Transcriber’s Note

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MAP SHEWING INCIDENTS, DETAILS OF WHICH ARE GIVEN IN THE TEXT.

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A MERCHANT
FLEET AT WAR

“Aquitania” leading the Transports

A MERCHANT
FLEET AT WAR

By
ARCHIBALD HURD

Author of “The British Fleet in the
Great War,” “Command of the Sea,”
“Sea-Power,” etc. etc.

CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
1920

All rights reserved

Over the warring waters, beneath the wandering skies,

The heart of Britain roameth, the Chivalry of the sea,

Where Spring never bringeth a flower, nor bird singeth in a tree,

Far, afar, O beloved, beyond the sight of our eyes,

Over the warring waters, beneath the stormy skies.

Robert Bridges.

PREFACE

During a war, which was at last to draw into its vortex practically the whole human race—the issue depending, first and foremost, on sea power—there was little time or opportunity or, indeed, inclination on the part of British seamen to keep a record of their varied activities. The very nature of many of the incidents recorded in the following pages precluded the preparation of detailed reports at the time. Nor can we forget that many of the officers and men, to whose resource, courage, and devotion this volume bears testimony, have joined the great silent army of the dead to whose exploits the freedom of conscience of every man and woman in the British Empire, as well as their state of material comfort, bear witness.

This book has been written under not a few difficulties, and it owes whatever merit it possesses to many individuals—captains, officers, engineers, pursers and other ministers to British sea-power—who have assisted in its preparation, whether by recounting incidents in which they took part, by placing written records at my disposal, or by lending photographs from which the illustrations have been prepared. I would especially emphasise that the illustrations have been made from photographs of all sorts and shapes, taken by all kinds of cameras, though for the most part of pocket size. Many of the pictures were snapped under dull and forbidding skies, and some were secured in the very presence of the enemy in mad pursuit of his piratical policy. Some of these pictures were soaked with sea water, and other were recovered from destruction at the last moment. The value of the illustrations lies not so much in their perfection as in the knowledge that they were taken “on active service.”

Finally a word should be said, perhaps, of another difficulty which confronts any one who endeavours to tell the story of what merchant sailors did during the Great War. These men dislike publicity and their modesty disarms the inquisitor. Like their comrades of the Royal Navy, they are content if they can feel that they have done their duty. They would leave it at that. But were silence to be maintained, later generations would be robbed, for the progress of humanity depends, in no small measure, on the manner in which the memory of great deeds is preserved, and handed down from age to age. No man can live unto himself.

The story of the contribution which British seamen have made to the happiness and well being of the world can never be half told, and these pages form merely a footnote to one of the most glorious epics in human annals. They go forth in the hope that they may help to perpetuate those sterling virtues which find increasing expression in the British race throughout the world. James Anthony Froude once declared that all that this country has achieved in the course of three centuries has been due to her predominance as an ocean power. “Take away her merchant fleets; take away the navy that guards them; her empire will come to an end; her colonies will fall off like leaves from a withered tree; and Britain will become once more an insignificant island in the North sea.” So I hope this book may be regarded not merely as a footnote to history, but may remind all and sundry of the priceless heritage which our seamen of all classes and degrees have left in our keeping.

ARCHIBALD HURD.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

FOREWORD

There was never a time in our history when the value of the Mercantile Marine to our national life was as apparent as it is to-day. After passing through the crucible of war, we are what we are, mainly, because we are the possessors of ships.

When the Great War came, we possessed only a small, though highly trained, Army, and the guns of our Navy extended little further than high-water mark. How could we, a community of islanders, in partnership with other islanders living in Dominions thousands of miles away, hope to make our strength felt on the battlefields of the Continent of Europe, where the military Powers were mobilising conscript armies counted not by thousands, but by millions? The original Expeditionary Force, as finely tempered a fighting instrument as ever existed, was at once thrown across the Channel in merchant ships and it held in check the victorious army of Germany, saving by a miracle, the Channel ports; then, having mobilised on the eve of the declaration of war, the Royal Navy, the great protective force of the British peoples, we mobilised also the Merchant Navy, their essential sustaining force, bridged the oceans of the world, and concentrated on the conflict the enormous and varied powers of the 400,000,000 inhabitants of the Commonwealth. In Belgium and France as in the Pacific, in Gallipoli as in Eastern Africa, in Salonica as in Mesopotamia, and in Italy as in Palestine, British troops were soon confronting the forces of the Central Alliance; every ocean was dominated by British men-of-war. The enemies had the advantage of interior military lines, but by the aid of ships—carrying troops, munitions, and stores—we gradually forged a hoop of steel round them and slowly but irresistibly drew it tighter and tighter until, their economic power having been strangled by sea power, their naval and military power was weakened and they were compelled to sue for peace. If it had not been for our ships—ships of commerce drawing strength from the seas, and ships of war, efficiently policing those seas—the Allies could not by any possibility have won the Great War and Germans would to-day be the dominant race, not only in Europe, but in both hemispheres.

It is a common error to think of sea power in terms only of battleships, cruisers, destroyers and submarines. The secret of the spread of Anglo-Saxon civilisation, with its ideals of fair play, tolerance and personal liberty, its hatred of tyranny and love of justice, is not to be found as much in these emblems of organised violence as in merchant ships. Out of our island State the Merchant Fleet, a purely individualistic institution, developed by the compulsion of geographical necessities; the British people could not exist without ships even in days when their numbers were small and the standard of living was relatively low. The population has trebled in the last hundred years and the level of comfort of all classes has risen, and to-day the very existence of the 45,000,000 people of the British Isles, as well as their commercial and social relations with the other sections of the Empire, depends on the sufficiency and efficiency of the Mercantile Marine.

We possessed a trading Navy, with fine traditions of peace and war, long before we had a Fighting Navy. The owners of merchant ships for many centuries defended this country from raids and invasions, just as it was the early merchant-adventurers who laid the foundations of the Empire. Thus as far back as the reign of Athelstan, we find this Saxon king granting a Thaneship—or, as one might say, a knighthood—to every merchant who had been three voyages of length in his own trading vessel. It was largely with the ships of merchant owners that in 1212 the English, by raiding France, prevented a French invasion, and that in 1340 one of the greatest British naval victories was won over vastly superior forces at the battle of Sluys. And though, by the time of the Armada, merchant ships were but as it were the core of the fleets that fought and destroyed the threatened world domination of Spain, they played an exceedingly important part in that epoch-making struggle, which marked the emergence of this Island as a world power. Similarly the Indian Empire, the early American Colonies, and many other British Possessions all over the world, were founded by merchant shipping enterprise alone. From time immemorial, the British merchantman has carried the flag to the outermost parts of the world and thus helped to maintain its prestige.

