply reminded me of one of my various trips
down to see “Susy the Mermaid” when I was a youngster at Camp Asquam and
the older boys used to duck us youngsters anywhere from five to fifteen
times a day, according to the unpardonable sins we were supposed to
have committed; and these weren’t mere “duckings” either. They used to
push us under, put their feet on our shoulders, and then give a good
shove, so that we went down anywhere from six to sixteen feet under
water. I hated the duckings at that time, but they proved mighty good
training!
When I came up, after shaking the Marconi wire, the waves bearing the
wreckage and people were upon me. After swimming around and helping
those I could by pushing them pieces of wreckage to which to cling, I
saw a short distance away a collapsible lifeboat floating right side up,
swam to it, and climbed aboard. A seaman quickly followed, and a fine
husky chap he proved to be. I heard my name called, and for the moment I
didn’t realize whether it was a call from Heaven or Hell, but when I
turned in the direction of the voice I found the man to be G----, one
of the three men with whom I had played cards each evening. I pulled him
up on the boat, and we three got out our jackknives and went at a kind
of can-opening operation, which was really the removing of the canvas
cover of the boat.
They call that invention a “boat,” but to start with, it is nothing but
a “raft.” Let me try to draw you a word picture and see if you will
understand it.
Suppose you floated a real lifeboat in the water, and at the water line
cut down the sides so that the bottom of the boat that was left floated
flush with the water. Then deck over and make watertight this part of
the boat that is left. This gives you a round bottomed, watertight raft,
floating almost flush with the water.
Take a long piece of about 24-inch high (or wide) canvas that will reach
all around the sides from one end back to the same end. Nail the lower
edge of this canvas to the outside edge of the “raft.” To enable you to
raise these “collapsible” canvas sides and to keep them in place, make a
stout rail that will be curved to the shape of the floor of the “raft”
and nail the top edge of the canvas on to it.
This now “collapsible boat,” with its folding canvas sides, is of course
shallow, and about three or four of them can be nested on the deck of a
steamer in the space occupied by a “real lifeboat.” There is a canvas
cover laced down over the top of these boats, the same as on regular
boats.
Before you can do anything with a collapsible lifeboat you must make it
a “real boat” by lifting up its canvas sides and lashing them in place
so they can’t collapse. Until this is done you have nothing but a
“raft.” It is almost impossible to lift the rail into place if there are
people hanging on to it, as that would mean lifting the people as well.
Also, you can’t lift the sides, which automatically raise the cross
seats, if there is anyone lying across the boat, and you can’t get on
the “raft” without getting on the seats. We tried to persuade the people
who were hanging on to the rail to take off their hands and hang on to
the life ropes--but that was impossible. Never have I heard a more
distressing cry of despair than when I tried to tell one of them that
that was what we were doing. In their condition I don’t wonder they
thought we were trying to push them off. So we had to take some aboard,
those who were in the most panicky condition, and try to get up the
sides with the “raft” half covered with people.
The seats of these boats are attached to an iron brace which is supposed
to slide on a metal run in the middle of the boat. A wooden brace at
either end is held in place by a pin when the sides are raised to their
proper height, but, as the saying is, “There warn’t no pin” and the
wooden brace in my end of the boat was broken and the metal run for the
iron braces of the seats was so rusted and corroded that it wasn’t a
“run;” so there we were, back to a raft again.
_Not an oar in the boat_, nor even a stick with which to reach wreckage
so that we could block up the seats. We must get those seats braced up
to give us the protection of the canvas sides, and they mustn’t fall
down either, because then the “boat” became a “raft,” the people became
a little more panicky, and the falling seats hurt and slightly injured
the people sitting between them, for of course we had to seat those too
exhausted to pull and haul on the floor between the seats. We had to
have some oars too to make the boat navigable, so we fished round in the
wreckage and were fortunate to get five oars (one broken, but that
served me as a steering oar) and some blocks. Then with a long heave
and a heave all together we raised the blasted seats as far as possible,
but not to their proper height, and jammed the blocks under them. We
were lucky to get blocks that act as supports to a _real_ lifeboat,
which, as you know, have notches cut on the long side. These blocks are
like little steps, so that we were able to shove them under the seats to
the limit.
About the fifth man aboard the boat was a chap named B----; he was a
husky, no mistake. He weighed about 200 pounds and was all good
material. This man G---- was another good one too; he deserved his name.
By this time we must have had fifteen people in our now
“_non_-collapsible boat.” Let us thank God for the “non.”
I went aft and took the steering oar and my two huskies, B---- and the
sailor man, rowed the heavy sweeps, and G---- stayed for’ard to help the
people in. We headed back into the wreckage and picked up those who
seemed most urgently in need.
I won’t enter into the detail of the condition of the poor souls we got,
but two instances of nerve stand out so clearly in my mind that I must
tell them. Both pertain to women, and never have I seen greater courage
and patience shown by anyone.
I heard a call near my end of the boat and told the boys to back water,
and I reached over and pulled in a woman who I thought at first glance
was a negress; I never believed a white woman could be so black. I
learned afterwards that she and her husband had got into a lifeboat, and
while he was busy helping to clear it she got panic-stricken by the
tremendous overhanging funnels and jumped back on to the steamer without
her husband knowing it. She was aboard when the final plunge came, and
the suction took her part way down one of the funnels, but the thankful
explosion blew her forth, out into clear water, in among the wreckage,
where she could hang on. The clothes were almost blown off the poor
woman, and there wasn’t a white spot on her except her teeth and the
whites of her eyes. Marvellous to say she wasn’t hurt and proved a great
help in cheering us all by her bright talk.
For coolness I think this second case is even more remarkable. We had
about as many in our boat as we ought to take when I heard a woman’s
voice say, in just as natural a tone of voice as you would ask for
another slice of bread and butter, “Won’t you take me next? you know I
can’t swim.” When I looked over into the mass of wreckage from which
this voice emanated all I could see was a woman’s head, with a piece of
wreckage under her chin and with her hair streaming out over other
pieces of wreckage. She was so jammed in she couldn’t even get her arms
out, and with it all she had a half smile on her face and was placidly
chewing gum. The last I saw of her when I helped her off the boat at
Queenstown was that she was still chewing that piece of gum, and I
shouldn’t be surprised if she had it yet. Of course, we couldn’t leave
her, and as there was no possible way that I dared try to get her
without going into the water for her, I told her that if she’d keep cool
I’d come after her. To my surprise she said it was not at all necessary,
just hand her an oar and she’d hang on. That is the last thing in the
world I should ever have dared to do, for naturally I thought, in view
of the fact that she could not swim, that as soon as I cleared away the
wreckage with an oar she’d get rattled and sink. After what she had said
I got my huskies to back through the wreckage till my oar would reach to
her. Then I placed it as close to her face as I could and she wriggled
around and got her two hands on the oar, held fast, and we pulled her
through.
Then we rowed for the shore. G---- took the for’ard port oar, and
somewhere in the shuffle we had picked up a couple of the stokers, and
while they weren’t very big men they were red-headed cockneys and they
were trumps. Their conversation was something to remember; I shall never
forget it. They two rowed the for’ard starboard oar, B---- rowed the
after port oar, and the sailor man rowed the after starboard oar. Others
helped push on the oars and so we had a good crew. I steered for a
lighthouse on the coast, for I didn’t know whether the Marconi operator
had had time to send out an S. O. S., or if he had, whether or not it
had been picked up. It was a good long row ashore and I knew we could
not get there until after dark, and it was much better to land on a
shore, however barren, near a lighthouse than to land on that part
where there might not be an inhabitant for miles; also I saw the sail of
a fisherman between us and the lighthouse, so I had two goals for which
to steer.
The lighthouse for which we were steering was that on the Head of Old
Kinsale. There were already two real lifeboats between us and the shore.
We had stayed around and picked up everyone who seemed to be in the most
helpless condition. Those we were forced to leave were as safe as if we
had overcrowded them into our flimsy craft. The calmness of the sea was
the only thing that enabled us to take on so many, with any degree of
safety.
We must have rowed about a quarter of a mile toward shore, when off in
the distance I saw one lone man floating around by himself. He seemed to
prefer his own society to anyone’s else by going off “on his own,” but
apparently he had changed his mind and got lonesome, for he sure did
yell. He looked safe enough, as he had one of the big round white
lifebuoys around his body, under his arms, and he was perfectly safe
from sinking. I was pretty sure that according to the rules of the
blessed “Board of Trade” we had all the people in our boat that our
license would allow us to carry. Still I headed for the chap, for you
couldn’t go off and leave that one more soul floating around. It was
lucky we went for him for he was in pretty bad shape, but recovered all
right after we got him ashore. This chap turned out to be McM----, a
fine Canadian fellow and a man of some experience in shipwreck, for he
was on the Republic when she sank.
After rowing about two miles we came up to the fishing smack, and
although they had already taken on two boatloads, they made room for us.
Before anyone left our boat I counted heads and found we had 32 aboard!
It wasn’t just the time to hunt souvenirs, but I took my steersman’s
oarlock with me; it will do for a paper weight.
Aboard the fisherman I witnessed one of the most affecting scenes of
all. It seems that the husband of the temporary negress we picked up was
aboard, and as we approached she recognized him and called to him; but
he stood at the rail with a perfectly blank expression on his face and
refused to recognize his own wife. Not until we were directly alongside
and he could lean over and look the woman squarely in the face did he
realize that his wife had been given back to him.
The old fishermen did everything in their power for us; they pulled up
all the blankets from their bunks, they started the fire and made us tea
while tea lasted, and after that boiled us water. The old ship was
positively slippery with fish scales and the usual dirt of fishermen,
but the deck of that boat, under our feet, felt as good as the front
halls of our own homes.
The sight aboard that craft was a pitiful one, for while most of the
first two boatloads of people that got aboard were dry, many of them had
in their excitement removed much of their clothing before getting into
the boat and consequently were, by this time, pretty thoroughly chilled.
Those in my boat were in the saddest condition, for each one had been
thoroughly soaked and some of them had been through terrible
experiences. There is practically no cabin on one of these little
fishermen, so all hands had to stay on deck, except a few that were able
to help themselves down into the so-called cabin. The worst injured of
course had to stay on deck. I gave my sweater to a chap who had on
nothing but an undershirt and a pair of trousers, and I loaned my coat
to a woman until we got into Queenstown. There were not nearly enough
blankets aboard for each to have one. There were over 80 people on that
small boat.
After being aboard about an hour we were picked up by the steamer Flying
Fish which had come down from Queenstown. We were made comfortable on
this good old packet. You will remember she is a side-wheeler and one of
the tenders that came out to meet the ocean steamers before they were
not too proud to stop at Queenstown.
The ocean was so calm that when we transferred our passengers to the
Flying Fish we were able to lay the fisherman alongside the steamer and
those who could stepped across. The two boats lay so close and steadily
together that we carried our cripples across in our arms. The smoothness
of the ocean must have been a special dispensation from Heaven.
We were torpedoed at 8 minutes past 2. I went overboard and my watch
stopped at 9:30 Boston time, 2:30 Greenwich. I figure I was in the water
three or four minutes before my watch stopped. I think the sweater which
I had on under my coat and the life belt that I had tied on made it
slower work for the water to get at my watch.
