The Lusitania : Part 5 : The Struggle to Abandon Ship

I was in the deck smoke room when the first torpedo struck the Lusitania. As soon as ever the noise was heard, there was a cry of ‘submarine.’

The boats were lowered immediately. I was on the high side of the ship when she listed, and I saw there was trouble in getting the boats into the water from that side. One boat, with about twenty or thirty people, which they tried to lower, was dashed against the side of the hull, and the people were flung in to the water.

I could see there was no chance of escape from that side, so I crossed over to the other side of the liner. I helped to lower the last boat that was put off. I could not get into it, but I eventually swung myself down into the water by the rope fall attached to the davit. Once in the water I lost the rope, and down I sank.

When I came up again, the Lusitania was lying right on her side. I cannot swim a stroke, I found myself entangled in the wireless apparatus, but managed to get free. At that instant a boat passed, and I succeeded in grabbing the gunwale, and was dragged into it.

The boat was full of people. We tried to keep away from the suction of the sinking vessel, although as far as I could see there did not seem to be much suction; just a ‘boil’ all over the surface of the water. I could see hundreds of people shrieking and struggling in the water around us, but we could not help them. We took up everyone we could, but it was appalling to see the hundreds for whom there was no help.

Our boat was picked up by a minesweeper, which took us to Queenstown.

On the morning of the 7th May there was a fairly heavy fog which caused them to continually sound the fog horns and reduce the speed of the ship very appreciably. At eleven o’clock a.m. the fog had lifted to such an extent that over the top of it the coast of Ireland was visible- approximately ten miles away- and speed was gradually resumed until at one o’clock when I left the deck for lunch it was estimated that the ship was going 15 to 18 knots per hour. In connection with the speed of the ship it might be well to state here that at no time during the voyage was there more than three batteries of boilers in operation, being the three forward batteries.

I had finished luncheon at 1:45 p.m., and walked up the grand staircase to the boat or “A” deck as it was termed, and came out on the starboard side, had one or two turns the length of the deck and was then called to the Marconi deck by friends. This was practically amidship and between the four funnels.

After mounting to this deck and talking with friends I crossed over to the port side at the rear of the Marconi house and was called back immediately, and as I approached the rail on the starboard side of the Marconi deck I noticed about 150 yards away the wake of a torpedo approaching on a diagonal course towards the ship.

I said to my friends who were standing near me “torpedo” and stepped to the rail to watch its course. The torpedo was practically 10 to 15 feet long and two feet in diameter, traveling at a speed of about 35 miles per hour. I watched the torpedo until it passed out of sight under the side of the ship, expecting to see the explosion, or the result of the explosion over the side.

Almost instantly, but still with an appreciable interval of time after the torpedo disappeared under the counter of the ship there was a dull explosion, followed instantly by a large quantity of debris thrown through the decks just aft of the bridge and by the side of the forward funnel, followed immediately by a volume of water thrown with violent force which knocked me down behind the Marconi house.

The explosion seemed to lift the ship hard over to port, and was almost immediately followed by a second rumbling explosion entirely different from the first, and the ship was enveloped in dense, moist, steam through which it was difficult to breathe at the point of the Marconi house. After waiting until the steam had blown away from the ship, I went down the ladder on the port side from the Marconi deck to the boat deck, and walked aft to where they were launching the last boat on the port side of the first cabin deck. This boat was filled with women and children and had a few men, including at least three of the crew, aboard. The ship at this time was still moving ahead, but it began to describe a large circle to the port, the Captain evidently having turned his ship towards the Old Head of Kinsale light house which was approximately 10 or 12 miles distant. This boat was lowered to within six feet of the water when the forward tackle jammed and the stern tackle was let go, spilling everyone into the sea with the exception of three men who clung to the boat.

I found standing, in some cases with folded arms, about fifteen of the crew the majority having life preservers on. I asked a group where they obtained life preservers and one replied “over there.” I asked one man if there were any more, and he said he didn’t know.

I then walked through the smoking lounge and through the concert room to the grand staircase. The ship by this time had sunk until the forward deck was nearly awash and it was rather difficult to maintain a footing except by holding on to chairs as I went through.

I came out of the grand staircase again to the starboard side, and walked forward to the bridge, standing within 12 feet when Captain Turner  with a life preserver on, standing on the bridge, raised his hand and said “Don’t lower any more boats, it’s all right.”

I remained on the starboard “A” deck watching the efforts, which were entirely detached and not concerted or directed in any manner by any officer of the ship, to launch the remaining boats on the starboard side. The ship had lost way long before this, and was headed towards the Old Head of Kinsale lighthouse, and the sea to the starboard side was covered with a large amount of small wreckage.

I remained amidship on the starboard side until the boat deck was awash and the remaining starboard side boats were in the water but still attached by the tackle and fall and chain at both bow and stern. There had been no effort by the crew to distribute life preservers. There were two in my stateroom but on “E” deck it was absolutely impossible to reach them after the explosion from the position in which I stood, as the ship filled so rapidly. There seemed to be no surplus supply on the upper decks.

The starboard side was not very crowded with people when it became awash, and at this period I assisted quite a number of ladies into one of the boats which was afloat but still attached to the davits; after this boat was filled, with no men in it at all with the exception of two sailors in the bow and one in the stern, I jumped into the stern and endeavored to assist the sailor in releasing this chain and tackle, having noticed that the two sailors at the bow were endeavoring to do the same thing. We were absolutely unable to do anything with them with our hands, and there was no tool or hammer with which to knock the pins out which were holding the chain.

The ship at this time was continually sinking on the starboard side, and the sailors and myself still continued trying to release the boat from both the chain and the tackle until the davit reached the position of crushing the boat in the middle, and seeing there was no possible chance to get it clear, the sailor in the stern and myself stepped to the rail and dived overboard.

