SURVIVORS' STORIES OF SINKING OF THE LUSITANIA

"How We Saw Our Ship Go Down—Torpedoed by a German Submarine" Told by Passengers of the Ill-Fated "Lusitania"

These tragic stories are like voices from the grave—the ocean giving up its dead. They are told by those who were saved from the tragedy ship on that fearful day, May 7, 1915 (at 2:08 P.M. Greenwich time) when the Lusitania, fifteen miles off "Old Head of Winsale" on the Irish coast, was torpedoed by a German submarine. The Lusitania sailed from New York at noon, May 1, 1915, carrying 1,959 persons—passengers and crew. It had been warned by official notices from the German embassy that it would be attacked by German submarines, which only aggravates the crime by making plain its deliberate intention. The voyage was uneventful until the seventh, when the ship, running at 17 knots, was nearing its destination. It was shortly after luncheon, the sea was calm, when two torpedoes struck the Lusitania. The scenes of terror which followed are described by the survivors—a few of their stories, typical of their fearful experiences, are told here. The ship sank in less than twenty minutes, and 1,198 men, women, and children went down into an ocean grave.

I—STORY OF CAPTAIN W. T. TURNER, COMMANDER OF THE "LUSITANIA"

I was on the bridge of the Lusitania (at 2:08 Friday afternoon, May 7, 1915, off Old Head of Kinsdale on Irish Coast) when I saw a torpedo speeding toward us, and immediately I tried to change our course, but was unable to man[oe]uvre out of its way. There was a terrible impact as the torpedo struck the starboard side of the vessel, and a second torpedo followed almost immediately. This one struck squarely over the boilers. I tried to turn the Lusitania shoreward, hoping to beach her, but her engines were crippled and it was impossible. Until the Lusitania came to a standstill it was absolutely out of the question to launch the boats—they would have been swamped. It has been suggested that it was impact with ammunition in the cargo that made the work of the torpedoes so deadly, but if there had been ammunition in the cargo the Lusitania would have been blown to pieces. I saw the torpedoes with my own eyes as did many others. It was cold-blooded murder.

I was in the water four hours after the Lusitania sank. I am a strong swimmer, and so was able to keep afloat until I was rescued. When I was swimming about, suddenly a German submarine rose to the surface amid the wreckage, then submerged again. Some persons in lifeboats nearby saw the submarine even better than I did.

(As Captain Turner went about the streets of Queenstown he tried bravely to cheer the survivors, but he seemed stunned. For the most part he walked with bowed head, and many of those he met did not recognize him. When told of the recovery of Charles Frohman's body, and of the finding of many other Americans among the dead, tears came to his eyes.)

II—STORY TOLD BY W. B. PHILLIPS, AN AMERICAN PASSENGER

It was seven or eight minutes after 2 o'clock when the torpedo struck us, and my watch stopped at 2:33, when I went into the water a half minute before the Lusitania disappeared. Captain Turner was on the bridge when the ship went down, and the last order I heard him give was "Hard aport," just before the torpedo struck. It seems as though he was trying to turn the ship to escape the torpedo. I rushed on deck, but met two women in the companionway who shouted "torpedo"! I rushed back to my stateroom for some belongings, but as the water was coming through the promenade deck I didn't wait, but rushed back to the deck again. Most everybody went to the cabins for life preservers. There was no panic, though lots of excitement. Not even a panic when the ship went down.

The worst thing was the inefficiency with the lifeboats. On the port side many of the davits wouldn't work and the boats would not go over. The tackle broke on one of four or five boats I saw lowered, while one dropped from the davits and split in two. A few of the collapsible boats floated away upside down, while one raft, which some one cut away with an axe, crushed some men who were trying to climb into a boat.

There was a great whirlpool when the Lusitania finally settled into the sea, but no suction. I was drawn into the whirlpool, but had no trouble in swimming out. She went down very fast at one end. Our boat, which was the most crowded of all, with eighty-four in it, was almost swamped by the wireless antennæ, which swept across us as the Lusitania keeled over for the last time before she righted and sank.

The daughter of Lady Allan told me she saw the submarine, but I know of no one else who did. Shots were fired while we were in the small boats, about twenty minutes after the Lusitania sank, but I don't know if they were from the submarine. They might have been signals from land. The only boat in sight was a fishing smack, or pilot boat, three or four miles away. There was smoke on the horizon, and one vessel seemed to be coming up, but she sheered off.