We must have been an hour and a half getting the boat into shape and
picking up the people from the wreckage, and we must have been rowing
two hours before we reached the fishing smack at 6:00.
By 7:00 we were on the Flying Fish, and tied up to the pier in
Queenstown at 9:15, so you see we fared quite well. It was quite
ludicrous to be held up by the patrol boat at the mouth of Queenstown
Harbour and to be asked in formal tones, “What ship is that?” and to
hear the captain reply, “The ship Flying Fish, with survivors of the
Lusitania.” Word was immediately given us to go on.
This is where there came very near being a real fight. It happened this
way--Two steamers had passed the Flying Fish on the way in and were tied
up at the Cunard dock ahead of us, so we were told to land at the dock
below. That was all very well, but the captain informed us that we
couldn’t go ashore until he had reported to the “inspector.” I knew that
the 100 odd people that we had on the Flying Fish didn’t care about any
“inspector” that ever grew in the town of Queenstown, but what they
wanted and needed and ought to have was hot drink and food just as soon
as they could get it. The captain, with true Irish stubbornness, went to
do his duty ashore as “he seen it.” We let the captain get around the
corner out of sight and then G---- and I started to put the gangplank
over, but were told by some figure standing on the dock that we must
wait for the captain’s return. We gave this figure, whom we presume was
a guard, three seconds to get out of the way or get knocked down by the
gangplank. He moved, and we ran out the gangplank and handed our
passengers ashore. Those who were able to navigate by themselves walked
up the streets to the various hotels. Then we got down to our two
cripples: one was a man in our collapsible lifeboat and one a woman we
found on the fishing smack. Each had a broken leg. And right here let me
tell you an instance of nerve displayed by this man B----, whose leg was
broken. We had taken him into our boat before we got the seats braced
up, for he was in pretty bad shape and we were afraid to leave him
longer in the water. He was in the bottom of the boat, partially sitting
on one of the seats, and when we endeavored to heave up on them, I
spoke to him rather roughly and asked him if he couldn’t get off. He
looked up to me with half a smile and said, “I would, old chap; but did
you know I have a broken leg and can’t move very fast?” I was careful
how I spoke after that!
I went ashore to see if I could find an ambulance or stretchers. A
little way up the street in front of the Cunard office I found about 20
Naval Reserve men drawn up in squares of four; each squad was armed with
a folding canvas stretcher. They were as fine a lot of men as I ever
saw, and when I told them I had two cripples and needed two stretchers
they didn’t wait there for any commands from a _real_ officer; they just
asked me where were they, and I marched them down to the boat double
quick.
It was low tide when we got into Queenstown and consequently the landing
had to be made from the top of the paddle box. This necessitated all
hands going up a very narrow companion-way, built on the side of the
paddle box and so too narrow and too steep to permit the carrying of a
stretcher. I went aboard and carried the two cripples ashore on my back.
To get them ashore this way must have hurt them terribly, but never a
groan from the woman nor from the man. The fact that injured people
could show such nerve as this gave us fellows who were not injured the
physical strength to do all that we did do.
One of the women in our boat went along with the girl with the broken
leg to the hospital, and so I felt she’d be well taken care of. This
chap B---- refused to let anyone accompany him to the Marine Hospital,
having perfect confidence in the four Naval Reserve men who carried the
stretcher, and certainly that confidence was justified.
The last chap we picked up in the boat, McM----, had a badly sprained
ankle, and as I seemed about the right height he was using me as a human
crutch.
When we went up the street in Queenstown it was filled with people
willing to help and do anything in their power to relieve our
sufferings. I have heard stories of Scottish hospitality, but I never
saw anything more spontaneous or genuine or more freely given than the
Irish hospitality of Queenstown.
McM---- and I were in pretty good shape and were well dried off, and
while his ankle pained him a good deal and I was pretty much cut up
around the forehead and nose by the aërial, we were able to navigate by
ourselves.
We went directly to the Post Office and I sent my “Safe and Sound” cable
to you people. Then McM---- and I went up the street, and the
hospitality of Queenstown storekeepers, inspired by the idea of making a
few extra sales had caused them to open their shops at that time of
night, and we went in and bought a couple of sets of pajamas of the
thickest wool that I ever put on. “Out-sizes” they were, but they proved
none too “out.” About the second time they are washed I expect they will
fit the boy, but they felt mighty comfortable that night.
We had quite a time finding a place to rest our weary heads and warm our
chilled bodies. I kept away from the two main hotels, because I knew
they were filled with the people who arrived on the first two steamers.
When we got near the centre of the town I asked a native to tell us of
some small place where we could get rooms. He directed us to the little
hostelry “Imperial Bar.” It was a perfectly appropriate name. The
hospitality of the manageress was “Imperial” and the “Bar” was good.
At the door we found a Mr. and Mrs. K----. He was badly injured. He had
been brought to the hotel by the reserves on a stretcher. He was not in
bad enough shape to go to a hospital, but he couldn’t walk. The K----’s
got a double room and McM---- and I took the other spare room.
He turned in and I turned out. I went down into the town, for I knew I
could be of help to some of the survivors. I got back at midnight and
went to bed. I didn’t have to lie awake and think about going to sleep,
for I had been standing and moving around under a strain for some 10
hours, so I just passed off into a dead, dreamless sleep. My clothes
were almost dry, and I wasn’t suffering from a chill. We have always
heard that Scottish hospitality is accompanied by a draught of the
national beverage, and in justice to the old landlady I must say that
she didn’t omit to give me a draught of the Irish national beverage. She
told me it was made by her old grandfather, and certainly he knows how
to make Irish whiskey! I woke up McM---- and we repeated the dose on
him. He didn’t cry at being waked up in a good cause!
Saturday morning I was up and dressed at six o’clock, and the dear old
woman gave me a dish of tea and some bread and butter in the kitchen,
and I started for the town to buy some raiment for people that I knew
were practically destitute. I had dressed in the kitchen, where it was
warm and my clothes were dry. My wardrobe was complete, even to my
shoes, for I had not removed anything when I went overboard. The
landlady had kept the fire going all night and had dried all our
apparel, but as the other three were not going out as early as I was
she gave mine the preference, and I left the house feeling warm and
comfortable.
As I walked down from our little hotel I shall never forget that
beautiful morning in the quaint old town of Queenstown. The sun was
shining warmly, and hardly a breath of air was stirring. As the day grew
older and the people who had been rescued turned out into the street, it
was as sad a sight as I ever care to see. It was surprising that so many
people had removed most of their clothing before taking to the water the
day before.
I found many who had no ready cash, and I soon made good use of the
English pounds I had bought before I left home. Then I bethought myself
of the £40.0.0 draft I had. I had not “crossed” this, so it was good for
cash if I could get anybody to cash it. The bank doesn’t open at
Queenstown until 10 o’clock, and you can bet I was there at ten minutes
to. I rang the bell and got inside, took out the still half-soaked
draft, endorsed it in the presence of the cashier, handed it in and said
I would take the £40.0.0 half in gold and half in paper. He told me he
didn’t know me; and I told him that didn’t make any difference, I didn’t
know him. He said he couldn’t guarantee my signature, but I told him
that I thought my signature was as good as his money. I produced my
soaked passport and showed him my autograph on that, to compare with
that on the draft, and I told him that I had about 12 half-starved,
half-naked Americans that had to be fed and clothed, and certainly his
big Irish heart wouldn’t permit him to refuse to cash an honest draft. I
told him I intended to stay right there until I got it; and I did, and I
talked to him a steady string, and I didn’t get a bit hard-hearted when
he told me he’d probably lose his job if the draft turned out bad. The
£40.0.0 was a God-send. I divided it up into as small fractions as
possible, and it was able to help out a number of people.
Right here I want to say that the United States consul at Queenstown,
Wesley Frost, is a real man, and before noon word had been passed around
that Ambassador Page had sent him plenty of funds for all Americans.
Perhaps if I had known this money was coming, I wouldn’t have given that
honest Irish paying teller in the bank such an attack of heart disease.
Then I went back to the “Bar” and my landlady gave me a real breakfast,
for I felt that I needed to get stoked up a bit before I took on the
unhappy task of viewing the bodies to see if I could identify any of my
fellow passengers. It was a hard thing to put through, and I regret to
say that it was without satisfactory results, for I found not one that
I knew.
In the slip beside the Cunard wharf there were six lifeboats, Nos. 1,
11, 13, 15, 19, and 21; these were all starboard boats, and you will
notice what a jump there is between the numbers 1 and 11. As the ship
went down by the head, of course it gave more time to clear the after
boats which carry the higher numbers. I didn’t see one boat successfully
cleared from the port side.
I had decided to go through that day to London on the 3 o’clock train
and help through the K----’s. McM----, my bed-fellow, had found his
friend L----, and as he was in good hands and wanted to rest up a bit he
decided to stay. There was no chance of getting K---- up on to a
jaunting car, he was suffering too much, so I went out into the street
and held up a private motor car, for you couldn’t hire one in
Queenstown, and after a few words of explanation the owner came gladly
to the hotel and took Mr. and Mrs. K---- to the station.
We had a comfortable trip to Kingstown and got aboard the Irish mail
packet for another little trip on the water. We had telegraphed ahead
for a cabin, and we got K---- stretched out in one of the berths and made
him as comfortable as we could. He slept from sheer exhaustion. Mrs.
K---- and I half sat up on the opposite sofa. Shortly the steamer was
under way. It was not what you would call a desirable cabin, for it was
directly over the engines and they pounded terrifically; I’ll admit that
about every throb of the engines went through the pit of my stomach, but
finally I dozed off, for I was pretty much “all in.” I must have waked
at intervals of ten or fifteen minutes, and on looking out of the corner
of my eye at Mrs. K---- I saw one of the most charming pieces of
devotion that I have ever witnessed. I am confident she never closed
her eyes all night nor did she take them off her husband’s face--she
just silently watched. I had slept about an hour, when I went up on deck
to see what was doing. In passing through the saloon a weird sight met
my eyes and one that I am glad the K----’s did not see. Every man who
had been a passenger on the Lusitania was sitting by a table or
reclining on a couch, with a lifebelt strapped around him. Many had the
original ones from the Lusitania. It was certainly “a gloom.” I went up
on deck and that was still more weird. Not a light to be seen; every
porthole was heavily curtained and heavy canvas was stretched along the
side, and the only thing visible was the masthead light. It was blowing
half a gale and we were making 23.8 knots per hour. As I came around the
corner from the shelter of the cabin the wind nearly struck me off my
feet. The canvas was slatting back and forth with reports like cannon,
and I clung to the rail fascinated by this wild dash. Would that the
“Lucy” had shown such speed! There was a haze that could almost be
called a fog, but no horn was sounded as we tore through the black
night. I crawled back to the shelter of the cuddy and there found the
second Officer. He was a fine chap and we had a chat in his cabin. That
wild dash I shan’t forget for one while!
We arrived on time at Holyhead and I found the stateroom on the train
for which I had wired. Clad in that famous pair of Irish pajamas, before
the train hauled out of the station I was dead to the world. It must
have been just about one o’clock A.M. I knew nothing until quarter to
seven, when the attendant told me that we would arrive at Euston in 15
minutes. He brought in a dish of tea and some bread and butter. Ye
gods, didn’t that taste good! I had had no food for twelve hours. I
asked him for a repeat order. Then I went back in the train and found
the K----’s, and they were quite refreshed and told me not to bother
with them longer, as they could manage to get in a taxi as soon as they
were dressed. They were going to her parents, who live in London.