The Mercantile Marine and Navy have always been so closely knit that it is often difficult to separate their histories. The Mercantile Marine was in reality, as has been said, the parent of the latter. As the State grew, and civilisation became more complex, a process of separation between the ships of commerce and the ships of war was inevitable, and the Navy became more and more a distinct Royal Service. The increasing difficulties of the problems of defence, armament, and so on, led to a process of specialisation, and could only be adequately studied and the Empire’s growing needs supplied by a State Department. On the other hand, the Mercantile Marine remained, and still remains, individualistic, each merchant ship-owner, or company of ship-owners, building the sort of vessel best adapted to the particular enterprise in hand. Thus we have sailing from our ports, ships of all descriptions, ocean-going liners carrying passengers, cargoes and mails, as well as tramps, colliers, cold-storage vessels, and an infinity of other types.

But while this process of separation, or specialisation, has been both inevitable and fruitful, the Mercantile Marine has, in every war, been called upon by the Navy to provide transports, auxiliary cruisers, hospital and munition ships, and, in the recent Great War, minesweepers, submarine chasers, ‘Q’ ships, and many other equally vital subsidiaries. Similarly, in the personnel of the Mercantile Marine, the Navy has always had a powerful reserve, not only of experienced sailors, but of actual navally-trained officers and men. Without these, it is safe to say that the Navy could never have undertaken, or accomplished, those vast and world-wide, and many of them unforeseeable, tasks, so magnificently and successfully carried out; and it is equally true that but for the Mercantile Marine, the armies of the whole Alliance would have been paralysed.

In no history, however long and laboriously compiled, would it be possible to do full justice to the war-work of the British Mercantile Marine, but the present volume supplies, at any rate, an index to the scope and value of what it performed. In the re-action of one unit, of one old, honourable, and successful merchant shipping Company to the demands of the world war, it is perhaps possible to realise more clearly than by making a wider sweep of research, the amazing accomplishments of the whole; and where all rose, with magnificent unity, to heights of service never surpassed in our annals, none excelled either in the prescience or organizing ability of its directors, in the courage and resource of its captains and crews, or in the loyalty and ingenuity of its skilled and unskilled employees, the record of the Cunard Steamship Company.

A MERCHANT
FLEET AT WAR

CHAPTER I
Mobilisation

Oh hear! Oh hear!

Across the sullen tide,

Across the echoing dome horizon-wide,

What pulse of fear

Beats with tremendous boom?

What call of instant doom,

With thunder-stroke of terror and of pride,

With urgency that may not be denied,

Reverberates upon the heart’s own drum

Come! ... Come! ... for thou must come!

Henry Newbolt.

In order to obtain the truest conception of what the Cunard Company stood for in 1914, it will be well not only to consider very briefly its first origin and steady growth, but to refresh our memories by recalling one or two of the tidemarks of ocean-going navigation. Thus it was in 1802, in the year, that is to say, following Nelson’s great victory at Copenhagen, in the year of the Peace of Amiens, and three years before the Battle of Trafalgar, that the first successful, practical steamer was launched. This was the Charlotte Dundas, built by William Symington on the Forth and Clyde Canal, and fitted with an engine constructed by Watt, which drove a stern wheel. This vessel proved to be an inspiration to Robert Fulton, who in 1807 built the Clermont at New York, a wooden steamer 133 feet long, engined by Bolton and Watt. In the autumn of that year, this vessel made a trip from New York to Albany, a distance of 130 miles in 32 hours, returning in 30 hours, and thenceforward maintained the first continuous long distance service performed by any steam vessel. Five years later Bell’s famous steamer, the Comet, began the earliest, regular steamer passenger service in Europe.

In 1814 the Marjory, the first steamer to run regularly on the River Thames, began her career; but it was not until 1819 that the Savannah, a wooden sailing ship of American construction, but fitted with engines and a set of paddles amidships, crossed the Atlantic, arriving at Liverpool after 29½ days. In the following year the Condé de Palmella was the first engined ship to sail across the Atlantic from east to west, namely from Liverpool to the Brazils.

“Aquitania” at Southampton with Canadian troops

These were but tentative experiments, however, and the Transatlantic Steamship Service, as we see it to-day, did not really begin till the year 1838, when the steamers Sirius and Great Western sailed within a few days of each other from London and Bristol respectively. Both ships crossed without mishap, the Sirius in 17 days, and the Great Western in 15. In the same year, the Royal William and the Liverpool crossed from Liverpool to New York in 19 days and 16½ days respectively.

It was now clear that a new era in transatlantic navigation had dawned, and the Admiralty, who were then responsible for the arrangement of overseas postal contracts, and had hitherto been satisfied to entrust the carrying of mails to sailing vessels, invited tenders for the future conveyance of letters to America by steam vessels. One of their advertisements, as it happened, came into the hands of Mr. Samuel Cunard; he was the son of an American citizen of Philadelphia, who had settled in Halifax, Nova Scotia, in which city he had been born in 1787. For some time the idea of developing a regular service of steamers between America and England had been simmering in Mr. Cunard’s brain. He was already in his 50th year, a successful merchant and ship owner; and he now resolved to visit England with the intention, if possible, of raising sufficient capital to put his ideas into practice. Armed with an introduction to Mr. Robert Napier, a well-known Clyde shipbuilder and engineer, he went to Glasgow, after having received but little sympathy in London. Through Mr. Napier he became acquainted with Mr. George Burns, a fellow Scotsman of great ability and long practical experience as a ship-owner, and through him with Mr. David McIver, also a Scotsman of sagacity and enterprise, then living at Liverpool. Between the three of them the necessary capital was obtained, and Mr. Cunard was able to submit to the Admiralty a tender for the conveyance of mails once a fortnight between Liverpool, Halifax, and Boston, U.S.A. His tender was considered so much better than that offered by the owners of the Great Western that it was accepted, and a contract for seven years was concluded between the Government and the newly formed British and North American Royal Mail Steam Packet Company, as it was then called.

“Aquitania” escorted by Destroyers

Such was the beginning of the Cunard Company in the shape of four wooden paddle-wheel steam vessels, built on the Clyde, the Britannia, Acadia, Caledonia, and Columbia; and its history from then until 1914 was one of steady and enterprising, cautious and daring, development. This is not the place to linger in detail over the technical strides made since 1840 by the Cunard Company’s directors, but one or two of the more important milestones should perhaps be noted. In the year 1804, John Stevens in America had successfully experimented with the screw-propeller, and in 1820, at the Horsley Iron Works, at Tipton in Staffordshire, Mr. Aaron Manby had designed and built the first iron steamer. It had always been the policy of the Cunard Company to keep in touch with every new marine experiment, but at the same time it had been their wise habit, both from the commercial point of view and that of the safety of their passengers and crews, to move circumspectly in the adoption of new devices. It was not, therefore, until 1852 that the first four iron screw steamships were added to their fleet, namely the Australian, Sydney, Andes, and Alps, four vessels that were also the first belonging to the Company to be fitted with accommodation for emigrants. For the next ten years, however, it was found that passengers still preferred the old paddle-wheel system, and side by side with their iron screw steamers, the Company continued to build these until, in 1862, the Scotia proved to be the last of a dying type. Meanwhile, in 1854, the Government was to realise another side of the value to the nation of the Cunard Company. During the Crimean War, in response to a strong Government appeal, the Company immediately placed at the Admiralty’s disposal, six of their best steamers, the Cambria, Niagara, Europa, Arabia, Andes, and Alps; later adding to these their two most recent acquisitions, the Jura and Etna. Throughout the campaign these eight vessels were continuously employed upon various important missions, supplying the needs of the military forces.