The wireless operator told me he got in four wireless signals and got an answer to the last one. The boats rowed toward the smack, which took part of the people on board and towed two other boatloads. It was 5 o'clock when we were picked up, and at that time no boat was anywhere near the scene of the wreck. One trawler got to the wreck about 5:30. It was followed by two torpedo boats and eight or nine other boats. Captain Turner had ordered some lifeboats swung over the side on Wednesday and all swung over on Thursday morning, but the rafts and collapsible boats were not touched, but remained securely fastened. There was plenty of boat accommodation if there had been time to get them over.

The men all waited until no women were in sight before they went into the boats. I never believed it true before, but there seemed to be a regular chorus all the time on the Lusitania: "Women first! Women first!"

III—STORY OF OLIVER P. BERNARD, AN ENGLISH PASSENGER

I think I can say that I was one of the few persons who really saw a torpedo discharged at the Lusitania. Coming on deck from the dining saloon. I was leaning against the starboard rail of the ship when I saw the periscope of a submarine about two hundred yards away. Then I noticed a long white streak of foam. It gave me the impression of frothy fizzing in water. A woman came to me and said: "There's a torpedo coming." Before she had finished the explosion took place and tons of debris were blown up through the four decks. Almost immediately there was a terrific impact, followed by an explosion. The Lusitania was going at fifteen knots at the time. The shot was perfectly aimed at the boat, and when it struck, debris, dust and water were thrown up in a dense column through the entire superstructure of the vessel about the bridge. A hundred must have been blown to atoms, including trimmers and stokers, to say nothing of men and women in the forward cabins, who were about to come on deck.

The Lusitania fell over to starboard and then slowly righted part way. Nearly every one rushed below. I went to the flying deck and stood between the funnels, where I could see them making an awful mess of getting the boats out. They were cutting and hacking at them. The first boat floated away empty. The next three were smashed. The Marconi main room was put out of commission by the first torpedo; then the wireless operator rushed to the emergency room, and just as he got the first reply to the "S. O. S." the whole apparatus went out of action.

The first torpedo hit amidship by the grand entrance to the saloon and rear of the bridge. A Marconi man rushed to me and offered me a chair, and said I had better take that, as it might be useful and better than nothing.

A few moments after the explosion the vessel toppled over, as if she were in drydock and some of the underpinning on the starboard side had been knocked away. There was a frantic dash from the starboard entrances to the port side and from below women were shouting, "What shall we do?" They knew well what had happened, as the chance of being torpedoed was discussed every day. I heard nothing else on the voyage. When the Lusitania listed still more I slid off the flying deck on to the boat deck, and from there fell into a boat lying alongside. As I got into the boat she was swept almost away by one of the funnels falling across her, and we only managed to push clear. I saw a minister's wife sucked right down one of the funnels and shot out again, looking like a piece of burned coal. We managed to save her. I rowed for some time with a woman between my knees before discovering that she was dead.

There was no great excitement, in the real sense of the word. Most of the women tried hard to keep cool, and except for occasional screams of "Where is my husband? Where is my child?" they acted bravely. I noticed more people going below than coming on deck after the explosion. The last person I spoke to before the vessel went down was Mrs. Mason, the young American daughter of William Lindsay, a manufacturer of Boston, who was on her honeymoon. She was asking for her husband.

Alfred Vanderbilt I saw standing outside the grand entrance of the saloon, looking quite happy and perfectly composed. He was holding a jewel case for a lady, for whom he was apparently waiting. I did not see Charles Frohman until I saw his body in a mortuary. His was the most peaceful face among all those I saw there. There was no trace of agony, and unlike others his features were not disfigured in any way. Frohman was none too well on the voyage, and was hardly able to walk, so he remained in his cabin most of the time, where, I believe, he was when the ship sank. Elbert Hubbard and his wife I also believe went down in their cabin.

The first two boats from the port side were manned principally by officers. The slow speed gave the Germans an absolutely pointblank shot. They couldn't miss. Only God's fair weather and daylight brought us ashore. If the Lusitania had been convoyed or had put on speed she would have been here now.