I left them for a moment saying that I would return and stepped out on
the platform. Euston Station at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning is
generally not a lively place, and I didn’t think that there would be
anyone there, or at least not more than a few people to meet friends. I
hadn’t stepped a foot from the door of the coach when I was almost
mobbed by a bunch of reporters. Talk of _it_. Good heavens, I wanted
quiet; I didn’t want to be interviewed. I stood perfectly still and
never said a word; they must have thought I was tongue-tied. Then a
poor old woman pushed her way through and asked me, with tears in her
eyes, if I had seen “Johnny Keene.” How could I answer her? From her
appearance I judge he must have been a stoker or in the third cabin. I
told her as gently as I could that I hadn’t seen him, but many others
were coming through in the second and third sections and he might be
among them. When the reporters found they couldn’t get anything out of
me they cleared out, and I was surrounded by friends and relatives of
the passengers, who asked me a dozen questions, but I couldn’t give any
cheerful answers. My nerve wasn’t any too good for this ordeal, and I
was fast breaking down when a young man pushed through and asked me if I
was an American. When I told him “Yes” he said that he was secretary to
Ambassador Page, and was there anything he could do for me. I almost
fell on his neck with joy, and he took me down to where the Ambassador
was standing and introduced me to him. It was a pleasure to hear
Ambassador Page say, “What, not the son of _the_ Mr. Lauriat of Boston”!
So you see, my father, your name is not without honour in your own city.
The Ambassador’s sympathy was warmly expressed, and he was putting me
into the Embassy motor car--for I didn’t care where I went as long as I
got away from that station platform--when I saw Mr. Walford coming down
the platform. I excused myself and stopped him.
I had wired Mr. Walford (our resident London agent) before leaving
Queenstown, asking him to meet me if convenient and to have a taxi. I
knew that he lived far out in the suburbs, and that if he were not
forewarned there would be no way of his getting to the station on Sunday
morning. Previously in the day (Saturday) when I had wired him to cable
you, I had added the words that I would wire my plans later in the day.
This second wire which I sent from Queenstown did not reach him,
although he waited at his shop until 8 o’clock Saturday night.
He had decided that if there was any way of getting directly through to
London that I would come. So he set his clock for 4 A.M., got up, made
himself a cup of tea, and walked from his house to Euston, a distance of
9 miles--that’s some demonstration of friendship!
He insisted that I come to his house, and I certainly wanted to do so,
for his home looked better to me than the Hotel Kingsley or the Embassy.
I took Mr. Walford back to the Ambassador and introduced him. On
explaining the situation to Mr. Page he told me by all means to follow
my own wishes.
We arrived at the home in the suburbs and Mrs. Walford was there to give
me a hearty welcome. I must have been a “sad sketch” as I walked into
their hospitable home. I had no hat, for I hadn’t spent the time to get
one at Queenstown and I knew I had one here in London. I hadn’t had a
comb in my hair since I got up Friday noon. All my worldly possessions
were in a small “brown-paper parcel” tucked under my arm; so even Ben
Franklin didn’t have much on me when he struck Philadelphia in the old
days, as the story goes.
After breakfast they tucked me into bed with a-big-fat-hot-water-bottle,
and after a few hours’ sleep under that hospitable roof I was quite
myself again. A hot tub and shave put on the final touches.
Monday morning, despite their kind invitation to stay with them as long
as I wished, I felt I ought to take up my abode at the Hotel Kingsley
and commence picking up the threads of business, although I knew I
should feel pretty much lost when I had not a single memorandum “to get
on with.” My small leather case containing all my business papers had
gone down with the Lusitania. Think of a “Lauriat” trying to do business
without a lot of neat little folders sitting around his desk!
I shall follow with keen interest the Official Inquiry to be held by
Lord Mersey, for I want to see if these points are brought out:--
1. WHAT were the instructions from the Admiralty for the navigation of
the ship and were they carefully followed out?
2. WHY were we not running top speed?
3. WHY were the portholes on decks D open? Never mind the “why,” but I
should like to have the fact established as to whether they were or were
not open.
4. WHY did Captain Turner and Captain Anderson give orders to the crew
to “Stop lowering the boats” on the port side and for the passengers “to
get out of the boats”? That is the exact phraseology they used. It
seemed to me that boats on the port side should have been lowered _at
once_ as the more the steamer listed the less possible it would be to
clear them.
There are three suggestions I shall hope to see put before the Board
that are based on the experiences of the catastrophe. They are:--
1. The thing that impressed me most as the people rushed back and forth
on the steamer was that more than half of those who had on life jackets
had them on incorrectly. I should like to see recommended to the Board
that a _law_ (international, if possible) be passed, that when a person
buys a steamship ticket for a transatlantic crossing, no matter for what
class, he or she shall be obliged to put on a sample life jacket, which
shall always be kept in the main offices of the steamship company and in
the offices of all their agents, and that the prospective passenger
shall be obliged to put it on, fasten it to him, and walk around the
office four or five times until he gets familiar with the touch of it
and knows how to put it on correctly. It is all very well to hang up
neat little signs in the staterooms telling passengers how to put them
on and showing where the jackets are, but from what I saw on the
Lusitania I don’t believe one person in fifty follows these suggestions.
Of course I can hear the steamship companies remonstrate and say that
this suggestion is inconvenient, impracticable, etc., etc.; but as long
as people cross the ocean there will be such disasters as the Titanic
and the Empress of Ireland, but we hope never again such a tragedy as
the Lusitania.
If it is convenient for the prospective passenger to put on the life
jacket, his ticket should be so stamped with some large distinctive mark
as to show that he has complied with the law. Those who have not tried
on the life jacket should _not_ have the ticket stamped; but immediately
after leaving port, when the tickets are collected, they should be
examined, and all those passengers who have not complied with the law
shall be looked out by an officer and then instructed as to where the
life jackets are in the staterooms and how to put them on. Certainly in
this way people would become familiar with the sight and touch of a life
jacket, and in a disaster, the passenger would be spared that additional
shock that comes to the stoutest heart when one puts it on for the first
time--plus the existing necessity.
2. I should like to see recommended that large chests of life belts be
kept on the upper decks, for in a catastrophe like that of last Friday
it was impossible for some people to go below to get life belts. They
had neither the time nor the courage. We could have helped a lot and
saved more if we had had more life belts at hand that we could have tied
on to the passengers.
3. These collapsible boats should be opened on the deck during each
passage of the steamer, and it should be assured that the metal running
gear is thoroughly greased and runs smoothly. There should be _some
oars_ in the boat, for had there been a sea on when this catastrophe
happened, of what earthly use would this boat have been without an oar
with which even to steer? Under the conditions in which we worked it was
easy enough to get oars, but we never could have got them if it had been
at all rough.
The plans of the Lusitania here reproduced are from “Engineering”
(London) in the issue for May 14th, 1915.
I think they are the plans originally published in that magazine
when the boat was first put into commission in 1907. The
arrangement and number of the lifeboats were changed a few years
back and were different from those shown in the plan. On her last
voyage there were eleven on each side, slung higher to allow space
for the collapsible lifeboats that rested on the deck under the
regular lifeboats. Also, this plan does not show the extra
collapsible lifeboats that were nested out on the after deck. The
launch that is indicated on the plan, I did not see.
[Illustration: THE CUNARD LINER “LUSITANIA;” LONGITUDINAL ELEVATION AND
DECK PLANS.
CONSTRUCTED BY MESSRS. JOHN BROWN AND CO., LIMITED, SHIPBUILDERS AND
ENGINEERS, CLYDEBANK.
_Fig. 3._
The distance from the water line to the aerials is 165 feet.
_Fig. 4._
_BOAT DECK._
_DECK A_
[_OFFICERS HOUSE ON] [NAVIGATING BRIDGE_]
[_This is directly above the Captain’s rooms on Deck A._]
_Fig. 5._
_PROMENADE DECK._
_DECK B_]
[Illustration:
_Fig. 6._ _SHELTER DECK._
_DECK C_
_Fig 7._ _UPPER DECK._
_DECK D_
_At a point amidships the portholes on this deck are about 26 feet above
the water line._
All the portholes further forward are a few feet higher from the water
line owing to the sheer of the decks.
_Fig. 8._ _MAIN DECK._
_DECK E_
_At a point amidships the portholes on this deck are about 18 feet above
the water line._
_Fig. 9._ _LOWER DECK._
_DECK F_
_At a point amidships the portholes on this deck are about 9 feet above
the water line._
_Fig. 10._ _HOLD PLAN._
]
PART II
The foregoing is the crude Narrative practically verbatim as I sent it
home to my people. My first thought was to rewrite it and embody it in
the following, but I prefer to let it stand as I gave it to the typist
in our London office, reciting the tale to her as the events, still
vivid in my mind, passed mentally before me.
In this second part I have tried to round out the Narrative by adding
details which would answer questions arising from reading Part One.
* * * * *
On boarding the Lusitania on May 1 in New York I found the usual company
of passengers and many friends to bid them “bon voyage.” I was surprised
that access to the steamer was allowed so freely. The two members of my
family who accompanied me were allowed to pass aboard without question.
NOTICE!
TRAVELLERS intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage are reminded
that a state of war exists between Germany and her allies and Great
Britain and her allies; that the zone of war includes the waters
adjacent to the British Isles; that, in accordance with formal
notice given by the Imperial German Government, vessels flying the
flag of Great Britain, or of any of her allies, are liable to
destruction in those waters and that travellers sailing in the war
zone on ships of Great Britain or her allies do so at their own
risk.
IMPERIAL GERMAN EMBASSY.
WASHINGTON, D. C., April 22, 1915.
Naturally I saw the notice issued by the Imperial German Embassy,
published in all of the New York papers of May 1. On the opposite page I
reprint the whole notice issued by the Embassy in order to correct the
erroneous impression I find held by many people, that the Lusitania was
specified in it.
It is a coincidence that this notice appeared in some of the New York
papers beside the advertisement of the proposed sailings of the Cunard
Line. Like many other passengers I gave the notice no serious thought.
No idea of cancelling my trip occurred to me. I did not sail with a
feeling of defiance towards the Embassy, either for the notice or for
any action that might follow; but I admit that I did not think any human
being with a drop of red blood in his veins, called a man, could issue
an order to sink a passenger steamer without at least giving the women
and children a chance to get away. True, it was a ship of a belligerent
nation and carried citizens of countries with which Germany was at war,
but I could not believe their policy of “frightfulness” would be carried
to such an extent as events afterwards proved. The steamer did have in
her cargo some ammunition, but taking all things into consideration I
did not believe an order would be given to torpedo this boat without
warning, and without an opportunity being given to passengers to take to
the boats, and so possibly cause one of the greatest marine disasters of
modern times. The order is now a proven fact in history.
We had a pleasant crossing, smooth seas, with sunshine and very little
fog.