We swam as fast as possible towards the wreckage, fearing the funnels might fall but got well clear until as the ship rolled over on her starboard side I noticed the wireless descending through the air and was struck by it as it went down. The sea at this time was filled with wreckage of all kinds, dead bodies of all ages, many with life preservers on. My watch stopped at 2:19 Liverpool, and the ship went down an estimated 8 to 10 minutes after I left her.

Mr. Charles Lauriat, Jr. of Boston, Mass., with two sailors and myself swam to a collapsible boat which had been washed from the deck and climbed aboard. The two sailors cut the cover off, and then we began to pull people from the water until a total of 34 people were on this collapsible boat. Then we attempted to raise the sides but found that the iron work was broken and that while we could raise the sides we were unable to make them stay in position until we picked up some pieces of wreckage and placed it under the seats which held the sides up.

There were no oars in this boat although row-locks were provided, but this difficulty was overcome by picking up five oars floating about in the water. We then rowed away towards the only sail in sight, which was reached at about 4 o’clock. It proved to be the sailing trawler P.L. 12 of Glasgow, which took us aboard with many others, until she was accommodating all she could get on, and also took in tow two other boats and started for Queenstown Harbor.

At six o’clock we were taken off by the regular mail steamer belonging to the Cunard Line, out of Queenstown. We arrived at the wharf in Queenstown at exactly 9:30, and were kept waiting for twenty minutes before being permitted to land.

“To me she was my dream ship. I saw her first when in her regal beauty she sped along the surface of the Clyde upon her trials. My boyish heart went out to her in admiration.”

“The quartermaster appeared at the door with a four-stranded Turk’s Head in his hand. ‘Captain’s compliments and he says he wants another of these made.’ The bridge had to be stopped and we spent the rest… trying to remember how it was made.”

“Looking into the ballroom where dancing and gaiety held sway, my thoughts flew to that famous dance given by the Duchess of Richmond in Brussels on the eve of Waterloo… I still wonder if it was a premonition of disaster.”

“I heard an explosion… and went out on the bridge and I saw the track of the torpedo. It seemed to be fired in line with the bridge and it seemed to strike the ship between the second and third funnels as far as I could see… the possibility of the Lusitania being doomed never entered my head. A crippled engine maybe, followed by a limp into Queenstown would be, to my mind, the climax of disaster. Then inexorably, the facts were forced into my brain. The heavy list, the settling down by the bows… I heard the order, ‘hard-a-starboard’ and I heard Captain Turner saying, ‘lower the boats down to the level of the rail’ and I went to my section of boats… My section was from 2 to 10.”

Captain Anderson was beside me and he said, ‘Go to the bridge and tell them they are to trim her with the port tanks.’ I made my way to the bridge and sung out that order to Mr. Hefford, the second officer. He repeated it and came back again and no. 10 boat was on the deck. We tried to push it out but could not.

“There is a daily inspection on all the ships that I have been in this line, at half past ten. I used to attend on them everyday. I attended the whole of the ship, there was six of us going on this inspection; the staff captain in full charge, the senior surgeon, the assistant surgeon, the purser, the chief steward and myself. It was to begin at half past ten outside the purser’s office on B deck. Then we would start to go all around the passengers’ rooms; we would inspect a room here and there, all the bath rooms, boilers and alleyways, and see that everything was clean and in order, and go right around each deck right down to the saloons and the galleys down to the steerage; the same thing in the crew’s quarters and the firemen’s quarters.”

We were all together and met on B deck. We all went together through the B deck section right fore and aft, and down to C deck, and the same thing through C deck, and then we all went down to D deck, and there we divided forces…

The staff captain and the assistant surgeon and myself went through the forward end of the ship, through the sailors’ quarters and the third-class and steerage quarters and the stewards’ quarters forward and the store room, and we came along up C deck and went down through the third class entrance and followed the other route through the saloons and kitchens up into the second cabin and met outside the second cabin entrance of C deck, and we went along and went down into the firemen’s’ and trimmers’ quarters which had the entrance on C deck; we went down there.

After we finished there, we used to pump back again and go up to A deck in through the verandah café and the smoking room and the house, and were dismissed when we got outside.

The morning we left Liverpool we had a Board of Trade mustering drill just before we sailed, under the supervision of the Board of Trade Supervisors; just to muster all hands and all the ship’s members and swing the boats out on both sides, and swing them inboard again.

I was third officer of that ship and standing by my station amidships, when she heeled to starboard and went down bow first. We managed to launch 6 lifeboats in which 700 person were saved. Three deck officers were saved besides Captain Turner. A.R. Jones, the first officer who was drowned later in the war, and Bestic, a young Irishman from Dublin, who was making his first trip in the Cunard Line – I think it was his last, because I never heard of him afterward. He was the junior third officer.”

I am an American; my address in England is 5 Cumberland Terrace, Regent’s Park, N.W.

I was traveling with my father. He was lost. Our births were first-class D37 and 45 on the starboard (side).

I was up in the lounge at the time of the explosion. I rushed up into the hallway and looked out to sea on the starboard side. The water was pouring down from the water chute. As I was standing there, there was a big shock. I thought the mast or something had fallen down. A man passed me who said he had seen a torpedo.

My father came up and met me. We went over to the port side on the upper deck and started to try and launch the boats. All the men were trying to push these boats over. We did not succeed.

I saw two boats launched on the port side- both unsuccessfully. The first boat fell absolutely the whole distance. The man let go of the ropes and it crashed down. I know one of the survivors who is still at Dublin- Mr. Ogden H. Hammond. The other lifeboat fell in quite the same manner.