Embarkation: “Are we downhearted?”

Transport in Southampton Water: Colonials’ first view of “Blighty”

Perhaps the next most important era began with the invention in 1869 of compound engines, and in 1870 the Batavia and Parthia were fitted with these, and proved extremely successful, maintaining good speeds, with a reduced consumption of fuel. The Company was now sailing one vessel under contract with the General Post Office every week from Liverpool to New York, calling at Queenstown, and from New York to Liverpool, also calling at the South Irish port, and receiving a certain subsidy for so doing. They were also maintaining services between Liverpool and the principal ports in the Mediterranean, Adriatic, Levant, Bosphorus, and Black Sea, and between Liverpool and Havre. In 1881 the first steel vessel, the Servia, was built for the Cunard Company. This was the most powerful as well as the largest ship, with the exception of the famous Great Eastern, that the world had then seen. She was followed in 1884 by the Etruria and Umbria, the former of which in August, 1885, set up the record for speed from Queenstown to New York, the journey being accomplished in 6 days 6 hours and 36 minutes. In the meantime, research work, in the construction of marine engines had been continued, and Dr. Price had invented the triple expansion engine, which effected further considerable economies in the consumption of fuel; and these were fitted by the Cunard Company into the two great twin-screw vessels, the Campania and Lucania, built in 1893. With the Campania we shall deal again, as she performed valuable services in the late war, and it is interesting to note that it was on board the Lucania in 1901 that Mr. Marconi carried out certain important experiments in wireless telegraphy, this vessel being the first, under the Cunard management, to be fitted with a wireless installation.

Through all these years the Cunard Company had of course been submitted to very great competition in the transatlantic trade, not only by British lines, but by American and Continental shipping companies also; and in the year 1900 with the Deutschland and in 1902 with the Kaiser Wilhelm II, what has been called the “blue ribbon” of the Atlantic passed to Germany, these vessels having an average speed of 23½ knots. It was then decided that the supremacy in this respect, should, if possible, be regained by Great Britain, and, with Government help, and in return for certain definite prospective services if required, the Cunard Company laid down the Lusitania and the Mauretania. In 1907, these vessels making use of Sir Charles Parsons’ turbine engines, were put into service and soon afterwards attained a speed of over 26 knots, and the mastery, in respect of speed, of the Atlantic.

Canadian troops on “Caronia,” being addressed by their commander

Enormous as were the proportions, however, of these huge vessels, they were yet to be eclipsed by the Cunard Company’s later and most recent giant, the Aquitania, a vessel that might more fitly be described as a floating city of palaces, libraries, art galleries, and swimming baths, than the steamship child of the little Britannia of 1840. Let us for a moment compare them, remembering that only the ordinary span of a human life-time intervened between them. The Britannia was 200 feet long, a wooden paddle-wheel steamer of 1,154 tons, 740 horse-power, and a speed of 8½ knots. The Aquitania is 902 feet long, of 46,000 tons, with quadruple screws driven by turbine engines of a designed shaft of 60,000 horse-power, maintaining a speed of 24 knots. With her Louis XVIth staircase, her garden Lounge, her Adams drawing-room, her frescoes, her Palladian lounge, her Carolean smoking-room, and her Pompeian swimming bath, she can carry in the comfort of a first-class hotel more than 3,200 passengers, together with a crew of over 1,000.

Such then has been what one may best call, perhaps, the technical advance of the Cunard Company, and in 1914, at the commencement of hostilities, it had in commission 26 vessels, apart from tugs, lighters, and other subsidiaries. Of these, since we shall presently deal with their individual adventures, the following list may be found convenient:

[A] This vessel was sold for breaking up a few weeks prior to the outbreak of war. Her career as a warship is referred to in these pages.

The “Campania” sinking in the Firth of Forth

From this it will be seen that the total tonnage possessed by the Cunard Company in 1914 was considerably over 300,000, and the Company was operating services not only between the United Kingdom and the United States of America and Canada, but also between the United States of America and the Mediterranean, as well as from Liverpool and other British ports to the Mediterranean and France.

CHAPTER II
Combatant Cunarders

Sleep on, O Drake, sleep well,

In days not wholly dire!

Grenville, whom nought could quell,

Unquenched is still thy fire.

And thou that hadst no peer,

Nelson, thou needst not fear!

Thy sons and heirs are here,

And shall not shame their sire.

William Watson.

With the war now over, and after five years, during which the public mind has been accustomed to emergency arrangements of all sorts, nothing is more difficult than to reconstruct the enormous and unprecedented activities that were called so suddenly into being in the first war weeks of 1914; and in these the Cunard Company had a typical and vitally important part to play. Of the number of navigating officers in their employment, namely 163, no fewer than 139 were in the Royal Naval Reserve, and as such were immediately mobilised, being instructed to report themselves for naval duty upon their arrival in a British port; and by the end of the year 131 of these officers had actually done so. Nor was this the least of the problems that the Company had to face, in that, at a time when not only every reliable officer and man was worth his weight in gold to them, so large a proportion of their best and most highly trained servants had thus to be yielded up to the senior service.

“Mauretania” escorted by Destroyers

In the latest agreement arrived at with the Government in 1903, the whole of the Cunard Fleet was, in time of war, to be placed at its disposal, and there was considerable uncertainty at first as to the various purposes to which the ships might be allocated. In the present chapter we shall confine ourselves to dealing with those of the Cunard vessels that were commandeered by the Admiralty for strictly combatant purposes, of which the more important were the Aquitania, Caronia, Laconia, Campania, and Carmania; and since the Campania had only just passed from Cunard control, it may be well, perhaps, in view of her distinguished and lengthy service under the Company’s flag to deal with her first. She became a seaplane carrier; after having at first however, taken a large share in repatriating Americans stranded in the British Isles owing to the exigencies of war. Her after funnel was removed and a smaller one put abreast of the forward funnel; and this alteration, together with the dazzle paint with which she was at a later date covered, rendered her almost unrecognisable even to the old Cunarders who had been familiar with her for many years. Throughout the war she was fortunate in escaping injury both from enemy gunfire and submarine attack, and her honourable career only came to an end at the conclusion of the armistice, when she was accidentally sunk in collision with H.M.S. Revenge in the Firth of Forth.

Turning now to the other vessels, the Aquitania and Caronia, these were fully dismantled and fitted out as armed cruisers in the first days of August, 1915. This, of course, meant the ruthless stripping out of all their luxurious fittings and those splendid appointments to which reference has been made in the last chapter; and for all these articles storage had to be found on shore at the shortest notice. Some idea of the work involved in this conversion can best be gathered perhaps, by realising that no less than 5,000 men were employed upon this herculean task, and that more than 2,000 waggon loads of fittings were taken ashore from these two liners. While these two ships were thus being fitted, yet a third, the Carmania, arrived in port to be similarly transformed; and a brief account of what took place on board this famous vessel may be taken, perhaps, as typical of what occurred in all three.