I enjoyed roaming about the boat exceedingly, as I had never before
taken passage on one of the “greyhounds,” although it was my
twenty-third crossing. I always enjoy the voyage and prefer a smaller
and slower boat; but this year I wanted to make my business trip as
short as possible, and had the Lusitania gone through at her usual rate
of speed and arrived at Liverpool as scheduled, I could have taken up my
work the following Saturday morning.
As the days passed the passengers seemed to enjoy them more and more,
and formed those acquaintances such as one does on an ocean crossing.
Each evening, in the smoking room, the pool for the following day’s run
was auctioned, and that always makes for informality and companionship.
Thursday evening the usual concert was given and much enjoyed.
Friday morning early there was some fog, but I arose at eight as usual
and had my sea bath. As the horn was blowing and the weather was thick,
I returned to my berth for a few hours’ extra snooze. I instructed the
steward that if he didn’t hear from me by 12 o’clock he was to call me,
as that would give me ample time to get ready for lunch at one.
At noon he came and told me that we had picked up Cape Clear and had put
the clock one hour and forty minutes ahead to Greenwich time. I got up
and dressed, and was on deck at about ten minutes to one for a short
stroll before lunch. It was a beautiful day then, light wind, a smooth
sea, and bright sunshine. I thought to myself that if a German submarine
really meant business, she would have to wait weeks for a more ideal
chance than the present weather conditions. With a flat, unbroken sea,
such as that around us, the periscope of a submarine could certainly
carry a long distance. On the port side was the good old Irish Coast,
and it seemed to me that we were going up the old beaten track that
ocean liners have taken for the last fifty years. I was surprised that
we were following it, but I was more than surprised at the slow speed we
were making. There was no use of one asking questions of the officers,
for we all knew they were told to discreetly hold their tongues.
I went down to lunch at one o’clock and finished shortly before two.
The portholes along both sides of the dining saloon were open. I had
special reason to notice this, as my seat was directly under an electric
fan, and several times on the voyage when the portholes were open and
the fan going the draught was so strong that I had been obliged to
request the steward to shut off the fan. This was the case this noon.
My table companion was Lothrop Withington. We had a jolly time together
and made plans for seeing each other in London, as his rooms were near
our London office. Poor chap, I wish I had seen him after we were
struck, that I might have given him a helping hand.
After luncheon I left the saloon, went to my stateroom and then up on
deck and joined the Hubbards on the port side. Immediately after the
explosion the ship took a sharp list to the starboard and a decided
pitch by the head. You could feel the two separate motions very
distinctly. It seemed as if she were going down at once, but then she
stopped suddenly as if the sea had met the water-tight bulkheads and she
seemed to right herself and even raise her bow a little. This gave me a
feeling of security, and I at first thought she would stay afloat. As
soon as the ship found herself I looked over the rail and made a mental
note as to how far she had rolled out.
From the moment we were struck no sense of fear or doubt entered my mind
but that I could perfectly well save myself. If she did sink I could
step into the water, and I was confident that I could paddle round for
several hours until I was rescued. My experience had been such that a
few hours more or less in the water made no difference to me, and I
didn’t care particularly whether it was a swim in the Irish Sea or Hull
Bay.
I spoke to the Hubbards, but when they showed no inclination to go to
their cabin to get their life jackets I tapped Mr. Hubbard on the
shoulder to emphasize the following remark, “If you don’t care to come,
stay here and I will get them for you.” It did not take me many minutes
to go to my cabin, get several life jackets, which I strung on my arm,
take my small leather case which contained my business papers, and
return to the spot where I had left the Hubbards. I wish with all my
heart that they had waited until I came back. If only they had...! But
I must not write about the “ifs” of this catastrophe. They would in
themselves make a book larger than the account of the disaster itself.
I stood there a few moments hoping the Hubbards would return. I put on
to women all but two of the life jackets, for these I felt I should keep
for a few moments to see if my friends returned.
Passengers were already crowding on the deck, running back and forth,
and as I walked aft I saw no officer taking charge of the lowering of
any one lifeboat, but there were attempts being made by the crew to
lower two or three of the boats. As early as this in the catastrophe
there was confusion, and nothing seemed to be done with usual ship’s
discipline.
If the passengers, when they first came on deck, had found that the
officer and the crew of each lifeboat were at their station, waiting or
taking orders from the bridge, it would have inspired confidence and
saved the immediate confusion; but there was no such discipline.
I had walked fore and aft on the deck once or twice, stopping often to
help people put on their life jackets correctly, when Captain Turner
gave his order not to lower the boats.
So insistent was Captain Turner that this order should be carried out
that he sent Captain Anderson, who was on the bridge at the time, down
along the port side, where I was standing, to enforce it.
As soon as Captain Turner gave this order, the crew, who were on the
deck above lowering the boats, immediately took a couple of turns around
the cleats and naturally left for parts unknown; at least I did not see
them go back to their posts.
Then Captain Turner went down to the starboard end of the bridge, and I
could hear him call out to clear away and lower the boats, meaning those
on that side. To me these two orders have always seemed most
inconsistent.
The incident that stands out most clearly in my mind up to this time is
my meeting an Italian family, consisting of an aged woman, probably the
grandmother, the mother, and her three children. They beseeched me in
their native tongue, but not a word could I understand. They were third
cabin passengers and had found their way to deck B in remarkably quick
time.
By this time I had given up hope of seeing the Hubbards again, so I put
the two remaining life jackets on the two older women and got another
for the oldest child. They were all calm and sat down on one of the
collapsible lifeboats, quietly awaiting instructions as to what to do
next. As I look back on that family sitting there on the deck it is one
of the most pathetic things I remember. One felt so helpless. The boats
were not being lowered, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to
save a family like this.
It was then I looked over the side and made up my mind that the steamer,
rolling out at the angle which she had reached, with the bow under
water, could not float much longer, so I started on my second trip to my
stateroom.
I tried to go down by the main companion-way, but it was full of people
making their way up. It was not so crowded but that I could have forced
my way through, but to have done so would only have added to the
confusion already paramount, so I went down by the for’ard
companion-way.
On my way back from my stateroom I made up my mind that the boat was
going to sink. I had thought so before, but I was confident of it after
that second trip down. The part of the boat where my stateroom was
located was in darkness. The portholes at the bottom of the cross
passages which I passed were open, and naturally very little light came
through them, as they were only a few feet from the water and the list
of the steamer had shut out the direct daylight so there was only the
reflection from the water.
On my return, I did not at first go up the for’ard companion-way. I went
along the passage to the main companion-way, as I knew I could be of
assistance in helping someone up the stairs. By that time there was a
jam. Many people found difficulty in climbing the sloping stairs, and so
I spoke to several and led them back along the passage I had just come
through and up the for’ard companion-way. That at least got them on
deck, even though I could not do anything for them after that.
Without thinking, I made my way back to the spot where I was standing
with the Hubbards when the explosion occurred. It was curious that I
kept coming back to this part of the deck. I must have returned there
more than a half dozen times, led back instinctively, I suppose, by the
hope that I might find my friends.
It was at this spot that I looked over the side when she was first
struck, and where I stood each time I wanted to see how far she had
rolled out. A glance for’ard showed me how far she had sunk by the head.
As I looked up and down the deck wild confusion had broken loose.
Frantic efforts were at last being made to lower the lifeboats, but as
they had been originally swung clear of the steamer, the acute list
which she had now taken to starboard caused many of the davits on the
port side to swing inboard so far, that it was humanly impossible to
push out the boats clear of the edge of the deck. There was nothing more
one could do on the port side to help on, so I stepped inside of the
main entrance, and slid across to the starboard side.
As I came out I noticed a lifeboat just getting away. It was one that
had swung on the davits opposite the main entrance. The water was then
almost flush with the scuppers of deck B. I tried to walk aft on the
starboard side, but there was such infinite confusion that I saw I could
be of no help. Most of the passengers had gone to that side, and as the
bow settled and the water rose on the deck they naturally crowded aft,
up to the higher part of the deck. All were doing the best they could,
but there was no discipline or order.
Personally I didn’t care to get into a lifeboat. I was perfectly willing
to take my chance in the water, but as I returned to the for’ard part of
the deck I saw a sight that simply demanded action on my part.
I found myself opposite the stern of a boat, into which had climbed
about thirty-five people, principally women and children. The for’ard
davit was about a foot from the bow, and at the rate the Lusitania was
going down it meant but a few moments before the bow of the boat would
be caught by the davit, and this whole boatload would be taken down, or
at least thrown violently into the water.
I judge that this particular boat in the first rush had been lowered
many feet to the water and as the steamer sank she floated, and so the
distance between the lifeboat and the davits gradually shortened. The
slack of the ropes had to fall somewhere and as the ropes fouled on
themselves in the bow and the stern of the boat, it convinces me that
there was no way on the steamer.
Certainly one ought to make the attempt to clear this boat and not let
those women and children be drowned without an effort to save them.
Someone was working on the bow ropes, so I climbed into the stern and
threw clear my end, but before I had time to cast off the block it was
done for me by a seaman who had stepped into the boat apparently at the
same moment that I had. My next thought was of the for’ard ropes. I
looked and saw someone struggling to clear them. As I have written, I
think he was a steward, cutting at them with a knife. I yelled to him to
take the axe. He looked around a moment and said there was none. I
looked in my end and found none. Then I stepped up on the seat, planning
to go for’ard to see if I could help. As I straightened up to get my
balance, my back came in contact with the davit hanging over the after
end. The blow knocked me down into the bottom of the boat. Then I tried
again, looking out for the davit and stepping from one seat to the next.
I couldn’t avoid the oars, of which there seemed an infinite number. I
stepped on one which rolled over. Again I slipped to the bottom of the
boat. When I got up and looked for’ard I saw it was too late to make a
further attempt, for the end of the davit had gripped the bow of the
boat and had just begun to press it under.
I turned to the people and told them to jump. It was their only chance.
I begged them to! One or two men did, and finally two women who had on
life jackets. When I saw them go I felt that I could be of use to them,
so I stepped over and pushed them ahead of me as I swam. A short
distance out I found a third woman. They all three kept calm, and I was
able to get them to put their hands on each others’ shoulders, two in
front and one behind.
I stopped swimming for a moment, telling them to wait, for I wished to
turn around and see how near the steamer was to her final plunge. I felt
that there would be considerable suction, and I wanted to try and keep
the three women out of it.
The steamer had an acute list to starboard, so as I looked back I could
clearly see the people on deck B, clinging to the rail that ran along
the side of the house. It was impossible to stand on the deck unless one
had hold of some stationary object. People were clinging to one another,
so that it seemed as if they were standing three or four abreast by the
rail. As the steamer sank by the head and the water rose higher up the
deck, those in front were obliged to release their hold. It was a
terrifying sight for the people back of them, but there were no
hysterical shrieks. The men, women, and children on that steamer met
their end like heroes, every one of them.
It was at this point that the aërial caught me and took me down. I
couldn’t imagine what was landing on me out of the sky. I wouldn’t have
been as much surprised if the submarine had risen and I had found myself
on her, but to get a bolt from the blue did surprise me. I shook this
off my head and so got a glimpse of what it was that struck me. I saw it
was one of the aërials, but fortunately it was the outside one, so I
knew the other was between me and the steamer. As the three women were
out beyond me they were safe from both aërials. This wire took me
rapidly under, but I rose before the steamer sank.