Finding that owing to the list on the vessel we were unable to launch any boats on the port side, I said to my father “We shall have to swim for it and we had better go down and get our lifebelts.”  We went down to D deck, but could get no further than the stairs, for the water was pouring in all the portholes on the starboard side. It was impossible to get to my cabin.

Arthur Henry Adams and William McMillan Adams

We had some difficulty in climbing upstairs again, but we got to B deck. We went into every cabin on B deck trying to get lifebelts. I got one, but my father could not get one.

We saw they were launching a boat on the starboard side. We went up, and got all the women in sight into the boat. We then jumped into the boat and they stared to lower it. They lowered it very well, until we were about twelve feet above the water, when we fell. As the Lusitania was going forward, the boat filled with water at once. There was way on the ship at the time. Deck was then level with he water.

My father looked up and saw that the ship was going to fall over on us.

Next I found myself in the water, I came to a collapsible boat, quite empty and in perfect condition. I got half on to it, but could move no further either way. The mast came down and severely grazed my nose and face, and went straight through the boat just like paper, and put me down again.

I imagine a great many people were killed by things falling off the deck. I do not think many people knew the Lusitania actually went over on its side.

I got hold of a plank, then I swam to another piece of wreckage, a big box; and after about three quarters of an hour I came to an upturned collapsible boat with about ten people on it. They pulled me on. Then we were afterwards taken on to a collapsible boat full of water. We managed to bail this out, and we picked up something like forty people. Most of them were practically incapable of any work. We fished buckets out of the sea and bailed the boat out with them. We did not find anything in the boat to bail out with, but the boat was full of water. We rowed to a fishing smack, and we put the women and men who were very bad into the boat she was towing.

By this time, about six o’clock, the whole sea seemed full of tugs and torpedo boats. I reached Queenstown about 10:30. There were others before us; other oats passed us on the way to Queenstown.

My watch stopped at twenty-five minutes past two, when the boat went down.

Staff Captain Anderson said  “Do not lower the boats,” and “Clear the decks.” It really rested with the passengers to find their way to the boats. It was the stokers who let down our boats, and I saw stokers letting down other boats.

People kept their heads. There was no panic.

When I was in the water shortly after the ship sank, about three quarters of an hour after, there were sixteen boats in sight of any type or description, all from the Lusitania; but no ships came up to rescue us until about two and a half or three hours.

There had been some fog in the morning; I was awakened by the fog horn about six o’clock. There was bad fog still at eight o’clock. The fog lifted at about 10:30. After that it was brilliantly fine.

In my opinion the ship was going slower than usual. I noticed there was very little vibration.

I saw no guns aboard the Lusitania.

I heard we were carrying shell cases.

Along with three friends I was at lunch about a quarter past two on Friday afternoon and was just finishing when the liner was struck by the first torpedo. Of course, we all knew immediately what had happened. It was a frightful crack, like a crack of metal and metal, and the huge liner after giving a sort of a quiver immediately started to list. We all rushed to the staterooms for the life preservers…and as I was descending the staircase [ascending the staircase?] the vessel had listed to such an extent that it was almost impossible to get along. I was bumped first against one side and then the other.

When I got to the boat deck passengers were hurrying towards the sides. The deck was crowded with men, women and children. There was no real panic as far as I could see, but many of the women and children were crying. There was a whole crowd of women at one end and by this time the boat had listed over ore than ever.

I saw there was no chance of the liner floating and new that in a very short time she would go down, therefore I decided to look after myself by taking my chance. The lifebelt was around me and I jumped off the deck into the water, a distance of thirty feet. I swam for a little distance away from the liner and clambered in to one of the lifeboats with the assistance of some men.

The boat filled immediately; in fact, it was overcrowded and capsized and I found myself in the water again. I managed to swim about, and then I saw one of the collapsible boats a short distance away containing several survivors, and I struck out for it.

I looked round and saw half of one of the huge funnels which appeared as if it was going to fall on the little boat, but fortunately it did not. Passengers were struggling in the water all round, and we pulled as many into the boat as we could.

In the course of a very short time the great vessel heeled over and disappeared from view. She sank without any fuss whatever, as quietly as possible and there did not appear to be any suction, which we all feared as we were too close to her. When she had gone down there was, I think, and explosion, because there was a great rush of water and the people and boats seemed to be pushed away from where the last of the liner was seen.

We sighted a raft, and as our boat was so crowded and just level with the surface of the water we thought the best thing to do would be to make for it. We did, and lashed it to the boat and then we fished up more people. It was difficult work to get along as the load was so great, and water began to pour into the boat, and some of us were practically up to the waist in it, but still the boat kept afloat.

Whenever we had the opportunity, we hauled women and children into the boat and on to the raft. Some of them appeared to be dead, but fortunately the sun was powerful, the sea was calm, in fact it was a lovely day and after restorative methods had been adapted, these poor creatures revived.

The boat and raft floated about for two hours, and ten we sighted a fishing boat some miles away. Not long afterward, we saw smoke from the funnel of one steamer and then another.

Two destroyers were the first to arrive, followed by three steam trawlers.

The rescued passengers were transferred from the lifeboats to these vessels. I and the survivors in our boat were taken on board the Bluebell about 7:30 p.m., and the she proceeded towards shore other passengers were picked up out of the water.

Some of the scenes were awful and almost beyond description. As we passed along, we saw hundreds of dead bodies. Many of them had lifebelts on, but their heads were under the water. These must have succumbed to exhaustion.

We were informed on Friday that the light would be put out so that we could make a dash in the dark for Liverpool. So in the middle of the day I and my wife went into the cabin to pack our things. We were doing this when there was a sudden shock which threw me against the side of the cabin. We rushed into the dining saloon where lunch was on, but as I had forgotten the lifebelts I had to go back to the cabin for them. When I returned to the saloon the ship was listing heavily. There were few signs of panic, though people were of course rushing out of the saloon to get on the decks.