The wireless operators were still sending out calls from their emergency apparatus, the main wireless room having been disorganized. The ship was now listing badly to starboard, and, taking a swivel chair which an operator offered to me, I slid down into the water and to a boat which was still attached to the davits and which was partly covered with water. We cleared the boat not a moment too soon, for we had hardly done so when the vessel went down on the starboard side, one of the funnels grazing our heads. In the twinkling of an eye the monster vessel disappeared amidst the cries of those who had been caught. It was one long indescribable scene of agony. There was floating debris on all sides and men and women and children clinging for dear life to deck chairs and rafts which littered the water. Many were entangled in wreckage, and one by one they seemed to fall off and give themselves up.

About the last thing I saw happen on the boat was the chief Marconi operator taking a photograph when the vessel was listed to 45 degrees, but the pictures were spoiled by the water. We rowed around for three and a half hours before we were picked up.

IV—STORY TOLD BY GEORGE A. KESSLER, AN AMERICAN PASSENGER

I saw the wake of the first torpedo the moment before the Lusitania was struck. I was on the upper deck. Looking out to sea, I saw all at once the wash of a torpedo, indicated by the snakelike churn on the surface of the water. It was about thirty feet away. Then came the thud as it struck the ship. Mr. Berth and his wife, of New York, first class passengers, were the last persons I spoke to on the ship. About this time all the passengers in the dining saloon had come up on deck. The upper deck was crowded, and the passengers were wondering what was the matter, few really believing that the ship had been torpedoed. They began to lower boats. I saw Berth help his wife into a boat. I fell into the same boat and we were shipped down into the water.

About a minute after the boat struck the water, I looked up and cried out: "My God! The Lusitania is gone!" We saw her entire bulk, which had been almost upright just a few seconds before, suddenly lurch over away from us. Then she seemed to stand upright in the water and the next instant the keel of the vessel caught the keel of our boat and we were thrown into the water. There were only about thirty people in the boat and I should say that all were stokers or third class passengers.

When the boat was overturned I sank fifteen or twenty feet and I thought I was a goner. However, I had my lifebelt around me and I managed to rise again to the surface. There I floated for possibly ten or fifteen minutes, when I made a grab at a collapsible lifeboat, to which other passengers were clinging. We managed to get it shipshape and clamber in. There were eight or nine in the boat. It was partly filled with water, and in the scramble which occurred the boat overturned, and once more we were pitched into the water. This occurred, I should say, eight times, the boat righting itself each time. Before we were picked up by the Bluebell six of the party of eight or nine were lying drowned in the bilge water in the bottom of the boat. It was cold-blooded, deliberate murder and nothing else—the greatest murder the world has ever known.

V—STORY OF CHARLES T. JEFFREY, AN AMERICAN PASSENGER

I was in the smoking room when the explosion took place. It shook the whole ship, just as a train would shake if the locomotive suddenly stopped and backed into it. I did not, of course, know what it was, and it did not occur to me that we had been torpedoed. I thought it might be a mine, or that we had run upon a rock, but it simply did not occur to my mind to imagine anything so horrible as that this defenseless ship with its helpless passengers would be torpedoed without warning.

I left the smoking room and went out on deck to look over the side at the spot where the ship was when the explosion took place. It was about 300 feet away. The ship began to take a list to starboard, but very slowly. There was no panic, either then or at any other time. Many other passengers came out and looked over the side, just as I did, but there were no signs of alarm or any rushing about.

I went down to "A" deck to see what was happening there, but there was no commotion, any more than there was on the upper one, to which I returned. But the ship was listing more and more. The lifeboats had been swung out the previous day, and I saw women and children being put into them by sailors. There was no rushing for the boats, no struggling for places; everything was being done with perfect calmness and orderliness. I went down to my cabin, meeting many people in the alleyways with lifebelts and others going for them.

I made my way aft, and seeing no one on the navigating bridge, scrambled up there, where I could observe everything that was happening along one side of the ship. The ship now heeled over so much that the passengers were clinging to the deck rail. It was a terrible sight; their helplessness, with the great ship steadily going down under us.