As she went under the sea I was not conscious of hearing cries; rather
it was a long, lingering moan that rose, and which lasted for many
moments after she disappeared. They who were lost seemed to be calling
from the very depths.
I kept my eyes on the steamer until she went out of sight. Then the
deluge of wreckage was upon us. That separated me from the women, and I
am not confident that I got them afterwards into my boat, but I am quite
sure that they must have been saved. They had every chance.
Just before the steamer sank she seemed to right herself and go down on
quite an even keel. She settled by the stern, and that is another reason
that convinces me that if her portholes had been closed she might have
stayed afloat after her bow struck bottom.
Much to my surprise there was only slight suction. There were explosions
out of the funnels as the cold water mixed with the steam and that
added to the horror of the disaster. The mass of wreckage was
tremendous. Aside from the people brought out with it, there were deck
chairs, oars, boxes, and I can’t remember what. I simply know that one
moment one was jammed between large objects, and the next moment one was
under the water. There were many people around you who needed
assistance, but all one could do was to push an oar or box or a piece of
wreckage to each to grab. A few moments after the first rush was over I
looked around to see if I could find a boat. A few yards away I saw a
collapsible lifeboat floating peacefully around, right side up. I made
good time crossing the intervening space and was the first man on that
boat. A sailor immediately followed, then G----, and we three got to
work opening it up.
When we got the canvas covering off and saw no oars in that boat I was,
to say the least, disgusted with any Board of Trade or committee of men
who would pass a boat that was worthy to be called one, without deeming
it necessary to have her fitted with oars. If there had been a sea on we
should have been helpless.
After we got the boat manned and went back into the wreckage it was
simply awful. We took those whom we could help, but there were many,
many past human assistance. We loaded our little boat to the full limit
of its capacity and started for the fishing smack.
As we left with our boatload, I looked around for other boats. There
were already two lifeboats between us and the fishing smack; one halfway
there and the other about quarter of the way, and there was also one
headed toward Kinsale. There was a fourth headed west, apparently rowing
for a streak of smoke one could see on the horizon. There must have been
at least two lifeboats that stayed at the scene of the wreck doing
their utmost.
When we reached the fishing smack the first two lifeboats I have
mentioned, had already arrived and had put their human freight aboard.
One, in charge of a boatswain, with four of the ship’s regular crew
rowing, was starting back.
I can’t understand why these two lifeboats got away so quickly from the
scene of the disaster. It seems to me that they should have stayed right
there and taken in more people. There were only about 50 people on the
fishing smack, and so that was all the two regular lifeboats brought
down. They could have put 75 or 80 people in each one of those boats in
perfect safety, the sea was so smooth. There were several remaining
hours of daylight in which they could have been picked up, so there was
no need to hurry away. Aside from the people they could have taken into
the boat, they could have been of much assistance in letting others
cling to the sides. There are life lines for just that purpose.
Nearly all of the people that got aboard the fishing smack before us
were dry, as these two boats had cleared before the steamer sank. All of
the people on my boat had been fished out of the ocean.
About one half an hour after we were aboard the fishing smack another
collapsible boat came alongside and we took these people on board.
There were a father and mother and a little year-old baby on the fishing
smack. They were fortunate in getting away in one of the lifeboats, and
the little chap was one of the few babies who was saved. I have seen it
stated that of about 150 children aboard, only about 25 were saved. I
can believe that from what I saw when we
[Illustration: THE LUSITANIA’S LIFE BOATS IN THE SLIP AT QUEENSTOWN
(From a pen-and-ink drawing after a photograph)]
were back in the wreckage pulling out people.
The trip up on the Flying Fish was uneventful. Many got quite dried off
in the engine room and nearly all regained much of their normal
composure. There were comparatively few who were in dire distress.
The illustration opposite this page shows the lifeboats as I found them
in the slip beside the Cunard wharf on Saturday morning. I called the
attention of the newspaper men who had cameras to these boats, and I was
glad to see them take the picture. If they hadn’t done so I should have
had it done, for to me this is a very pretty piece of evidence. The
picture reproduced here is taken from one of the London dailies.
I think it would be well for the Cunard Line to explain how lifeboats
that are supposed to hold people, should be brought into port carrying
so much dunnage. Look at the oars and sails that were left in these
boats, occupying space that could have been better used for carrying
human freight! I climbed through each one of these boats, and they all
showed evidence of having been used by survivors. You will notice that
some of the boats are stripped of all extra fittings, and these probably
carried their proper quota of human freight. There are but five of the
boats in this picture; the sixth was in another slip.
Evidence has been given that the first torpedo crippled the engines so
that it was impossible to reverse the screws and bring the steamer to a
stop or slow her down to a point where the captain judged it safe to
lower the boats. All right, if that is the opinion of an experienced
seaman I shall not dispute it; but I should like to have a naval
engineer estimate how much way there could have been on the steamer, say
ten minutes after she was struck, even if the engine room wasn’t able
to reverse the screws and bring her to a stop.
The Lusitania was of 32,000 tons displacement. She was going through the
water at about 17 knots an hour. If you suddenly shut off that
propulsion, giving her a list to starboard and a rapid settling by the
head, I can’t believe she would be ranging ahead very fast after the
first 10 or 12 minutes.
PART III
One who has read this Narrative cannot help but being interested in the
following account, taken from the “Frankfurter Zeitung” of Sunday, May
9, 1915, issued two days after the tragedy.
I saw several German papers of about that date, but I selected this as a
representative one. This article is much saner than others I saw, and I
feel gives a fairer idea of what the German press published at that
time.
I print the German text, that those who can read it may judge for
themselves, and on the opposite page I have given the English
translation.
For the transposition of the original German into Roman characters and
the translation into English, I am indebted to my friend Ernest F.
Langley, Professor of Romance Languages at the Massachusetts Institute
of Technology.
If one refers to the reproduction of the plan of the ship, he will see
the places indicated where the twelve guns were to have been mounted had
the British Government ever taken the Lusitania for an “auxiliary
cruiser.” While this plan was originally published when the Lusitania
was first launched in 1906, it was used again at this time with the
position of the guns still showing.
EXTRACTS
WITH TRANSLATIONS FROM THE
“FRANKFURTER ZEITUNG”
FRANKFURTER ZEITUNG
Sonntag, 9 Mai 1915. Was haben wir getan? Ein deutsches Kriegsschiff hat
an der Küste Irlands die “Lusitania” vernichtet. Ein gewaltiger Wert,
der gegen uns auf der Wagschale des Feindes lag, ist zerstört. Viele
Millionen an materiellem Gut sind vernichtet, und ein unermessbarer
Besitz an moralischer Kraft und an Gefühlswert eines Volkes, dessen
ganzes Leben auf das Blühen seiner Schiffahrt und seines Handels
eingestellt ist, sank mit dem stolzen Schiff zu Grunde. Dieses Seevolk
ist in seinem Heiligsten getroffen worden. Alle Massregeln seiner
Vorsicht waren umsonst. Die deutsche Waffe hat die Schutzwehr
durchschnitten. England sieht sich an dieser Stelle nackt und hilflos
und ausserstande, mit dem Sunday, May 9, 1915. What have we done? A
German war vessel has sunk the Lusitania off the coast of Ireland. A
mighty asset which lay on the enemy’s side of the scale is destroyed.
Property to the value of many millions is annihilated, and an
immeasurable store of moral power and self-confidence of a people whose
whole life is centered in the prosperity of its shipping and commerce
sank to the bottom with the proud vessel. This maritime nation has been
stricken in its Holy of Holies. All measures dictated by its prudence
were in vain. Germany’s weapon has cut through its armor. England sees
herself naked and helpless at this spot and unable to keep pace with her
German opponent. Nothing of hypocrisy or deutschen Gegner Schritt zu
halten. Nichts von Heuchelei und Krämergeist! Das Gefühl ist echt.
Ohnmächtige Wut! Und das ist es eben, woher uns die Gefahr kam, das ist
im letzten Ende auch der Grund, der uns den Krieg gebracht hat:
_England_,[1] das Volk zur See, die Weltmacht, ist _eingeholt_ von uns
Jüngeren, und es gibt Dinge, durch die wir ihm vorangehen. Und weil dies
so ist, weil alles schmähliche Verleumden nichts anderes als kraftlose
Schläge zur Abwehr sind, Kriegswaffen Englands, nicht von anderer Art
als das sinnlose Einsperren der Zivilgefangenen, als die Vergeltungswut
gegen die gefangenen U-Bootsleute--darum ist uns dies alles so
verächtlich und reizt den Zorn unseres Volkes.
Die “Lusitania” trug _Passagiere_! Wir hätten es wahrhaftig unendlich
lieber
* * * * *
shopkeeper-spirit about it! The feeling is genuine. Impotent rage! And
that was the very thing which caused our danger, and, in the last
analysis, that also was the reason why war was brought upon us.
_England_,[2] the nation of sailors, the world power, _is overtaken_ by
us juniors, and things exist which enable us to outstrip her. And
because this is so, because all her despicable calumny is nothing else
than impotent blows to defend herself, typical English weapons, exactly
on a par with the senseless confinement of civilians and the fierce
reprisals upon, the captured submarine crews--because this is so, the
whole matter is contemptible in our eyes and provokes the anger of our
people.
The Lusitania carried _passengers_! In truth we should have been
infinitely better
* * * * *
gesehen, wenn das Schiff, das schon seit vielen Monaten dem Feind von
Nutzen ist und uns Schaden bringt, hätte vernichtet werden können, ohne
dass diese Katastrophe für seine Fahrgäste hätte kommen müssen. Aber
müssen wir uns, denen der Feind das Messer in die Kehle stossen will,
wir, deren _Bezwingung durch den Hunger_ und den Mangel an Kriegsgerät
so ziemlich alle Welt mit Ruhe als ein unvermeidliches Schicksal
mitansehen würde, _müssen_ wir uns nicht mit aller Kraft und mit allen
Mitteln, die der deutsche Geist erfinden kann und die die Ehre des
deutschen Volkes als achtbare Waffen anerkennt, gegen diese furchtbare
Gefahr wehren, die uns noch immer bedroht? Haben nicht gerade sie den
Kampf bis aufs Messer gepredigt und durch ihre Blockade eröffnet, die
jetzt zetern, weil die deutschen Waffen die besseren sind? Oder haben
jene ein Recht, _uns_ anzuklagen, die ihre
* * * * *
pleased if the ship, which for many months past has been of aid to the
enemy and has done us harm, could have been destroyed without the
necessity of this catastrophe befalling its passengers. But must we not,
we whose throat the enemy is seeking to cut, we whose _defeat by hunger_
and by lack of war material nearly every one would witness complacently
as an unavoidable fate, _must_ we not defend ourselves from this
dreadful danger, which still threatens us, with all our might and with
all the means that the German spirit can invent and which the honor of
the German people recognizes as legitimate weapons? Were not those who
now raise outcries because the German weapons are better than their own
the very ones who proclaimed war to the knife and opened it with their
blockade? Or have they a right to accuse _us_, those who allowed their
friends and relatives to entrust themselves to a ship
* * * * *
Angehörigen sich einem Schiff anvertrauen liessen, dessen Vernichtung
mit aller Klarheit zuvor angekündigt war? Auf ein Schiff, das wie ein
_Kreuzer_, stärker als irgend ein deutscher geschützter Kreuzer, mit
zwölf 15 Zentimeter-Geschützen ausgerüstet war? Sie haben uns, als wir
warnten, verspottet. Sie mögen sich an jene wenden, die das _Verbrechen_
begangen haben, zur Fahrt auf einem Kriegsschiff Fahrgäste zu laden.