I and my wife got on the second deck, and as my wife ran I managed to fasten a lifebelt on her. We had no instructions on what to do in case of an accident, so we followed the crowd and made for the low side.

Only women and children were allowed to get into the boats. The first two capsized as they were being launched. I managed to get my wife into the third, which was number 15. The boats hold 50 people, but my wife tells me that there were 86 people in her boat. There was no plug in the boat, and she took I water so that it was necessary to bail. Shortly afterwards, some of her passengers were transferred to another Lusitania boat.

When my wife left, I noticed that all of the boats that had been launched were full of passengers except for the last two, and they rapidly filled. The crew seemed to be struggling with these. I saw there were too many, and I just held back on the deck and waited. The last boat to be launched caught the davits and all its occupants were thrown into the sea. I was on deck when the vessel went down, which was not more than eighteen minutes after she was struck.

After she sank, a minister’s wife, myself, and another man were sucked in to one of the funnels and we were all shot out again immediately after as black as soot. Members of the crew afterwards explained that the expulsive force had been a rush of steam from the boilers. I then got caught in the suction and dragged down. I seemed to be revolving all the time. I kept going down and down- for how long I cannot say, for I was practically unconscious.

When I came to the surface I managed to grab hold of a broken oar which was floating past. This enabled me to get my breath again, and certainly saved me from drowning.

Then I drifted against a waterlogged boat with the bows broken in. I clutched at it, and by great effort got inside. Two ladies and a man were holding on to the other end. I dragged in the two ladies and the man got in himself. Then two stewards floated alongside and got in.

There was water in the boat up to within six inches of the top. We had to start bailing at once. We used a small bucket we found in the boat, an old hat, and the glass of a lamp, and later we secured another bucket that was floating in the water. We were bailing for 2 and a half hours, the water running in as fast as we threw it out. The ladies, standing knee deep in water, did a splendid share of the work and set us a very good example.

We picked up yet another man. The water seemed to be full of dead bodies and wreckage. Doors, chests of drawers and all sorts of things were floating about. Our boat was stationary. We could not work her; only keep bailing out the water. It was two hours before any relief vessel came in sight. We were eventually picked up by a destroyer and taken to Queenstown.

We had no idea of any danger until we had just finished lunch shortly after 2 o’clock on Friday, May 7th. My husband, who had just shaved, was in his shirt sleeves when the first explosion occurred. We joined in the general rush for the deck. Just as I was getting on deck, my foot slipped and I fell back into the bottom. My husband returned and helped me on to the deck, which we reached just as the last boat was being lowered. Within two or three minutes of the first explosion a second occurred, and everyone felt that the ship was doomed. I said to my husband, “We’re going down”.

I wanted to stay with him, but he pressed me to go, and at last threw me over into the boat, where the crew safely caught me. Neither of us had a life-belt; there was no time to get one. I kept calling for my husband to come, but he refused as there were still women and children to be saved. By this time the ship had listed very heavily, and the deck sloped as steeply as Jacob’s Ladder (a very steep bank in Mossley). My husband waved his hand to me, and said “Good-bye”, and then disappeared with the ship.

Survivors photographed at Queenstown
Left to right: Mr. Collis, Mrs. Wolfenden, Mrs. Plank, the Lohdens, Mr. Milford.

The crew of our boat had barely time to cut the ropes before the vessel went down. Fortunately there was very little suction, or we might have been drawn down with it. I had a full view of the ship as it disappeared. We were so near that one of the great funnels, which broke loose, toppled right over our boat and sank on the other side. It covered us with soot and the water which it threw up drenched us to the skin. The surface of the water immediately became covered with luggage, wreckage and struggling men women and children. The shrieks of the latter were terrible. The amount of surrounding wreckage was so great and our boat so overcrowded that any attempt at rescuing others was out of the question. Our boat scarcely made any progress for about three hours. Then we got assistance from another boat, to which I and others were transferred. After sailing some distance, we were transferred to a fishing smack and then to a motor boat called the Silver Cloud, landing at Queenstown at 10.30 on Friday night.

We had sat in open boats for over eight hours, drenched to the skin. We had lost everything, and were taken to a hotel and supplied with a change of clothes. On Saturday morning I went to view the dead bodies which had been brought ashore. It was a terrible time, and my husband was not amongst them.

We left for Dublin by the 10.30 a.m. train on Saturday, and were taken to a hotel there. We were to leave by the midnight boat. Many of the women and children were hysterical, and were afraid to go on the water again. They had to be pushed on board. We made a good passage, arriving at Holyhead in three hours. Although I was never actually in the water, I was wet through, and badly bruised through being shaken about in the small boat.

I was at the stern of the ship for a start. A pal I met on board, Frederick Isherwood, of Atherton, near Manchester, and I had removed a package there. Afterward, I left him and met with a party near amidships, who were looking over the side for porpoises. The weather was bright and clear, and the steamer was going at a speed of about eighteen knots, nothing like the top speed.

The party consisted of myself, Mr. and Mrs. Veal, Mrs. Veal’s brother, and two young ladies.  At that moment, Mr. Veal pointed out a little white streak coming across the water towards the ship, and following the streak I saw the periscope of a submarine.

The torpedo struck the ship a bit forward of us, and the explosion threw up a huge volume of water which absolutely drenched the six of us. I climbed up to the boat deck, and being unable to get downstairs for a lifebelt, I returned to the starboard side.

The ship had listed heavily, and I had to crawl up the deck tot eh port side, where Isherwood and I helped the men with the lifeboats. With my pal I then went round the saloon cabins looking for lifebelts, but we could not find any. Isherwood persisted in the search, but I went on deck, and I fancy he got trapped below. I have not seen him since.