Suddenly there came a terrific rumbling, roaring noise; the huge ship trembled as her funnels went over, and she just slid under the waves by the head. Then she seemed to be suddenly checked, as though her bow had struck something, but it was only momentary, and in another moment she disappeared under the water. I went down with her, but came to the surface again very quickly. All around me I saw great numbers of persons struggling in the water. Presently there floated near me a rectangular sheet metal can, like the air tank of a lifeboat, and I clutched it. I waited for a rescuer, but there was none in sight. Then two men came along, hanging on to a barrel with handles on each end, so I brought my tank over and caught on to it for company. We were hanging on for some time, when a man of seventy-five and a boy of seventeen came along on a plank. The boy could not swim. We caught them and added them and their plank to our party.

After another twenty minutes or so we saw in the distance what looked like a raft, so we swam toward it, pushing our supports. It took us nearly half an hour to reach that raft, and it turned out to be a collapsible boat.

We were in this boat some time, and were taking in water steadily, when a man weighing perhaps 250 pounds floated by, without any life preserver. He was all in, but we got him aboard. Next a foreigner, who could speak no English, got in with us. Then a woman floated along with a deck chair and an oar, and we took her aboard, but it was doubtful how long we could remain afloat, so one man took the can I spoke of and pushed off on his own account.

At last, at 6.10, after four hours in the water, the trawler took us in. We were stiff and cold, and went down to the engine room to dry our clothes. We were tended with the greatest care by the crew. It was an experience no man would like to face again, and those who went through it will have a lasting memory of its horror. Why, I remember on the voyage over remarking that I never saw so many babies and young children on any ship.

VI—STORY TOLD BY DR. DANIEL V. MOORE, AN AMERICAN PASSENGER

After the explosion quiet and order were soon accomplished by assurances from the stewards. I proceeded to the deck promenade for observation and saw only that the ship was fast leaning to starboard. I hurried toward my cabin below for a lifebelt and turned back because of the difficulty in keeping upright. I struggled to D deck and forward to the first-class cabin, where I saw a Catholic priest.

I could find no belts and returned again toward E deck and saw a stewardess struggling to dislodge a belt. I helped her with hers and secured one for myself. I then rushed to D deck and noticed one woman perched on the gunwale, watching a lowering lifeboat ten feet away. I pushed her down and into the boat, then jumped in. The stern of the lifeboat continued to lower, but the bow stuck fast. A stoker cut the bow ropes with a hatchet, and we dropped in a vertical position.

A girl whom we had heard sing at a concert was struggling and I caught her by the ankle and pulled her in. A man I grasped by the shoulders and I landed him safe. He was the barber of the first-class cabin, and a more manly man I never met. He showed his courage and his will later on.

We pushed away hard to avoid the suck, but our boat was fast filling and we bailed fast with one bucket and the women's hats. The man with the bucket became exhausted and I relieved him. In a few minutes she was level full. Then a keg floated up and I pitched it about ten feet away and followed it. After reaching it I turned to see the fate of our boat. She had capsized and covered many. Now a young steward, Freeman, by name, had approached me, clinging to a deck chair. I urged him to grab the other side of the keg several times. He grew faint, but harsh speaking roused him. Once he said: "I am going to go," but I ridiculed this and it gave him strength. By stroking with our legs we succeeded in reaching a raft.

We were in the water about one hour and a half. At this time I suffered from violent vomiting. Then followed appalling chills, but by beating myself I restored my energy and was soon handling an oar. Freeman collapsed, but recovered after reaching the patrol boat Brock. There were about twenty-three persons on the raft. They worked nobly in picking five of us up after what seemed an eternity.

The good boat Brock and her splendid officers and men took us aboard. I went to the engine room and stripped to the skin. Here and in the room above I cared for men and women as they were rescued. Little ten-year-old Frank Hook had his left thigh bone fractured. This I reduced and splinted, and in a short while Frank asked, "Is there a funny paper on the boat?"

At the scene of the catastrophe the surface of the water seemed dotted with bodies. Only a few of the lifeboats seemed to be doing any good. The cries of "My God!" "Save us!" and "Help!" gradually grew weaker from all sides and finally a low weeping, wailing, inarticulate sound, mingled with coughing and gurgling, made me heartsick. I saw many men die. Some appeared to be sleepy and worn out just before they went down, others grew gradually blue and an air of hunger gave their features a sardonic smile.

There was no suction when the ship settled. She went down steadily and at the best possible angle. The lifeboats were not in order and they were not manned. Most of the people rushed to the upper decks.