The “Carmania’s” starboard forward guns

Rope protection on “Carmania” against shell splinters

Arriving at Liverpool landing stage at 8 o’clock in the morning of August 7th, 1914, she was almost immediately boarded by Captain Noel Grant, R.N. and Lieutenant-Commander E. Lockyer, R.N., who were to be respectively her Captain and First Lieutenant under the new conditions. At that moment she looked about as unlike a man-of-war as she could well have done. From half a dozen gangways, baggage was being landed at express speed, while first and second class passengers were also going ashore from the overhead gantries. Owing to the fact that there were known to be Germans amongst the passengers on board, a considerable number of police and custom officials were present upon the vessel; and this necessitated the detention of a large number of third-class passengers, who had to be carefully scrutinised and sorted out.

While all this was going on arrangements for the new equipment and personnel of the vessel were already being discussed, and the proportions of Cunarders and Naval ratings for the Carmania’s future war service being determined. It was decided that the engine staff was to be Cunard, the men being specially enrolled for a period of six months in the Royal Naval Reserve, while the Commander of the ship, Captain J. C. Barr, was to remain on board as navigator and adviser to Captain Grant, with the temporary rank of Commander R.N.R. The Chief Officer, Lieutenant Murchie, with certain other officers, also remained on board, Lieutenant Murchie, owing to his special knowledge of the ship, ranking next to Lieutenant-Commander Lockyer for general working purposes. The ship’s surgeon, her chief steward and about 50 of the Cunard ratings for cooks, waiters, and officers’ servants, were also retained, as well as the carpenter, who was kept on board as Chief Petty Officer and given six mates, the cooper, blacksmith, plumber, and painter, being also retained with the same rank.

Life on a transport (i): Kit inspection

Life on a transport (ii): Rifle drill

Leaving the stage about noon, the Carmania was immediately docked at Sandon, where after some further delay the third-class passengers were landed. Owing to the fact that the Caronia was already in the Carmania’s proper berth, being fitted out as an armed cruiser, and that both she and the Aquitania were already well on the way to completion for their new task, the Carmania could for the moment neither discharge her cargo nor bunker owing to the shortage of labour. As many painters, however, as could be assembled began at once to alter her hull and funnels, blackening out her well-known red and black tops, while a gang of shipwrights started to cut out the bulwarks fore and aft on the ‘B’ deck, in order to allow of the training to suitable angles of the guns that were to be placed in position there. Other Cunard stewards and joiners also concentrated at once upon the task of clearing out passenger accommodation from the vessel. During Saturday and Sunday the Carmania remained in the basin, and it was on this day that her future midshipmen turned up, and had to be provided with accommodation in the midst of the existing confusion. On Monday she was able to get an empty berth, where she began at once to discharge her cargo, and to bunker at express speed. Armoured plates were now being put in position upon all her most vulnerable parts, and these were also being re-inforced with coal and bags of sand by way of extra protection. All the woodwork in the passengers’ quarters was being taken away; two of her holds were being fitted with platforms and magazines were being built on them; while means for flooding were also being installed, speaking-tubes fitted in the aft steering gear room, control telephones being run up, and her eight guns placed in position.

These were all of 4.7 inch calibre and with a range of about 9,300 yards. In addition a 6 ft. Barr and Stroud range-finder was being fitted, together with two semaphores. Two searchlights were being mounted on slightly raised platforms on the bridge ends, while two ordinary lifeboats and eighteen Maclean collapsible boats were retained for war purposes. By Wednesday all the coal was in, all the bunkers being full, and the protection coal was in place. At 5 o’clock the next morning, the Naval ratings in charge of Lieutenant-Commander O’Neil, R.N.R., arrived from Portsmouth, most of them being R.N.R. men, but a good many belonging to the Royal Fleet Reserve, while the Marines on board were drawn in equal proportions from the Royal Marine Artillery, and the Royal Marine Light Infantry. The able seamen were for the most part Scotch fishermen of the finest type.

The “Carmania” ready for action

On the same day messing, watch, and sleeping arrangements were made, ammunition was taken aboard and stored in the magazines, together with a limited number of small arms, in addition to the marines’ rifles: and so unremitting had been the work of all engaged, and so efficient the organisation evoked by the crisis, that the Carmania was actually at sea as a fully equipped armed cruiser by Friday, August 14th, only a week after she had entered port as an ordinary first-class Atlantic liner. With her later adventures we shall deal in a moment, but before doing so let us follow the adventures of the other three vessels that were converted into armed cruisers.

The Aquitania, fitted with 6-inch guns, sailed on August 8th, but unfortunately was damaged in collision and on returning to port was dismantled at the end of September. From May to August, 1915, she was employed in carrying troops, when she was fitted out as a Hospital Ship, in which capacity she continued to work until April of the following year. She was again requisitioned as a Hospital Ship in September, 1916, plying between England and the Mediterranean until Christmas. She was then laid up by the Government for the whole of 1917, and in March, 1918, was again put into commission by the Admiralty as a transport, and played an important part in bringing American troops to Europe at that critical time.

The Caronia had a somewhat longer career as an armed cruiser. She was commissioned on 8th August, 1914, by Captain Shirley-Litchfield, R.N., with Captain C. A. Smith, Cunard Line, as navigator. She sailed from Liverpool on August 10th, for patrol duties in the North Atlantic, being attached to the North American and West Indies Station, under the command of Rear-Admiral Phipps-Hornby, with Halifax (N.S.) as base.

She was employed on the usual patrol duties, stopping, boarding and examining shipping. In the very early days of the war, she captured at sea and towed into Berehaven the four-masted barque Odessa, and, some little time after, she took over from a warship and towed to Halifax a six thousand ton oil tanker.

Eight 4.7-in. quick-firing guns were originally mounted in the Caronia, but, on her return to England for refit in May, 1915, they were replaced by a similar number of six-inch.

She was at sea again in July, 1915, for another commission on the same station, with Captain Reginald A. Norton, R.N., in command, and Captain Henry McConkey, Cunard Line, as navigator. She remained away until August, 1916, when she returned to this country to pay off.

The Caronia was then employed in trooping between South and East Africa and India until her return to the Company’s service.

During the whole of this time, she was manned chiefly by mercantile marine ratings, enrolled for temporary service in the R.N.R. for the duration of hostilities.

The Laconia, for the first two years of the war was also used as an armed cruiser, seeing special service on the German East African Coast, and taking part in the operations which ended in the destruction of the German cruiser Konigsberg in the Rufigi River. She was then taken out of commission, and returned to the Company’s transatlantic service. She was finally sunk by a German submarine on the 25th February, 1917, American lives being lost aboard her. There is no doubt that this was the “overt act” that helped to confirm the decision of America to enter the war on the side of the Allies.