After the first explosion, the ship seemed to right herself, and the captain gave orders for no more boats to be lowered. Then she heeled over again on her starboard side, and within three minutes she was going down by the nose.

I thought it was time for me to be getting a move on. I ran to the stern of the port boat deck. I stayed there as long as I could before I dived. When I came up again, I seem to have swallowed gallons of water, and the next thing I saw was the disappearing stern of the great ship.

Being without a lifebelt, I though I had no chance of being saved. I swam about for a time and got hold of a little kiddie, but I lost him later in helping a boy about seven years of age.

By this time the starboard side must have been on a level with the water, and a few minutes later I saw the forepart of the vessel break away. A mass of people was swept into the water.

A steward rushed up with a little boy about three years of age – God knows where his parents are – and threw him to me. The steward followed. After we had rowed away, the Lusitania began to sink head foremost.  Smoke roared through the funnels, and the starboard side of the ship seemed to break right away. It was the strangest thing I ever saw.

I’ve been away from Peterborough a year and eight months, traveling with my husband in Canada and the United States. It had been my intention to go to California, but one of the office staff was coming over to England and Mr. Hill thought it would be a good opportunity for me to come over at the same time. I had been at Schenectady and came to New York last Saturday, my husband seeing me off before he went on his journey to California. I was not warned at all that anything was likely to happen to the boat and I never saw an advertisement about it or I should not have come. Many more no doubt would have delayed their voyage had they known of the warning, because there were so many women and babies on board. On Thursday evening many of the people knowing we were approaching the Irish and English coasts seemed afraid to go to bed, and the ship steamed along in total darkness. On Friday morning there was a dense fog, but our spirits rose as the day got brighter for we knew that we were to land in the evening.

My friend and I were in the rest room, about two o’clock. We were writing postcards and joking about what we had put on them. All at once, we heard a terrible thud. My companion caught hold of my arm and the ship listing over, we practically had to climb for our lives. People who had been sitting at the second lunch streamed up from the dining room, and we could see water running off them even then.

The scene on deck was indescribable. Some people were kneeling and praying, but I told them they had no time to stop and pray; they must pray as they went along, for the ship was going down. I got to one of the lifeboats, but my friend pulled me back and said it was already overloaded. Almost as soon as he said it, the lifeboat was lowered and the ropes breaking, it fell into the water and many women and children in it must have been drowned.

I got into the last lifeboat which was launched in company with a minister and his wife (Reverend Herbert Gwyer and his wife Margaret) and the purser (William Harkness). As we got down, we felt the vessel coming over us. We saw her funnels and the masts gradually overwhelming us, but as the wireless apparatus came over us, the purser grasped hold of the wire and we just missed being crushed by a hairbreadth, the wire just touching the end of our boat. As the vessel disappeared, it smothered us with water, and it is a mercy I am here today but I shall carry the memory of those funnels and masts coming over us to my dying day.

We continued to keep our heads. In less than five minutes from the ship’s disappearance beneath the waves, the water was like a sea of glass and nothing was to be seen; only chairs, trunks and other loose articles from the ship. When we got a little way off, we saw the German submarine come to the surface, and the crew hoisted their flag, staying a short time above the water to witness the awful scenes of which they were the cause.

We were eventually taken into another boat, which had a leakage, and although a plug was put in the hole, we had to keep bailing the water out. I was transferred four time altogether, whilst on the water, to different boats and didn’t land until ten o’clock at night. When the disaster occurred, I had a heavy coat over my dress, but this I gave to a man who had nothing on his back. When I got off at Queenstown, I had only my blouse and skirt and a gentleman took off his overcoat and gave it to me.

I might mention that when the minister’s wife saw the ship coming down over us, she leapt down the funnel and disappeared. The minister was praying for her the while of time and you can imagine his joy on landing at Queenstown to find his wife there and alive.

Father Maturin and I were together at a few minutes before the awful accident and nobody afterwards could have the smallest hope of finding any-body. I am sorry to think he was lost. We left the dining room and he then went on his way and I mine. By an accident I found myself on the promenade deck, and as the vessel listed to starboard I half found myself on the slippery deck which was then at an angle 45°. I went into one of the boats with a crowd of fireman and third class passengers with the exception of D A Thomas, the well known Welsh coal owner, who was directed to get into the boat by his secretary Mr. Rhys Evans. We were in the boat for 1½ hours when we were picked up by a Manx fishing vessel and kept on her for two hours. She also picked up four other boats, and then we were all taken on board the Flying Fox and landed at Queenstown at 10 o clock that evening.

I was on the verandah, outside the smoking room when the first torpedo struck underneath the second cabin. It shook the vessel like a mine – as I did not see the torpedo coming to the liner. The second torpedo struck the vessel in its most vital part, underneath the second funnel forward. I think it was twenty minutes at least before the whole ship went down. There was a scene of the most indescribable confusion and only 55 first class passengers- were saved. Whole families have been lost. One American family, Mr. and Mrs. Paul Crompton, Philadelphia father and mother, and six children, down to a baby of eight months, were lost. I tried to find one of the children, but it was absolutely hopeless to find anybody.

I can never forget the experience. Whilst in the boats the funnels were hanging over us, and came nearer and nearer to the boats. It seems an absolute miracle that the boats were not overwhelmed by the funnels.

During the mist in the morning of Friday, an officer told me we were not traveling at more than 12 knots an hour. It seems to me – of course that it is not very difficult to measure those things – that we were not going fast at the time she was struck. One of the officers told me that six of the boilers were out of commission – that is not being used – and that we could not move more than 22 knots an hour, and that they saved 1000 tons of coal on the journey by having these six boilers shut down. We had 292 miles to go at 12 o clock on Friday – we were struck at 2.15 – and were told we could not be at the landing stage, Liverpool, until seven o clock on Saturday morning.