Berlin, 8. Mai (Priv.-Tel. Ctr. Bln.). Der Eindruck, den die
_Vernichtung der “Lusitania”_ macht, wird weit über Deutschlands und
Englands Grenzen hinausreichen, und man kann ohne weiteres annehmen,
dass sich auch _neutrale_ Stimmen finden werden, die eifernd den
Untergang zahlreicher Passagiere beklagen. Gewiss, jedes Menschenleben
ist wertvoll und sein Verlust bedauerlich, aber an den Massnahmen und
Kampfformen dieses Weltkrieges gemessen, an den
* * * * *
whose destruction was announced with perfect clearness in advance, to a
ship equipped like a cruiser, more powerfully than any German protected
_cruiser_, with twelve 15 centimeter guns? They mocked at us when we
gave warning. Let them turn to those who committed the _crime_ of
allowing passengers to travel on a war vessel.
Berlin, May 8. The impression created by the sinking of the Lusitania
will extend far beyond the borders of Germany and England, and we may at
once assume that _neutral_ voices also will arise to deeply deplore the
loss of a large number of passengers. Every human life is, of course,
valuable, and its loss deplorable, but, measured by the methods of this
world war, by the methods introduced by our enemies, forcing us to
retaliatory measures in self-defence, the death of non-combatants is a
matter of no consequence. The standards observed among
* * * * *
Formen, die unsere Feinde eingeführt und durch sie uns zur Gegenwehr
gezwungen haben, kommt es auf den Tod von Nichtkämpfern nicht mehr an.
Die Massstäbe, die unter zivilisierten Völkern im Frieden galten, sind
zerstört worden, und wer uns mit den Opfern der “Lusitania” kommt, der
soll sich erst legitimieren und uns die Frage beantworten, ob er
gegeifert und gejammert hat, als _russische Heere auf dem Boden
Ostpreussens gebrannt_, _gemordet und geschändet_ haben, kaltblütig und
bewusst gegen eine friedliche Bevölkerung, gegen Männer, Frauen und
Kinder. Das war so gutes Blut, wie nur irgend eines, das in englischen
Schiffen auf dem Wasser schwimmt. Und wer da klagt und Zweifel hegt an
der Berechtigung unserer Kampfesführung, den fragen wir, wie er über
_Englands Aushungerungskrieg gegen Deutschland_ denkt, und ob er uns
vielleicht zumutet, uns wehrlos aushungern zu
* * * * *
civilized nations in times of peace have been destroyed, and any one
reproaching us for the lives sacrificed on the Lusitania should first
justify himself and answer for us the question whether he frothed and
fumed when _Russian armies on East Prussian soil_ coolly and
deliberately _burned, murdered and committed outrage_ upon a peaceful
population, men, women and children? That blood was as good as any
sailing on the ocean in English ships. And if anyone complains and feels
doubts about the justification of our war methods, we shall ask him what
he thinks about _England’s war of starvation against Germany_, and
whether he imagines perhaps that it is our purpose to allow ourselves to
be starved to submission without acting in self-defence? And we shall
also ask him what he thinks about the _shipment of thousands of millions
worth of arms and munitions from America_,
* * * * *
lassen. Und den fragen wir, wie er über die _Milliardenlieferungen von
Waffen und Munition aus Amerika_ denkt, diese Mithilfe, durch die allein
den Engländern und Franzosen seit Monaten überhaupt die Fortführung des
Krieges ermöglicht worden ist. Der nun versenkte Riesendampfer hat
erwiesenermassen grosse Mengen von Kriegsmaterial und Munition an Bord
gehabt. Er war ausserdem ein _feindliches Kriegsschiff_, denn er war
stark armiert. Er war ein _Hilfskreuzer_. Und zum Dritten fällt ins
Gewicht: keine Warnung ist unterblieben, die geeignet war, zu
verhindern, dass Passagiere die gewagte Fahrt auf diesem Schiffe
unternahmen. Unser _Botschafter_ in _Washington_ hat in amerikanischen
Blättern offiziell vor dieser Fahrt gewarnt. Nur Spott und Hohn in der
angesehensten englischen Presse ist die Antwort gewesen. Die Besitzer
der “Lusitania” haben vielleicht geglaubt, dass diese
* * * * *
an assistance by which alone, generally speaking, during the past
months, the continued participation in the war has been made possible
for the English and French. The huge steamer now at the bottom of the
ocean had, as has been proved, a great quantity of war material and
munitions on board. She was moreover an _enemy’s war vessel_, for she
was heavily armed. She was an _auxiliary cruiser_. And thirdly it must
be considered that no warning calculated to prevent passengers
undertaking the perilous voyage on this vessel was neglected. Our
_ambassador_ at _Washington_ gave official warning about this voyage in
the American newspapers. Nothing but mockery and scorn was the answer in
the most highly respected English press. The owners of the Lusitania
believed, perhaps, that these passengers would form a protection for the
contraband and the lucrative shipment of
* * * * *
Passagiere ein Schutz für die Kontrebande, für die lohnende
Waffenlieferung, die an ihrem Bord waren, bilden würden. Die “Deutsche
Tageszeitung” hat recht, wenn sie sagt: “Die an Bord der ‘Lusitania’
untergegangenen Passagiere sind, wenn man das Ding beim rechten Namen
nennen will, ein Opfer grossbritannischer Frivolität und Habsucht.”
* * * * *
arms which were on board. The _Deutsche Tageszeitung_ is right in
saying: “The passengers who went down with the Lusitania are, if we wish
to call things by their right names, a sacrifice to Great Britain’s
frivolity and avarice.”
PART IV
I wrote parts I and II before reading a word of the Official Inquiry
held by Lord Mersey and his Assessors, or even the meagre newspaper
accounts of the investigation that were published in the London papers
while I was there. I wished to write with an open mind and did not want
to know a word of the Court’s Findings until I had finished mine.
I held my own little Court of Inquiry, with my own eyes and brain
offering the evidence. My findings as written in the first two parts are
as diametrically opposite from those of Lord Mersey’s Court as they well
could be. I have printed mine in full and so I now do the same to his.
LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP “LUSITANIA”
_REPORT of a Formal Investigation into the circumstances attending
the foundering on the 7th of May, 1915, of the British Steamship
“Lusitania” of Liverpool, after being torpedoed off the Old Head of
Kinsale, Ireland._
REPORT OF THE COURT
The Court, having carefully enquired into the circumstances of the above
mentioned disaster, finds, that the loss of the said ship and lives was
due to damage caused to the said ship by torpedoes fired by a submarine
of German nationality whereby the ship sank.
In the opinion of the Court the act was done not merely with the
intention of sinking the ship, but also with the intention of destroying
the lives of the people on board.
Dated this seventeenth day of July, 1915.
MERSEY,
_Wreck Commissioner._
We concur in the above Report,
F. S. INGLEFIELD }
H. J. HEARN } _Assessors._
DAVID DAVIES }
JOHN SPEDDING }
THE LUSITANIA’S LAST VOYAGE
INTRODUCTION
On the 18th of May, 1915, the Board of Trade required that a Formal
Investigation of the circumstances attending the loss of the “Lusitania”
should be held, and the Court accordingly commenced to sit on the 15th
of June.
There were six sittings, some of which were public and some of which
were in camera. Thirty-six witnesses were examined, and a number of
documents were produced.
THE SHIP
The “Lusitania” was a Turbine steamship built by John Brown & Co., of
Clydebank, in 1907, for the Cunard Steamship Company. She was built
under Admiralty Survey and in accordance with Admiralty requirements,
and was classed 100 A.1. at Lloyd’s. Her length was 755 feet, her beam
88 feet, and her depth 60 feet 4 in. Her tonnage was 30,395 gross and
12,611 net. Her engines were of 68,000 h. p. and her speed 24½ to 25
knots. She had 23 double-ended and two single-ended boilers situated in
four boiler-rooms.
The ship was divided transversely by eleven principal bulkheads into
twelve sections.
The two forward bulkheads were collision bulkheads without doors. The
remaining bulkheads had watertight doors cut in them which were closed
by hand. In places where it was necessary to have the doors open for
working the ship they could be closed by hydraulic pressure from the
bridge. A longitudinal bulkhead separated the side coal bunkers from the
boiler-room and engine-rooms on each side of the ship.
The “Lusitania” was a passenger as well as an emigrant ship as defined
by the Merchant Shipping Acts. She fulfilled all the requirements of
the law in this connection and had obtained all necessary certificates.
She had accommodation on board for 3,000 persons (including the crew).
_The Life-Boats and Life-Saving Appliances_
The ship was provided with boat accommodation for 2,605 persons. The
number of persons on board on the voyage in question was 1,959.
The number of boats was 48. Twenty-two of these were ordinary life-boats
hanging from davits--eleven on each side of the boat deck. These had a
total carrying capacity of 1,323. The remainder (26) were collapsible
boats, with a total carrying capacity of 1,282. Eighteen of these
collapsible boats were stowed under eighteen of the life-boats. The
remaining eight were stowed four on each side of the ship abaft the
life-boats.
In addition the ship was provided with 2,325 life-jackets (125 of which
were for children) and 35 life-buoys. All these were conveniently
distributed on board.
The boats, the life-jackets and the life-buoys were inspected at
Liverpool on the 17th of March, 1915, by the resident Board of Trade
Surveyor, and again on the 15th of April, 1915, by the Board of Trade
Emigration Officer. Both these gentlemen were called before me and
satisfied me that the condition of the different appliances was in every
way satisfactory.
The boats were also examined by the ship’s carpenter at New York on the
commencement of the homeward voyage on the 1st of May and found to be in
good order.
_The Captain, the Officers and the Crew_
The Captain of the ship, Mr. William Thomas Turner, had been in the
service of the Cunard Company since 1883. He had occupied the position
of Commander since 1903, and had held an Extra Master’s Certificate
since 1907. He was called before me and gave his evidence truthfully and
well. The “Lusitania” carried an additional Captain named Anderson,
whose duty it was to assist in the care and navigation of the ship. He
was unfortunately drowned when the ship went down, and I can only judge
of his capacity, by the accounts given to me of the work he did. Several
of the officers gave their evidence before me and gave it well. I am
quite satisfied that the two Captains and the officers were competent
men, and that they did their duty. Captain Turner remained on the bridge
till he was swept into the sea and Captain Anderson was working on the
deck until he went overboard and was drowned.