It is safe to say that all these vessels maintained in their new naval roles, not only the best traditions of the Cunard Company itself, but those of the Mercantile Marine of which they had once been so distinguished a part, and the British Navy of which they became not the least useful and honourable units. To the Carmania, indeed, fell the singular honour of being the only British armed auxiliary cruiser to sink a German war vessel in single armed combat; and the five years war at sea produced few more kindling and romantic stories than that of her duel with the Cap Trafalgar in September, 1914, near Trinidad Island in the South Atlantic.

South African Infantry on board the “Laconia”

Leaving the Mersey, as we have seen, on Saturday, August 15th, she first went up the Irish Channel examining merchant vessels, on her way to the Halifax trade route; where she was to carry out her first patrol duties. Having kept this track, however, for twenty-four hours without adventure, she received orders to sail for Bermuda, and on her way there seized the opportunity of dropping a target and carrying out some practice, firing which not only proved that her gun-layers were exceptionally skilful, but which gave all on board considerably greater confidence in the ship as a fighting unit. On the evening of August 22nd, she sighted the searchlights off St. George, Bermuda, and early next morning performed the difficult task of navigating a channel that no vessel of anything like her great size had ever before been through. Here for the next five days she coaled, while officers and men were able to obtain certain articles in the way of tropical clothing, that they had not had time to procure at Liverpool.

On August 29th she left the Bermudas, and on September 2nd passed through the Bocas del Dragos, at the mouth of the Gulf of Paria. Here, amidst scenery new and entrancing to many on board, she approached the Port of Spain, whence after a couple of days’ coaling, she left to join Admiral Cradock’s ill-fated squadron, which was then searching the coast of Venezuela, and the mouths of its rivers, for the German cruisers Dresden and Karlsruhe. To this squadron she became attached about a week later, and soon received orders to investigate Trinidad Island in the South Atlantic. On September 11th, however, while on her way there, she received orders to try and intercept, in conjunction with the cruiser Cornwall, the German collier Patagonia, which was supposed to be leaving Pernambuco that night; but she was not found, and, as a matter of fact, did not sail for another three days, when she succeeded, in the absence of the Cornwall, in getting away. Before this, however, the Carmania had received orders to continue on her original mission, namely the examination of Trinidad Island, and she accordingly headed down for it. This is a small and lonely piece of land, about 500 miles distant from the South American coast, rising to a height of some 2,000 feet, and being only some 3 miles long by 1½ miles broad, but with a good anchorage on its south-west side. Though often sighted by sailing vessels homeward bound from Cape Horn, this island was well out of reach of any ordinary steamer, and was thus an extremely likely place for an enemy vessel desiring to coal in a convenient and unobserved position. Moreover, although both Great Britain and Brazil had at various times attempted to form small settlements there for the purpose of cultivating the castor oil plant indigenous to the island, these attempts had never been successful, and the island was uninhabited.

The “Caronia” leaving Durban

It was at nine in the morning of Monday, September 14th that the Carmania sighted the island ahead; and soon after 11 a.m. a large vessel was made out, lying on the island’s westward side. It was a bright clear day, with a gentle north-easterly breeze blowing, and the mast of the unknown vessel showed distinctly above the horizon, two funnels becoming visible a little while later. It was at once concluded that she must be an enemy, since it was known that there were no British war vessels in the neighbourhood, and that no British merchant vessel was at all likely to be here. Her exact identity, however, remained a problem that was not to be solved, as it happened, until several days afterwards. The only enemy vessels that might possibly be in the neighbourhood according to the knowledge of those on board the Carmania, were the Karlsruhe, with four funnels, the Dresden with three funnels, the Kron Prinz Wilhelm with four funnels, and the Konig Wilhelm, an armed merchant cruiser which had one funnel. Even had the funnels been altered it could not have been any of these, since the outlines of all these vessels were known to one and another of the experienced and widely travelled observers on board the Carmania, and this uncertainty added to the excitement of a peculiarly thrilling occasion. The sudden pouring out of smoke from the strange vessel’s funnels showed at once that the Carmania had been sighted and that the enemy was getting up steam, while the position of the island added further to the thrilling possibilities of the situation.

H.M.S “Mersey” alongside the “Laconia,” off the Rufigi River

It was true that there were no other vessels in sight, but the Carmania had approached so as to head for the middle of the island, in order that any observer who might be on the look out should be unable to tell on which side the armed cruiser meant to pass. This meant, however, that the greater part of the island’s lee side was out of sight, and behind its shelter other enemy vessels such as the Karlsruhe or Dresden, might well be lying in wait—the visible vessel merely acting as a decoy to the approaching Britisher. That other ships were indeed present, became manifest almost at once, as a smaller steamer, a cargo vessel, as it appeared, of about 1,800 tons, was now seen backing away from behind the enemy ship. This vessel at once began steaming away to the south-east, probably in order to discover whether or no the Carmania was accompanied by consorts at present hidden by the land. There were also to add to the anxiety of the Carmania’s commanding officer, two more masts appearing above the side of the unidentified ship that obviously belonged to a vessel still out of sight. Fortunately, however, this proved to be only another small cargo boat, who very soon detached herself and steamed away to the north-west.

This left them up to the present only the one big vessel as an opponent, a vessel of some 18,500 tons, and an armed cruiser like the Carmania. It promised, therefore, as regards numbers at least, to be an equal fight, and in preparation for it dinner was ordered for all hands that could be excused duty, for the hour of 11.30, in accordance with the old naval principle—food before fighting. Meanwhile every endeavour was being made to identify the mysterious enemy, and the conclusion arrived at was that she must be the Berlin, a German vessel of 17 knots. She was, as a matter of fact, although those on the Carmania were not to learn this for several days, the Cap Trafalgar, the latest and finest ship of the Hamburg South American Line—a vessel of 18 knots that had as yet only made one voyage. She had been built with three funnels, one of them being a dummy one used only for ventilation, and this had been done away with, reducing the number to two. She had been in Buenos Aires when war broke out, and had left that port, as it chanced on the very day that the Carmania had sailed from Liverpool, her destination being unknown and her cargo one of coal.

Torpedoing of the “Ivernia”

The Carmania had by this time gone to “General Quarters,” and all on board were ready for the encounter. The largest ensigns floated both from the flagstaff aft and the mastheads, and the Cap Trafalgar now ran up the white flag with the black cross of the German Navy. It was still, however, not quite certain that the enemy was armed, and it was therefore necessary that the usual formalities should be attended to. Well within range, Captain Grant ordered Lieutenant Murchie to fire a shot across her bow, and the shell, very skilfully aimed, dropped about 50 yards ahead of this. The reply was immediate, the enemy firing two shells which only just cleared the Carmania’s bridge, and dropped into the water about 50 yards upon her starboard side.

The fight had now begun in earnest, and the firing on both sides was of a high order, although the first round or two from the Carmania fell short, while those of the Cap Trafalgar erred a little in the opposite direction. Quite soon, however, hits were being made by both sides, and soon one of the Carmania’s gun layers lay dead, his No. 2 dying, and almost the whole of the gun’s crew wounded.