I believe that the reason so many first class passengers were lost is that they were under the impression that the vessel could not sink. Captain Anderson, Staff Captain, who went down, told me, and explained to me by diagrams, that the vessel could take one torpedo without serious injury. She had her watertight compartments and her bulkheads filled with coal, so that anything striking here the injury would be local. There was a very strong impression that she was unsinkable.

On Friday afternoon, May 7th. I left the dining saloon at 2:05 p.m. exactly, by the dining room clock. I am positive about the exact time because I had made an appointment with Miss Gale, (sic Hale) the ship’s stenographer for 2 p.m. to dictate some letters, and was watching the clock and remarked to a friend  ‘I must hustle for I’m late.’  I went at once to the lift, but the lift boy instead of going to A deck, stopped at B as my cabin was B-110. As I stepped out of the lift I saw where I was, but noticed that Jones, the Chief Steward, was standing just outside on the deck on the starboard side, so I stepped out of the companionway to speak to him about an arrangement I wanted him to make for that afternoon.

At that moment, just as I went up to him, he turned around and said ‘Good God, Mr. Hill, here comes a torpedo.’ I looked where he pointed and saw the periscope of a submarine. I estimated the distance at not more than 200 yards, as it seemed to me at the time that it was a good golf shot, that is, a pretty decent drive.

The submarine was not on the surface. All that could be seen was the periscope. I saw the wake of the torpedo, the line of disturbance in the water, but I did not see the torpedo itself. The line was very plain, and formed a pronounced curve. It looked to us as if the torpedo would cross our bows, and we both said so to each other. We leaned over the rail and looked down, and saw something strike the side of the ship and heard a noise about like that made by the slamming of a door. Then immediately afterwards I heard a dull, heavy, muffled explosion. We turned and rushed aft just as a geyser of water rose over the side. This I saw, and at the same time heard a noise above as of things falling on the upper deck.

When I left Jones, I made my way through the alleyway and went to cabin 52 on D Deck, in the hope of assisting Mrs. Witherby (sic Witherbee) her mother, Mrs. Brown, and her boy, Alfred. I found the cabin empty and as the water was already coming in, I chased up the stairs back to B Deck, got in to my cabin and got my dispatch case and my overcoat. Penny, the bedroom steward, got me a lifebelt and put it on me, although he had none himself.

I then went up to the port side of A deck, where I started to get in to the fourth boat counting from the stern. The other three towards the stern had already been lowered. These boats, like all the rest on the saloon deck both port and starboard had been swung out on the davits the day before so they hung over the water, but the list had made the boats on the port side swing inboard over the deck and it was extremely difficult to force them back so they would clear the side of the ship and drop in to the water instead of on the deck. In fact, two of the boats were smashed completely, one being split in two, being full of passengers who were spilled into the water.

A lady in the fourth boat said ‘Please don’t come in here, we are over-crowded now.’ They were not over crowded, but I went on and as there was no one to man the next boat I got into one further forward towards the bow.

The port side of the vessel was fairly clear of passengers at the time, as comparatively few came to that side. The only member of the crew in my boat was Gadd, the barber, who took charge of it. In lowering the boat, as we passed B deck going down five or six stokers jumped in who really saved us, as it came out.

The ropes at the bow got fouled, the stern being free, and the boat dropped almost vertically spilling out into the sea all those near the stern. I, with the others near the bow, were held in by the seats and the boat finally struck the water right side up and we picked up all, I think, or at least nearly all of the original occupants.

As the boat was leaking and we could find no plugs, we were waterlogged before leaving the ship. As a result, we were capsized and all spilled in to the water. This happened three times that I counted, some said four. Each time we clambered back and the boat would right itself only to repeat the operation a little later.

Once as I came up after being thrown out, I found I was coming up under the boat and I struck out hard to clear it and it seemed to me I was dragging something heavy. When I came up, I found that a woman with a  child in her arms was hanging on to my right leg and an old man was clutching me around the let ankle, which made me lose my left shoe. As we rose to the surface, one of the men in the boat said ‘Don’t pull them in- they are nearly dead anyway and we must lighten the boat.’ But one of the stokers, a mere boy of 18, insisted on saving us and pulled us into the boat.

On Tuesday night before the wreck, the Staff Captain, Anderson, told me that three suspicious characters had slipped past the cordon of secret service men at New York and they afterward found them and confined them below. They must, of course, have gone down with the ship.

They cut the hanging rope and the boat went into the water, but of course was water logged. The passengers seemed to be crawling up a rope netting on the lower deck, climbing higher as the water reached them… The only woman I knew in the boat was a stewardess, May Baird (sic), and she does not clearly remember what happened.

I was in my bunk and another lady was crocheting. It is a wonder we were not on deck. I had put my hat on after dinner and then pulled it off again, saying “I shan’t go on deck. My head aches and I don’t feel very well.”  I was leaning like that (indicating the movement) and a lady was lying down, and all at once something came bang, and I never knew what it was until I was at Queenstown and I learnt that it was the looking glass that had fallen.  I said “Oh dear,” and a woman said “My God!” and I walked out of the cabin and went along and up the stairway.

The boat was listing heavily and I could not walk. There was a lady with a child screaming, and another lady with six children.

I went to where they were pulling a lady up. There was an iron bar and chain and I got hold of them and crawled up, and after they had pulled the lady up I said “Oh Mister, pull me up!”  After two men had taken no notice, two others pulled me up. Where they pulled me I don’t know, but I got up and walked to where the lifeboats were.