It appears that since the commencement of the war the Cunard Company has
lost all its Royal Naval Reserve and Fleet Reserve men, and the
managers have had to take on the best men they could get and to train
them as well as might be in the time at their disposal. In connection
with this training prizes have been given by the Company to induce the
crews to make themselves proficient in handling the boats, and the
efforts in this direction seem to have been successful in the case of
the “Lusitania’s” crew. Mr. Arthur Jones, the First Officer, described
the crew on this voyage as well able to handle the boats, and testified
to their carrying out the orders given to them in a capable manner. One
of the crew, Leslie N. Morton, who at the time the ship was torpedoed
was an extra look-out on the starboard side of the forecastle head,
deserves a special word of commendation. He had been shipped in New
York. He was only 18 years of age, but he seems to have exhibited great
courage, self-possession and resource. He was the first to observe the
approach of the two torpedoes, and before they touched the ship he had
reported them to the bridge by means of the megaphone, calling out
“Torpedoes coming on the starboard side.” When the torpedoes struck the
ship, Morton was knocked off his feet, but, recovering himself quickly,
he went at once to the boats on the starboard side and assisted in
filling and lowering several of them. Having done all that could be done
on board, he had, as he expresses it, “to swim for it.” In the water he
managed to get hold of a floating collapsible life-boat and, with the
assistance of another member of the crew named Parry, he ripped the
canvas cover off it, boarded it, and succeeded in drawing into it fifty
or sixty passengers. He and Parry rowed the life-boat some miles to a
fishing smack, and, having put the rescued passengers on board the
smack, they re-entered the life-boat and succeeded in rescuing twenty
or thirty more people. This boy, with his mate Parry, was instrumental
in saving nearly one hundred lives. He has cause for being proud of the
work he did. Morton had a good opportunity of judging how the crew
performed their duties in the short time which elapsed between the
explosion of the torpedoes and the foundering of the ship. He saw the
crew helping the women and children into the boats; he saw them
distributing life-belts to the passengers. He heard the officers giving
orders and he observed that the crew were obeying the orders properly.
Some of the passengers were called, and they confirm this evidence. They
speak in terms of the highest praise of the exertions made by the crew.
No doubt there were mishaps in handling the ropes of the boats and in
other such matters, but there was, in my opinion, no incompetence or
neglect, and I am satisfied that the crew behaved well throughout, and
worked with skill and judgment. Many more than half their number lost
their lives.
The total crew consisted of 702, made up of 77 in the Deck Department,
314 in the Engineering Department, 306 in the Stewards’ Department and
of 5 musicians. Of these, 677 were males and 25 were females. Of the
males, 397 were lost, and of the females, 16, making the total number
lost, 413. Of the males 280 were saved, and of the females, 9, making
the total number saved, 289.
I find that the conduct of the masters, the officers and the crew was
satisfactory. They did their best in difficult and perilous
circumstances and their best was good.
_The Passengers._
The number of passengers on board the “Lusitania” when she sailed was
1,257, consisting of 290 saloon, 600 second-cabin, and 367 third-cabin
passengers.
Of these, 944 were British and Canadian, 159 were American, and the
remainder were of seventeen other nationalities. Of the British and
Canadian 584 perished. Of the American 124 perished, and of the
remainder 77 perished. The total number lost was 785, and the total
number saved was 472.
The 1,257 passengers were made up of 688 adult males, 440 adult females,
51 male children, 39 female children, and 39 infants. Of the 688 adult
males, 421 were lost and 267 were saved. Of the 440 adult females, 270
were lost and 170 were saved. Of the 51 male children, 33 were lost and
18 were saved. Of the 39 female children, 26 were lost and 13 were
saved. Of the 39 infants, 35 were lost and 4 were saved.
Many of the women and children among those lost died from exhaustion
after immersion in the water.
I can speak very well of the conduct of the passengers after the
striking of the ship. There was little or no panic at first, although
later on, when the steerage passengers came on to the boat deck in what
one witness described as “a swarm,” there appears to have been something
approaching a panic.
Some of the passengers attempted to assist in launching the boats and,
in my opinion, did more harm than good. It is, however, quite impossible
to impute any blame to them. They were all working for the best.
_The Cargo_
The cargo was a general cargo of the ordinary kind, but part of it
consisted of a number of cases of cartridges (about 5,000). This
ammunition was entered in the manifest. It was stowed well forward in
the ship on the orlop and lower decks and about 50 yards away from
where the torpedoes struck the ship. There was no other explosive on
board.
_The Ship Unarmed_
It has been said by the German Government that the “Lusitania” was
equipped with masked guns, that she was supplied with trained gunners,
with special ammunition, that she was transporting Canadian troops, and
that she was violating the laws of the United States. These statements
are untrue; they are nothing but baseless inventions, and they serve
only to condemn the persons who make use of them. The steamer carried no
masked guns nor trained gunners, or special ammunition, nor was she
transporting troops, or violating any laws of the United States.
THE VOYAGE
_The Departure from New York_
The “Lusitania” left New York at noon on the 1st of May, 1915. I am told
that before she sailed notices were published in New York by the German
authorities that the ship would be attacked by German submarines, and
people were warned not to take passage in her. I mention this matter not
as affecting the present enquiry but because I believe it is relied upon
as excusing in some way the subsequent killing of the passengers and
crew on board the ship. In my view, so far from affording any excuse the
threats serve only to aggravate the crime by making it plain that the
intention to commit it was deliberately formed and the crime itself
planned before the ship sailed. Unfortunately the threats were not
regarded as serious by the people intended to be affected by them. They
apparently thought it impossible that such an atrocity as the
destruction of their lives could be in the contemplation of the German
Government. But they were mistaken, and the ship sailed.
_The Ship’s Speed_
It appears that a question had arisen in the office of the Cunard
Company shortly after the war broke out as to whether the transatlantic
traffic would be sufficient to justify the Company in running their two
big and expensive ships--the “Lusitania” and the “Mauretania.” The
conclusion arrived at was that one of the two (the “Lusitania”) could be
run once a month if the boiler power were reduced by one-fourth. The
saving in coal and labour resulting from this reduction would, it was
thought, enable the Company to avoid loss though not to make a profit.
Accordingly six of the “Lusitania’s” boilers were closed and the ship
began to run in these conditions in November, 1914. She had made five
round voyages in this way before the voyage in question in this enquiry.
The effect of the closing of the six boilers was to reduce the
attainable speed from 24½ to 21 knots. But this reduction still left the
“Lusitania” a considerably faster ship than any other steamer plying
across the Atlantic. In my opinion this reduction of the steamer’s speed
was of no significance and was proper in the circumstances.
THE TORPEDOING OF THE SHIP
By the 7th of May the “Lusitania” had entered what is called the “Danger
Zone,” that is to say, she had reached the waters in which enemy
submarines might be expected. The Captain had therefore taken
precautions. He had ordered all the life-boats under davits to be swung
out. He had ordered all bulkhead doors to be closed except such as were
required to be kept open in order to work the ship. These orders had
been carried out. The portholes were also closed. The look-out on the
ship was doubled--two men being sent to the crow’s nest and two to the
eyes of the ship. Two officers were on the bridge and a quartermaster
was on either side with instructions to look out for submarines. Orders
were also sent to the engine-room between noon and two P.M. of the 7th
to keep the steam pressure very high in case of emergency and to give
the vessel all possible speed if the telephone from the bridge should
ring.
Up to 8 A.M. on the morning of the 7th the speed on the voyage had been
maintained at 21 knots. At 8 A.M. the speed was reduced to 18 knots. The
object of this reduction was to secure the ship’s arrival outside the
bar at Liverpool at about 4 o’clock on the morning of the 8th, when the
tide would serve to enable her to cross the bar into the Mersey at early
dawn. Shortly after this alteration of the speed a fog came on and the
speed was further reduced for a time to 15 knots. A little before noon
the fog lifted and the speed was restored to 18 knots, from which it was
never subsequently changed. At this time land was sighted about two
points abaft the beam, which the Captain took to be Brow Head; he could
not, however, identify it with sufficient certainty to enable him to fix
the position of his ship upon the chart. He therefore kept his ship on
her course, which was S. 87 E. and about parallel with the land until
12:40, when, in order to make a better landfall he altered his course to
N. 67 E. This brought him closer to the land, and he sighted the Old
Head of Kinsale. He then (at 1:40 P.M.) altered his course back to S.
87° E., and having steadied his ship on that course began (at 1:50) to
take a four-point bearing. This operation, which I am advised would
occupy 30 or 40 minutes, was in process at the time when the ship was
torpedoed, as hereafter described.
At 2 P.M. the passengers were finishing their mid-day meal.
At 2:10 P.M., when ten to fifteen miles off the Old Head of Kinsale, the
weather being then clear and the sea smooth, the Captain, who was on the
port side of the lower bridge, heard the call, “There is a torpedo
coming, sir,” given by the second officer. He looked to starboard and
then saw a streak of foam in the wake of a torpedo travelling towards
his ship. Immediately afterwards the “Lusitania” was struck on the
starboard side somewhere between the third and fourth funnels. The blow
broke number 5 life-boat to splinters. A second torpedo was fired
immediately afterwards, which also struck the ship on the starboard
side. The two torpedoes struck the ship almost simultaneously.
Both these torpedoes were discharged by a German submarine from a
distance variously estimated at from two to five hundred yards. No
warning of any kind was given. It is also in evidence that shortly
afterwards a torpedo from another submarine was fired on the port side
of the “Lusitania.” This torpedo did not strike the ship, and the
circumstance is only mentioned for the purpose of showing that perhaps
more than one submarine was taking part in the attack.
The “Lusitania” on being struck took a heavy list to starboard and in
less than twenty minutes she sank in deep water. Eleven hundred and
ninety-eight men, women, and children were drowned.
Sir Edward Carson, when opening the case, described the course adopted
by the German Government in directing this attack as “contrary to
International Law and the usages of war,” and as constituting, according
to the law of all civilized countries, “a deliberate attempt to murder
the passengers on board the ship.” This statement is, in my opinion,
true, and it is made in language not a whit too strong for the occasion.
The defenceless creatures on board, made up of harmless men and women,
and of helpless children, were done to death by the crew of the German
submarine acting under the directions of the officials of the German
Government. In the questions submitted to me by the Board of Trade I am
asked, “What was the cause of the loss of life?” The answer is plain.
The effective cause of the loss of life was the attack made against the
ship by those on board the submarine. It was a murderous attack because
made with a deliberate and wholly unjustifiable intention of killing the
people on board. German authorities on the laws of war at sea themselves
establish beyond all doubt that though in some cases the destruction of
an enemy trader may be permissible there is always an obligation first
to secure the safety of the lives of those on board. The guilt of the
persons concerned in the present case is confirmed by the vain excuses
which have been put forward on their behalf by the German Government as
before mentioned.
One witness, who described himself as a French subject from the vicinity
of Switzerland, and who was in the second-class dining-room in the after
part of the ship at the time of the explosion, stated that the nature of
the explosion was “similar to the rattling of a maxim gun for a short
period,” and suggested that this noise disclosed the “secret” existence
of some ammunition. The sound, he said, came from underneath the whole
floor. I did not believe this gentleman. His demeanour was very
unsatisfactory. There was no confirmation of his story, and it appeared
that he had threatened the Cunard Company that if they did not make him
some immediate allowance on account of a claim which he was putting
forward for compensation, he would have the unpleasant duty of making
his claim in public, and, in so doing, of producing “evidence which will
not be to the credit either of your Company or of the Admiralty.” The
Company had not complied with his request.