For the first few minutes of the duel, only three of the Carmania’s guns could be brought to bear, but soon by porting a little she was able to bring another gun into action, and some very successful salvoes at once followed. The British gun-layers, firing as coolly as if they had been at practice, were now hitting with nearly every shot, and the vessels were closing one another rapidly, when at about 5,500 yards the new and sinister sound of machine-gun firing began to thread the din of the bursting shells. By this time a well placed enemy shell had carried away the Carmania’s control, so that it was no longer possible for ranges to be given from the bridge to the guns by telephone, and it was evidently the Cap Trafalgar’s intention to disable the bridge entirely, shell after shell hitting its neighbourhood, or only just missing it. It was at once clear to those on board that if the enemy’s machine-gun could now get the range, the guns and ammunition parties on the unprotected decks of the Carmania would be inevitably mown down. The order was therefore given to port, and the Carmania wore away in order to increase the range. This brought the enemy astern and another of the Carmania’s guns into action, and for a brief moment she had five guns bearing upon the Cap Trafalgar. Still porting, however, the guns on that side ceased to fire, and the turn came for the starboard gunners to take their hand. The enemy now also ported, and as she did so, it became clear that she was visibly listing to starboard; she had already been set on fire foreward, but this fire seemed to have been extinguished.

The “Carmania” approaching Trinidad (“Cap Trafalgar” to the right)

One of the “Carmania’s” guns

The Carmania’s gunners, on the soundest principles, were steadily aiming at the Cap Trafalgar’s water line, and there was no doubt that as a result of this policy she was already beginning rapidly to make water. It was by no means, however, the case of the honours resting with one side entirely, and the enemy was constantly registering hits on the Carmania’s masts, ventilators, boats, and derricks, and it is an amazing fact, considering that at one time the range was not more than 1½ miles, that her casualties should have been so few. The Carmania’s gunners were now firing so fast that the paint was blistering off the guns, and at the same time she herself was on fire to an extent that might have proved very serious. The main pipes having been shot away, no water could be got through the hose pipes and brought to play upon this fire, and reliance had therefore to be placed upon water buckets handled under the most difficult conditions of smoke and heat.

It was now evident that the Carmania’s bridge would in a very short time be untenable, and her Captain therefore ordered the control to be changed to the aft steering position, and this was accordingly done, the enemy being kept at about the same bearing. The bridge was now well alight, and the flames were licking upward with increasing ferocity. The port side of the main rigging was hanging in festoons from the only remaining shroud. The wireless gear had been shot away in the first moment of the action. Many of the ventilator cowls were in ribbons, and a large hole yawned in the port side of the aft deck.

Battered as she was, however, it was now clear that the Cap Trafalgar was in a far worse case. She was listing heavily, and her firing, though still rapid, was becoming wild. She was badly on fire, and almost wholly wrapped in smoke. Suddenly she turned abruptly to port and headed back for the island, leaning right over with silent guns, and already beginning to get her boats out.

“Abandon Ship” drill at sea

After the fight

Upon this all the Carmania’s hands, except the gun layers, were employed in trying to extinguish the fire. Bucket gangs were formed, and at last a lead of water was arranged from the ship’s own fire main once more. It was, of course, hopeless now to attempt to save the bridge and the boat deck cabins, but there was still a hope of preventing the fire from spreading, and in order to stop the draught the engines were slowed down. It was a fierce task, and one that demanded every energy on the part of all on board, but it was one in which they were encouraged, as they toiled and sweated, by the sight of their heeling enemy, from whose sides half a dozen boats had already cleared, pulling towards one of her smaller colliers who was standing about 3 miles away.

More and more the big liner fell over until at last her funnels lay upon the water, and then, after a moment’s apparent hesitation, with her bow submerged, she heaved herself upright and sank bodily. It had been a good fight and she had fought honourably to the end and gone down with her ensign flying, and when, as she vanished, the men of the Carmania raised a cheer, it was hardly less for their own victory than as a tribute to the enemy.

By now, thanks to their unremitting exertions, the crew of the Carmania had overcome the fire, but a new danger was already reported and necessitated prompt action on the part of her Commander. Smoke had been reported on the northern horizon, and soon afterwards four funnels appeared, the new comer being undoubtedly another enemy, probably summoned by wireless by the Cap Trafalgar. Crippled as she was, and with nearly a quarter of her guns’ crews and ammunition supply parties either killed or injured, it would have been the sheerest madness for the Carmania to risk another action at that moment, and she accordingly increased her speed, shaping a course to the south-west, and steering by sun and wind, until she could assemble what was left of her shattered navigating gear. Afterwards it was learned that the enemy sighted was the Kron Prinz Wilhelm, who, on learning by wireless of the Cap Trafalgar’s fate, decided that discretion was the better part of valour and did not approach any nearer.

During the night the Carmania succeeded in getting into touch with the cruiser Bristol, with whom she arranged a rendezvous for the next morning, and under whose care, and afterwards that of the Cornwall, she came to anchor near the Abrolhos Rocks at eight o’clock on the morning of the day after. Here, with the aid of the Cornwall’s engineers, the worst of her holes were patched up, and with what navigating gear she could borrow, and in company with the Macedonia, the Carmania set out for Gibraltar at 6 p.m. on September 17th. Well did she deserve, as she did so, the hearty cheers of the Cornwall, and the two accompanying colliers, and those of the old battleship Canopus whom she passed early on the morning of the 19th.

Chart-house and bridge of the “Carmania” after the fight

She arrived at Pernambuco on the same afternoon, leaving there Captain Grant’s despatches for the Admiralty, and reached Gibraltar nine days later. Her re-fitting took several months, but she remained as an armed cruiser until May, 1916, when she was again restored to the Cunard Company’s service. Her casualties in this brilliant action amounted to nine killed or dying of wounds, and four severely and twenty-two slightly wounded. There were no Cunarders among the casualties. Besides other honours conferred upon participants in this fight, his Majesty the King decorated Captain Barr with the well deserved Companionship of the Bath, in recognition of his splendid services in what was to prove a unique action of the war at sea.

Twelve months later, on September 15th, 1919, there was an interesting sequel on board the Carmania, which had then returned to the Cunard Company’s service. A piece of plate which belonged to Lord Nelson, and was with him at Trafalgar, was presented to the ship in commemoration of her very gallant fight. Twenty-four of these pieces of plate came into the possession of the Navy League who asked the Admiralty to allocate them to various ships. The Carmania was the only merchant vessel to receive this honour. In notifying the Company of the presentation, the General Secretary of the Navy League stated that “the Navy League realises that while every unit of the fleet has rendered service in accordance with the best traditions of the Royal Navy, H.M.S. Carmania has been able to render herself conspicuous amongst her gallant comrades, and in accepting this souvenir, the Navy League trusts that you will recognise it as an expression of gratitude to the glorious fleet of which that ship was so distinguished a representative.”