I did not hear a second explosion. There is no more horrible or pitiable sight possible than the sight of the faces of mothers and babies and girls here in the morgues.

Weighing all the facts soberly convinces me that it was only through the mercy of God that any one was saved. I sailed from America that I might offer my services as a surgeon. I have visited the Valley of Death and am heartsick.

VII—STORY OF FUNERAL OF "LUSITANIA'S" DEAD—TOLD BY AN EYE-WITNESS

Ninety-two passengers of the Lusitania who formed part of that pitiful handful of maimed, dead and dying brought ashore with the survivors of the disaster that followed the attack on the vessel by a German submarine were buried with services that have no parallel in history. Under a sky in which not a single cloud floated and to the strains of hymns played by British soldiers they were laid to rest two miles behind Queenstown in a cemetery bursting with spring greenery and tucked between hills flaming with gorse. The services at the graves began at four o'clock, and at half-past four the sod of Ireland was being shovelled upon the coffins.

Queenstown sensed the full horror of the Lusitania disaster. Up to the time that the long stream of coffins began to disappear over the hill behind the town there was about the affair, what with the continued searches for survivors and the bustle about the morgue, something of the unusual and theatric. But when the funeral started the realization came that each of these cheap coffins held a body and that in the Atlantic, less than twenty miles away, there were more than a thousand in addition, all victims of a German submarine.

The townsfolk stood hatless nearly all forenoon as the coffins were conveyed to the cemetery on carts. This process required hours, and it was not until three o'clock in the afternoon that the funeral procession proper left the Cunard offices at the waterfront. There were only three bodies, one each in a hearse, in this cortège, the other eighty-nine already having been placed in the graves.

With the British army band playing Chopin's "Funeral March" the funeral procession marched through the crooked streets past the cathedral, which stands on the highest point of the town, and then took its course along an undulating country road, now rising and now sinking between green hills. Along this road country folk were clustered for the most part, perched on stone fences behind the soldiers who guarded the road the entire two miles from the cathedral to the cemetery. Those waiting in the graveyard first heard, borne faintly on the soft breeze, the notes of the funeral march and then the sound of muffled drums. A moment later the sun flashed on the band instruments and the cortège took form in the distance. Not for more than an hour, however, did it reach the lane bordering the cemetery, which it entered in the following order:—

A major of the Royal Irish infantry on horseback, five members of the Irish Constabulary and a group of Protestant churchmen, then in black robes came thirteen priests, and behind them were the hearses, draped with British flags, to the rear of which trudged the mourners, among them several American survivors of the disaster.

The sailors from the steamship Wayfarer, which was recently torpedoed but was able to make port, came next, and behind them the members of the Corporation of Cork, headed by the Lord Mayor. A company of marines followed and then came sailors of the various British ships in harbor. The British officers, numbering a hundred odd, marched erect but slow. Next in line were captains Miller and Castle, Attachés of the American Embassy in London. Both were dressed in khaki uniforms. A party of British naval officers and Admiral Sir Charles Coke, of Queenstown, followed them. The Most Reverend Robert Browne, Bishop of Cloyne, rode in a carriage.

The procession was a full hour in passing into the cemetery. There soldiers guarded the walls as six other soldier pallbearers lifted the coffins from the hearses and set them beside the graves. The three coffins rested beside separate graves. The other eighty-nine had previously been placed in three great pits—sixty-five in one, in layers two deep, and twelve each in the other two. Conducted by Bishop Browne, the Catholic service was held first, the choir boys bearing incense, appearing from a cluster of elms and coming to the graveside. The Church of Ireland service, that is, the Protestant Episcopal, followed, and finally the non-conformist rites were performed. As the last words of this service were spoken the muffled drums rolled and the familiar hymn, "Abide with Me," swelled forth. Sailors who had replaced the soldier pallbearers then lowered the coffins into the small graves, and simultaneously the earth began to thud on the coffins in all the graves. The crowd, nearly all with eyes wet, slowly left, some to take jaunting cars, but most of them to trudge across the fields of the city. As they reached the crest of the hill immediately above the harbor flashed into view and in it the flag of every vessel fluttered at half mast.

Many children and little babies lie in the morgues like so many dolls. The townspeople covered them with flowers yesterday and it is probable these little ones will be placed in a grave together.