It may be worth while noting that Leith, the Marconi operator, was also
in the second-class dining-saloon at the tune of the explosion. He
speaks of but one explosion. In my opinion there was no explosion of any
part of the cargo.
_Orders Given and Work Done after the Torpedoing_
The Captain was on the bridge at the time his ship was struck, and he
remained there giving orders until the ship foundered. His first order
was to lower all boats to the rail. This order was obeyed as far as it
possibly could be. He then called out, “Women and children first.” The
order was then given to hard-a-starboard the helm with a view to heading
towards the land, and orders were telegraphed to the engine-room. The
orders given to the engine-room are difficult to follow and there is
obvious confusion about them. It is not, however, important to consider
them, for the engines were put out of commission almost at once by the
inrush of water and ceased working, and the lights in the engine-room
were blown out.
Leith, the Marconi operator, immediately sent out an S.O.S. signal,
and, later on, another message, “Come at once, big list, 10 miles south
Head Old Kinsale.” These messages were repeated continuously and were
acknowledged. At first, the messages were sent out by the power supplied
from the ship’s dynamo; but in three or four minutes this power gave
out, and the messages were sent out by means of the emergency apparatus
in the wireless cabin.
All the collapsible boats were loosened from their lashings and freed so
that they could float when the ship sank.
_The Launching of the Life-Boats_
Complaints were made by some of the witnesses about the manner in which
the boats were launched and about their leaky condition when in the
water. I do not question the good faith of these witnesses, but I think
their complaints were ill-founded.
Three difficulties presented themselves in connection with the launching
of the boats. First, the time was very short: only twenty minutes
elapsed between the first alarm and the sinking of the ship. Secondly,
the ship was under way the whole time: the engines were put out of
commission almost at once, so that the way could not be taken off.
Thirdly, the ship instantly took a great list to starboard, which made
it impossible to launch the port side boats properly and rendered it
very difficult for the passengers to get into the starboard boats. The
port side boats were thrown inboard and the starboard boats
inconveniently far outboard.
In addition to these difficulties there were the well-meant but probably
disastrous attempts of the frightened passengers to assist in the
launching operations. Attempts were made by the passengers to push some
of the boats on the port side off the ship and to get them to the
water. Some of these boats caught on the rail, and capsized. One or two
did, however, reach the water, but I am satisfied that they were
seriously damaged in the operation. They were lowered a distance of 60
feet or more with people in them, and must have been fouling the side of
the ship the whole time. In one case the stern post was wrenched away.
The result was that these boats leaked when they reached the water.
Captain Anderson was superintending the launching operations, and, in my
opinion, did the best that could be done in the circumstances. Many
boats were lowered on the starboard side, and there is no satisfactory
evidence that any of them leaked.
There were doubtless some accidents in the handling of the ropes, but it
is impossible to impute negligence or incompetence in connection with
them.
The conclusion at which I arrive is that the boats were in good order at
the moment of the explosion and that the launching was carried out as
well as the short time, the moving ship and the serious list would
allow.
Both the Captain and Mr. Jones, the First Officer, in their evidence
state that everything was done that was possible to get the boats out
and to save lives, and this I believe to be true.
THE NAVIGATION OF THE SHIP
At the request of the Attorney-General part of the evidence in the
Enquiry was taken in camera. This course was adopted in the public
interest. The evidence in question dealt, firstly, with certain advice
given by the Admiralty to navigators generally with reference to
precautions to be taken for the purpose of avoiding submarine attacks;
and secondly, with information furnished by the Admiralty to Captain
Turner individually of submarine dangers likely to be encountered by him
in the voyage of the “Lusitania.” It would defeat the object which the
Attorney-General had in view if I were to discuss these matters in
detail in my report; and I do not propose to do so. But it was made
abundantly plain to me that the Admiralty had devoted the most anxious
care and thought to the questions arising out of the submarine peril,
and that they had diligently collected all available information likely
to affect the voyage of the “Lusitania” in this connection. I do not
know who the officials were to whom these duties were entrusted, but
they deserve the highest praise for the way in which they did their
work.
Captain Turner was fully advised as to the means which in the view of
the Admiralty were best calculated to avert the perils he was likely to
encounter, and in considering the question whether he is to blame for
the catastrophe in which his voyage ended I have to bear this
circumstance in mind. It is certain that in some respects Captain Turner
did not follow the advice given to him. It may be (though I seriously
doubt it) that had he done so his ship would have reached Liverpool in
safety. But the question remains, was his conduct the conduct of a
negligent or of an incompetent man. On this question I have sought the
guidance of my assessors, who have rendered me invaluable assistance,
and the conclusion at which I have arrived is that blame ought not to be
imputed to the Captain. The advice given to him, although meant for his
most serious and careful consideration, was not intended to deprive him
of the right to exercise his skilled judgment in the difficult questions
that might arise from time to time in the navigation of his ship. His
omission to follow the advice in all respects cannot fairly be
attributed either to negligence or incompetence.
He exercised his judgment for the best. It was the judgment of a skilled
and experienced man, and although others might have acted differently
and perhaps more successfully, he ought not, in my opinion, to be
blamed.
The whole blame for the cruel destruction of life in this catastrophe
must rest solely with those who plotted and with those who committed the
crime.
* * * * *
The above is called the “Annex” to the “Finding of the Court.” This
latter I do not reprint for it consists only of 21 questions, the
answers to which are found in the “Annex.”
A notice in “The Daily Telegraph” (London) of May 12, announced that
“The Board of Trade have ordered a formal investigation into the
circumstances attending the loss of the S.S. ‘Lusitania,’ and they
desire to invite passengers of the ‘Lusitania’ who now are, or will
shortly be in or near London, and who are able to supply evidence likely
to be of value for the Inquiry, to communicate at once, either
personally or by letter or telegram, to the Solicitor of the Board of
Trade, at the Hotel Metropole, Northumberland Avenue, Charing-Cross, W.
C.; with a view to statements being taken from them at the said address,
between the hours of eleven A.M. and six P.M. during the week commencing
Wednesday, the 12th instant, and ending, and including, Tuesday the 18th
instant.
“The Inquiry will be conducted by the Law Officers, who may be relied
upon to see that all material points consistent with the public interest
will be dealt with.”
I know that some passengers did appear and did make official statements
which they signed. Others laid evidence informally before the Solicitor,
and while they did not sign statements, they were in London during the
Official Inquiry and could have been summoned and would have testified.
The following testimony, for example, was informally offered: that the
portholes were open, that the discipline of the officers and crew was
not what it should have been, that the collapsible boats were not fitted
with oars and were not in proper working condition, etc. None of this
evidence seems to have been desired by his Lordship and his Assessors,
or at least there is nothing to show that it was ever laid before them.
I do not question the sincerity of the findings of Lord Mersey’s Court,
based on the evidence placed before it; but what became of this informal
evidence, as quoted above, and much more that was laid before the
Solicitor of the Board of Trade?
The Court finds that “_the portholes were closed_.” On what and on whose
evidence? The above statement can hardly be made on the evidence of the
Captain; for when he testified before the Coroner of Kinsale, in reply
to the question, “What precautions did you take in connection with these
threats?” (referring to the Notice from the German Imperial Embassy
which appeared in the New York papers of May 1), he stated that “I had
all the boats swung out and the bulkhead doors closed when we came
within the danger zone.” (“The Daily Telegraph,” May 11.)
The Captain had the lifeboats swung out Thursday morning, twenty-four
hours before the disaster, but I know of no evidence that shows that he
ever ordered the portholes closed. If he had, it is fair to presume he
would have mentioned it when he testified that he had ordered the
bulkhead doors closed.
There is evidence that at least two lifeboats, each containing about
fifty people, were dropped when almost 20 feet from the water. A
survivor of one of these boats told me that the man for’ard, who had
charge of the rope, simply let it run out through his hands. He was not
one of the “frightened passengers” but one of the crew. It seems to me
quite possible in this instance “to impute negligence” and “incompetence
in connection with them” (the ropes).
In another part of the report Lord Mersey states that “no doubt there
were mishaps in handling the ropes of the boats and in other such
matters, but there was, in my opinion, no incompetence or neglect, and I
am satisfied that the crew behaved well throughout, and worked with
skill and judgment.” Just above this in the report one reads: “That,
since the commencement of the war, the Cunard Company has lost all its
Royal Reserve and Fleet Reserve men, and the managers have had to take
on the best men they could get and to train them as well as might be in
the time at their disposal.” Is it likely that any officer could take
untrained men and in a few weeks, or even months, make such efficient
seamen of them that they could, in a disaster of this magnitude, work
“with skill and judgment”?
I do not believe it could be done.
As one of the passengers who was moving around the deck and saw the
heroic efforts made by his fellow passengers to achieve that which the
crew utterly failed to accomplish, I resent, with every spark of manhood
that is in me, the finding of Lord Mersey’s Court when he says that
“Probably (the) disastrous attempts of the frightened passengers to
assist in the launching operations” added to the “difficulties” the
officers and crew found in trying to lower the boats.
I would suggest adding to the “difficulties” mentioned above the
following: lack of discipline among the crew and the lack of expert
knowledge as to the handling of the boats, knowledge that can come only
to the well-trained crew.
He says of this wonderful crew that “many more than half of them lost
their lives.” I suppose that is because the other half “worked with
skill and judgment.”
It would seem that Lord Mersey measures “skill and judgment” by the
number that were lost; and if so, why doesn’t he pass the same relative
judgment on the passengers who lost their lives? He mentions figures,
but here are the totals: There were 1,257 passengers and 472 were saved.
To have been consistent, he should have written after the paragraph,
“In addition to these difficulties there were the well-meant but
probably disastrous attempts of the frightened passengers to assist in
the launching operations,” the following: “Many more than half their
number lost their lives.” From what, pray? Because they were
“frightened,” or because the crew acted with “skill and judgment”?
It doesn’t seem to me that this Court of Inquiry has stood up to its
business like the historic Briton who isn’t afraid to take his medicine,
and place blame where it should be placed; rather, it has hidden behind
the act itself, which it finds “was done not merely with the intention
of sinking the ship, but also with the intention of destroying the lives
of the people aboard.”
So for the Captain, the Court finds that he acted with “the judgment of
a skilled and experienced man, and ... ought not ... to be blamed”; for
the Crew and Officers, that their “conduct ... was satisfactory. They
did their best ... and their best was good”; for the Cunard Line, that
the “reduction of the steamer’s speed was of no significance and was
proper in the circumstances.” And what does this honorable Court find
for the passengers who entrusted their lives to the judgment of the
Captain and those under him? To wit, that “some of the passengers
attempted to assist in launching the boats ... and did more harm than
good,” and that “the frightened passengers (made) probably disastrous
attempts to assist in the launching operations.”
“And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure
Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know.
For we are all, like swimmers in the sea,
Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate,
Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall.
And whether it will heave us up to land,
Or whether it will roll us out to sea,
Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death,
We know not, and no search will make us know;
Only the event will teach us in its hour.”
* * * * *
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
U · S · A
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Italics are used in the above text where the original German type
emphasizes by spacing.
[2] Italics are used in the translations where the original German
text emphasizes by spacing.
Typographical error corrected by the etext transcriber:
When the torpoedoes struck=> When the torpedoes struck {pg 128}
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