The ship was turning over, and my feet slipped and I nearly fell into the sea. Then a man caught hold of my hand and said “Now then, jump!” and I jumped into a boat, and when it was full it was lowered into the sea.

The ship was listing heavily towards us, and someone in the boat shouted “Oh dear, it will be upon us just now.”  The men at the oars shouted “Pull!’ “Pull!” and I buried my head in the bottom of the boat thinking to myself “If it comes on me, I won’t see it.” A parson’s wife was sucked into the funnel, but she came out again all black. We just got away in time, and the ship went down as nice as can be without making a sound.

We were at lunch when the torpedo struck the ship, and we knew at once what had happened. There was no panic. The men remained in the dining saloon and ordered the women and children to go on to the deck. After that I went on to the second deck as that was near the water’s edge. The ship listed heavily to starboard the4 moment she was struck, and filled rapidly.

I then climbed to the boat deck and assisted in the placing of the women and children into the boats.

Was there any panic? No, none at all. Everyone was perfectly collected. Some of the boats went off with the women and children. In all, nineteen got away, but twelve were capsized.

After they had gone, I stood with two engineers until the water reached nearly to our waists, then we dropped into the sea. I was stuck by the wireless telegraph gear and dragged under the water, but eventually struggled free, and after swimming for a quarter of an hour reached a raft where I found the two engineers who were with me on the boat, and another lady and gentleman, husband and wife.

The water was full of struggling men and women. We managed to drag on to our raft a lady whose hand and leg had been badly crushed, and a little later a lady who was holding a dead child.  We then maneuvered our raft to an upturned boat and clambered on to it and remained drifting about until we were picked up by a destroyer.

It was a horrible time- terrible! The elderly gentleman became exhausted and died before we were picked up, and we had to take the dead child from its mother as the poor woman was growing frantic.

Along with my companion, a Dundee man named Bennett, and others, I was sitting in the steerage quarters. We were talking and smoking, and indeed passing the time quite pleasantly when of a sudden there was a crash. It was just like thunder, and my mate remarked to me “We’ve struck a mine” and added “follow me.”

We proceeded to the top deck but we had no sooner got up there than we were told to go down. We went down to one of the lower decks and when I saw people putting on life belts I went in search of one. When I returned with my belt, my companion asked me if I could get one for him, but the boat had taken such a list that it was very difficult to reach the cabins. I did, however, succeed in getting a second belt, but on my return journey it slipped from my hand and in the darkness of the alleyways I could not recover it.

After listing heavily, the liner seemed to halt and the cry that everything was alright, to some extent, allayed anxiety.

A few moments later the vessel began to go lower and lower.The greater the list of the Lusitania became, the more difficult did the launching of the boats become. Quite a number of them were damaged while being lowered, and one loaded with women and children caught on the projecting plates and all the occupants were precipitated into the water.

As I stood helping to lower one of the boats, I could see water swishing along one of the decks about six feet below. Dozens of men, women and children being helplessly tossed backward and forward. The bow of the Lusitania by this time was under water, and the next thing I knew, I was in the water, so I must have gone down with the vessel.

When I came to the surface, I espied a few yards distant a big box, which I afterwards discovered was full of biscuit tins. I caught hold of it, and in this way kept myself afloat for a time. Then I observed a partially sunk boat with a canvas cover on the top.

I let go of the box of biscuit tins and clambered on to the boat, which was of the collapsible type. And there I sat, not knowing for a few minutes whether or not I was the sole occupant. Then I discovered that I was not alone, and within a few minutes five other men had climbed on to the submerged craft.

With a knife we cut away the canvas cover with a view to bailing her out, but we found that the stern was stove in, a hole about two feet in diameter being easily discernible.

We started to row and succeeded in keeping the frail craft above water. In course of time, we espied another collapsible boat upturned, and as quickly as possible we rowed to it and tied it to our boat.

All around us could be heard the cries of those who had been precipitated into the water, and hundreds of individuals were to be seen either clinging to stray baggage and cargo, or vainly endeavoring to reach the numerous rafts and boats which cruised about in the vicinity. Several of us boarded the upturned boat, and despite the fact that it was leaking, we rowed around for a time and had the satisfaction of rescuing twenty-two people, the majority of them being women.

With the sea as calm as a millpond, we realized that we were now practically out of danger, but with the hind boat in its leaking condition uncomfortably full and the other boat, even with six occupants, always in imminent danger of being swamped we could take no liberties- albeit a steward on board so far forgot the trying ordeal as to take a snapshot of the party many of whom needless to say were in a state of complete exhaustion. The loss of life was appalling, but from what I saw, everybody did their best.

The scenes as the survivors were landed to Queenstown were most distressing. Men who had lost their wives; wives who had lost their children; children who had lost their parents. One little girl named Edith Williams, who was saved clinging to a Mrs. Howley, had lost her mother and her sisters; while a heartbroken father could be seen walking around the harbor looking anxiously for his wife and their kiddies. I asked him how he got by, and he tearfully replied, “Well, you can see I’m alright, but I can get no trace of the wife or the kids.” When I saw him the next morning he had one boy with him.

I was down aft when it happened. My wife and I had just had some tea when something went bang. I knew what it was, immediately. The vessel at once heeled over to starboard, and my little boy turned to me and said ‘What’s that, daddy?’  I didn’t answer him; it was no time for talk. I had the wife and three children to think about. My wife snatched up our three year old baby, I grabbed Freddy who was just five and took Francis by the hand.

We started for the boat deck, as the vessel was beginning to turn over. I wouldn’t wait to get lifebelts, as I was afraid we should get trapped down below.