The veteran Admiral, the Hon. E. R. Fremantle who was present, stated that there never was a single ship action which reflected greater credit, both on the R.N. and on the Mercantile Marine, and more especially on the R.N.R. It had very aptly been compared with the fight of the Shannon and the Chesapeake.

“Carmania” sinking “Cap Trafalgar”

Captain Grant was unfortunately unable to be present, but in a letter read at the function he claimed that “this action was the only one throughout the war in which an equal, or as a matter of fact, a slightly inferior vessel annihilated the superior force.... I shall always feel proud of the fact that it was my great good fortune to command a ship in action in which the glorious traditions of the British Navy were upheld by every soul on board.”

Captain Barr, who retired from the Company’s service in 1917, said that the Captain of the Cap Trafalgar put up a very gallant fight. “I do not know his name,” he said, “but he is the only German I would care to meet.”

CHAPTER III
Carrying On

The lofty liners in their pride

Stem every current, every tide:

At anchor in all ports they ride.

The menace of the berg and floe,

The blindness of the fog and snow.

All these the English seamen know.

And still they calmly jog along

By Bay and Cape, an endless throng.

As endless as some dog-watch song.

Morley Roberts.

We have confined ourselves so far to the adventures of the Cunard vessels that were used in the early stages of the war for purely combatant purposes. They were, as has been seen, merely a small, though important, fraction of the whole fleet, and indeed the distinction that we have drawn is a somewhat difficult one to maintain. Thus, from acting, as we have shewn, as purely combatant cruisers, the Aquitania, Caronia, Laconia and Carmania passed to different and even more valuable work; and at the same time many other Cunard vessels were upon the outbreak of war withdrawn from their usual avocation for more or less militant purposes. We find the Mauretania, for example, originally intended for employment as an armed cruiser, converted into a Troopship in 1915, and from this into a Hospital Ship in 1916, while in 1917 she again became a Transport, fitted with 6-in. guns. In all these capacities she did magnificent work, not without imminent risk of destruction, and it was only by the brilliant seamanship of Commander Dow, one of the Cunard Company’s oldest and most trusted skippers, that she escaped being sunk while plying between England and Mudros, in her role of Troopship. Attacked by a submarine, Commander Dow noticed the wake of the approaching torpedo on his starboard bow, and immediately ordering the helm to be flung hard aport the torpedo was missed by not more than 5 feet, the Mauretania’s great speed fortunately thereafter placing her beyond range of the enemy.

The “Laconia” at Durban

Final of the S.A.I. heavy-weight championship on the “Laconia”

The Franconia and Alaunia were also employed in carrying troops from September, 1914, onwards until both of them were sunk, curiously enough within a few days of one another in October, 1916. During this period they carried troops not only from Canada to England, but made several voyages to India and various parts of the Mediterranean. It was while she was on her way from Alexandria to Salonica, though fortunately after she had disembarked 2,700 soldiers, that the Franconia (Captain D. S. Miller), was torpedoed, about 200 miles N.E. of Malta. Twelve of her crew were killed by the explosion. The ship sank fifty minutes after she was hit, the survivors being picked up by H.M. Hospital Ship Dover Castle, whose R.A.M.C. Surgeon, Dr. J. D. Doherty chanced himself to be one of the Cunard Company’s Medical Officers. The Alaunia, again, as it happened, having landed her passengers and mails at Falmouth, after a voyage from New York, was torpedoed on her way to London, about two miles south of the Royal Sovereign Light Vessel. Captain H. M. Benison, in command, hoped to beach the ship, but unfortunately the water gained too rapidly, and the necessary tugs did not arrive in time. Two members of the crew were found to be missing, probably as the result of the explosion, the rest being saved by patrol boats and destroyers and the Alaunia’s own lifeboats.

The Nelson Plate presented to the “Carmania”

The Andania, Ascania, Ivernia, and Saxonia, were all for several months used as prison ships in 1915, each of them providing accommodation for nearly 2,000 German prisoners. They were afterwards employed as Transports, both to India and the Mediterranean, the Ivernia, Ascania and Andania, in the end, all being sunk by enemy submarines. These losses represented a heavy sacrifice by the Company, particularly in view of the post-war needs of navigation.

It was on January 27th, 1918, that the Andania was torpedoed without warning, having sailed the day previously from Liverpool, via the North of Ireland, with 51 passengers and mails. Captain J. Marshall, in command, immediately ordered her boats to be lowered with the result that within a quarter of an hour all the passengers and crew were clear of the ship, except the Captain himself, the Chief, First, Second and Third Officers, who made a special request to the Captain to be allowed to remain on board. The manner in which the boats were thus speedily lowered and filled and navigated to positions of safety was an evolution which reflected favourably on the organisation of the ship. Captain Marshall then made an examination of the ship and called for volunteers from the nearest boat. The response was immediate and unanimous, and the Chief Engineer, Purser, Wireless Operator, and two Stewards, with two Able Seamen at once returned on board with a fine carelessness to their own safety and rendered valuable assistance in getting out hawsers forward and aft. At half-past two, these men were again ordered to leave the vessel, and, with the occupants of the other boats, were picked up by patrols. Captain Marshall himself and his Chief Officer (Mr. Murdoch) boarded a drifter and stood by the Andania until 4 o’clock in the evening, when they again returned on board to make her fast to a tug which had just arrived, still entertaining the hope that it might be possible to save her. Unhappily their efforts were of no avail, the vessel sinking about half-past seven. Seven lives were unfortunately lost, probably as the result of the explosion.

Crew leaving the “Franconia” after she was torpedoed

On the morning of the 28th December, 1916, the Ivernia left Marseilles with a crew of 213, 94 officers and 1,950 troops. Shortly after her departure from Marseilles Captain Turner received orders to proceed 11 miles south of Damietta (Malta), but prior to altering course he received further orders to proceed north of Gozo Island (Malta), where the Ivernia’s escort, H.M.S. Camelia (Destroyer), was relieved by H.M.S. Rifleman (Destroyer). On approaching the Adriatic, Captain Turner was instructed not to pass through the danger zone in daylight. As the Ivernia was proceeding she received a signal from the escort that permission had been requested and granted from the Admiralty at Malta to proceed through the danger zone at daybreak.

There was a fresh breeze which accounted for a heavy swell, the morning sun was shining brightly on the starboard side, when Captain Turner observed the wake of a torpedo approaching his vessel, too late to enable him to do anything to avoid it. The torpedo struck the Ivernia on the starboard side, abreast the funnel, and consequently rendered the engines out of commission, owing to the bursting of the steam pipe, by the explosion. This explosion accounted for the loss of 13 stewards and 9 firemen.

Fortunately, at the time, all troops were mustered on deck and were standing by boat stations. The boats were immediately lowered clear of the water.

The destroyer Rifleman immediately manœuvred for the purpose of locating the submarine, by which time several of the Ivernia’s boats were in the water. At this juncture an unfortunate incident occurred. The destroyer dashed by the port quarter at full speed without having an opportunity of avoiding a collision with the ship’s lifeboat, containing Chief Engineer Wilson and Dr. Parker, among other members of the crew, the boat sinking immediately. Dr. Parker was picked up but died almost immediately from injuries received. Chief Engineer Wilson was not seen.