Somehow or other, we managed to reach the deck. I pushed my wife and kiddies into a boat and said ‘You stay there while I try and get a lifebelt.’ Then I made for the second cabin saloon and got a couple of lifebelts. As I was returning to the deck, I met a man who had no life saving apparatus at all, and remembering that my people were already in a boat, I said ‘Here old man, take this’ and shoved one of them into his hands.

I wished, afterwards, that I had kept it for the wife. When I got out on deck again, I found that the missus and the children had got out of the boat. The steamer had got a heavy list, but just then she steadied a bit and I thought she might right herself.

Immediately after this she started to heel over again. I said to the wife ‘Oh my God, it’s all over. Get back into the lifeboat again!’ I just flung them back into the boat, but it was on the port side, and owing to the list to starboard it was impossible to get the boat away.

Then the liner began to go. I hoped that as she sank the lifeboat might rise in her chocks, but whether it did or not I don’t know, for the next instant I was wrenched from my hold and hurled into the water. I was sucked down very deep, but came to the surface again and struck out for an upturned boat that was floating close by. I managed to reach it alright. There were three or four fellows already on it, but I could see nothing of my wife and little ones.

After a time we were rescued by a fishing smack, and when we had got on board her managed to save several other people.

Bye and bye we were transferred to a torpedo boat which afterward picked up more people. One poor woman was in a very bad way. We did all we could for her, but she died when we got to Queenstown; and two other survivors on our boat also passed away.

I landed in Queenstown dressed in a pair of pants, a slipper and one sock. I was billeted, but I couldn’t stay in the house. I wanted to get out and do something. I went out to try and find my children. I examined a lot of bodies, but did not find my wife or the little ones. I was glad, because there may still be hope.

On Saturday morning I started to search again, and met some people who told me they thought my boy was at the Rob Roy Hotel. I went there and found Francis. It was a miracle how he was saved. To say I was overjoyed does not give an idea of my feelings, but I got no news of the others.

The Frankum Family

The first thing I knew of the sinking of the Lusitania was a terrific booming explosion, followed by a torrent of water and coal dust on my head. I was sitting, reading, on the boat deck at the time; most of the saloon passengers were still at lunch.

On reaching the main entrance I found many people had come up and were surrounding the boats; except for a few women everyone was quite calm and talking quietly of what occurred. My cabin being only one deck below, I went down for a lifebelt and was met by a steward who said ‘Take this belt and go up again.’  He pulled off the fur coat I was wearing and tied on the lifebelt for me.
On reaching the boat deck again, I found a good deal more confusion, people were struggling round the boats, the first of which was launched in such a way that she went down stern first and those in her fell into the sea.

One of the passengers (I don’t know his name) came up to me and said ‘I mean to get you out of this,’ and made way for me to the next boat which was already overcrowded. I stood aside, but in the end was pushed towards the last boat to be launched on that side. From what I had seen of the launching of boats, I was wondering whether it wouldn’t be better to go down with the ship, when the second explosion occurred. The Lusitania heeled over and a great rush of black water came up towards us from the bows.

I jumped, and in falling, caught miraculously at a lifeboat which was going down full of people. By clinging to her, I was drawn away from the suction or at any rate from the worst of it. In the end, the rush of water tore me away, and I went down for what seemed like many minutes but was probably only one or two seconds.

Coming up, I found a floating plank which gave me very welcome support; with this and the lifebelt I was wearing, I was practically safe provided help came in time.

I drifted some way out with the tide, and did not see the last plunge of the Lusitania; when I did turn my head there was nothing to be seen but a little steam above the water. It was very warm and calm; all round me were pieces of wreckage– chairs, tables, clothes, hats and worse than all, bodies of those who had either failed to put on lifebelts or had died of shock. The cries for help–shouting of men, screaming of women and children, were terrible.

After about two hours in the water I was picked up by one of the collapsible boats– hearing behind me the welcome sound ‘All right, lady, we’re coming!’  The owner of the voice was the first violin of the ship’s orchestra, who had caught sight of me in the water; he and another man lifted me into the boat.

There were several of us there-, one or two women, a poor old man who seemed to be going mad, and a dead man. We were very cold, but kept our arms working to ward off chills as much as possible. Presently a fishing smack took us in tow.

By then many rescue steamers, a cruiser and a destroyer were seen coming out from Queenstown. We were picked up by a minesweeper and soon found ourselves near a fire, while mugs of hot tea were handed around by the sailors. Some of the women were too wretched to touch it, they just sat and mourned for those they had lost, there was a little boy of six, too, quite alone. One of the ship’s officers gave me his sou’wester coat; they were all most kind.

We reached Queenstown about 10:30 p.m. and were taken to various hotels and hospitals, walking between lines of sympathizers and spectators.

The statement in one or two papers that the violinist gave up his place in the boat to me is an error, as there was plenty of room and he went with the rest as far as Queenstown.

They were sent both by the ship’s power, that is power supplied from the ship’s dynamo, and in addition to that after three or four minutes after the torpedo struck the ship, the power section gave out and we had to fall back upon the emergency station which is situated in the wireless cabin.

I crossed over to the starboard side again, and on my way encountered the two Marconi operators in the emergency wireless room. They, too, were coolness personified. They were sending out their ‘S.O.S’ messages. The explosion had disorganized the main wireless room and they were working the emergency wireless apparatus. At this stage, all the electric lights had been extinguished. I asked the wireless operators how they were getting on, and at the present moment they received an answer to their call. A moment later their apparatus was smashed. One of the operators offered me a swivel chair to go down into the water. Finding he could do no more, a young operator, superbly humored and careless of what looked like sure disaster for us all, took up a kneeling position on the funnel deck in order to make snapshots of the Lusitania settling to its doom. A further lurch of the boat upset him and his plans, for the last glimpse I had of him was astride a chair in which he said that he was going to sit down and swim.