Two steam trawlers came alongside the Ivernia, after the destroyer had left with 600 survivors on board, which took the remainder of the Military and Crew, which apparently left only Captain Turner and Second Officer Leggett remaining on board. The Second Officer, however, went round the decks and discovered a soldier on the after deck who had sustained a broken thigh. Two soldiers were immediately ordered aboard for the purpose of assisting in strapping a board to the man’s damaged thigh, he being eventually lowered on to one of the trawlers by means of a bowline, where he was placed in charge of the R.A.M.C.

Torpedoing of the “Ausonia”

The Second Officer then went aboard the trawler, later followed by Captain Turner, who first of all made sure that the vessel was sinking.

The trawlers then cruised around among the boats and wreckage picking up survivors.

One of the trawlers unfortunately became disabled owing to the ropes fouling her propellers, which necessitated her being towed by the other.

The trawlers proceeded to Crete, where the survivors were billeted for 14 days, after which time they were taken on board the P. & O. S.S. Kalyan and conveyed to Marseilles, from which port they were sent overland to England.

The Ausonia was another of the fine Cunard vessels which the enemy succeeded in destroying. In February, 1915, she had taken over 2,000 refugees from Belgium to La Pallice, being afterwards employed as a Troopship from February to May, 1916, working to Mediterranean and Indian ports. She was then returned to the Cunard Company’s service, and was sunk on the 30th of May, 1918. Once before, this ship had been struck by a torpedo, off the south coast of Ireland, in June, 1917, while on a voyage from Montreal to Avonmouth. In this case she was fortunately salved, and her valuable cargo of food stuffs safely discharged. On the second occasion, while sailing from Liverpool, she was less fortunate. The Ausonia was some 600 miles west of the Irish coast at 5 p.m. on May 30th, when a torpedo struck her, causing a terrific explosion. As her Commander, Captain R. Capper, afterwards said, he saw rafts, ventilators, ladders, and all kinds of wreckage coming down as if from the sky, falling round the after part of the ship. Captain Capper who, at the moment, was at the entrance of his cabin, at once went to the bridge, put the telegraph to ‘Stop’—‘Full Speed Astern’ but received no reply from the Engine Room. All hands were at once ordered to their boat stations, and the wireless operator tapped out the ship’s position on his auxiliary gear. Ten boats were lowered, and, within a quarter of an hour after the ship was struck, they had safely left her. When about a quarter of a mile astern, Captain Capper mustered them together and called the roll. It was then discovered that eight stewards were missing, having been at tea in a room immediately above the part of the ship struck by the torpedo.

Scene on board after the torpedoing of the “Ivernia” (i)

Half an hour after the vessel was torpedoed, a periscope was sighted on the port bow, and an enemy submarine came to the surface and fired about 40 shells at the ship, some of these dropping within fifty yards of the boats. After the Ausonia had sunk, the submarine approached the boats, and Captain Capper, who was at the oars was ordered to come alongside. Upon the submarine’s deck several of her crew were lounging, laughing and jeering at the shipwrecked survivors. After enquiring as to the Ausonia’s cargo, the submarine commander ordered the boats to steer in a north-easterly direction; in callous disregard of the peril which confronted the Ausonia’s crew the submarine herself then made off northwards.

Captain Capper gave orders to the officers in charge of the boats that they were to keep together, and endeavour to get into the track of convoys, the weather being fine at the time. Until midnight the boats were successful in remaining in each other’s company, but the wind, having risen in the night, two boats, one of them in charge of the first officer, and the other in charge of the boatswain were, on the following morning, not to be seen. Captain Capper had assembled the survivors in seven boats, and he now gave orders to the remaining five that they should make themselves fast together. In this formation, they continued throughout the following day and night, when the ropes began to part. They were also retarding progress and were therefore cast off, the boats, however, still continuing to remain pretty well together.

On Sunday, January 2nd, to add to the misery of their occupants, the weather became bad, heavy rain falling and soaking them all to the skin. On Monday and Tuesday, conditions improved a little, but on Wednesday a storm broke, and by mid-day a heavy sea was running, and a gale blowing from the north-west. The boats were now running before this, with great seas breaking over them and saturating everybody on board. These conditions continued until Friday the 7th, when land was at last sighted, turning out to be Bull Rock. A wise and strict rationing had been enforced, only two biscuits a day and one ounce of water having been allowed for the first two days, and one biscuit and a half and four tablespoons of water the subsequent ration. The crew were approaching the extremities of exhaustion when hope of deliverance was awakened in them. Fortunately, on sighting land, the wind fell a little, but it was another fifteen hours before the unhappy survivors were picked up by H.M.S. Zennia, an American Destroyer also assisting. Captain Capper’s boat had only 25 biscuits left together with half a bucketful of water—but one day’s meagre supply when the terrible ordeal ended. The little boats, it was calculated, had covered 900 miles since the Ausonia disappeared before their eyes. Under these conditions the conduct of the Cunarder’s crew was of the highest order, that of the stewardess, Mrs. Edgar, of Orrell Park, Aintree, the only woman on board the vessel, being particularly courageous.

Scene on board after the torpedoing of the “Ivernia” (ii)

Special mention must also be made of the butcher’s boy, Robinson. At the moment of the explosion, together with the pantry boy, Lister, he was in one of the cooling chambers, and the explosion made it impossible for the two boys to get out. Robinson had several wounds on his hips and thighs, and his left arm was lacerated. Both boys, in addition, had both legs broken above the ankle. Robinson, however, managed to crawl out on both his hands and knees and secure a board and place it across the gaping hole in the deck, thus enabling Lister also to reach a place of comparative safety. The two boys then crawled on hands and knees up two sets of ladders to the boat deck, and were placed in the boats. The doctor attended to the boy Robinson’s injuries, as far as was possible, but it was not for 30 hours that Captain Capper was able to transfer him to the boat in which Lister was lying, so that he also might receive medical aid. In spite of their experiences and injuries, both boys remained calm and cheerful, and indeed in high spirits, but it is sad to record that Robinson subsequently succumbed in hospital, as the result of his injuries.

More, however, to Captain Capper than to any one man, was the salvation of the five boat loads due, and it was in recognition of his dogged determination and splendid seamanship that his Majesty the King afterwards bestowed upon him the Distinguished Service Cross.

The torpedoing of the “Ivernia”: Survivors afloat on raft

The Ultonia, in August, 1914, was the means by which some of the old “Contemptibles” were brought from Malta to England, and she then proceeded to India with Territorial troops. She was subsequently returned to the Company’s Service and was finally sunk in June, 1917. She was at this time eastward bound, and about 350 miles west from Land’s End. She disappeared in ten minutes, so deadly was the blow she received. Fortunately, she was at the time, being escorted by one of the “Q” boats, by whom her crew was picked up and safely landed the next day at Falmouth, one man unfortunately being killed during the operation of leaving the ship. Captain J. Marshall was in command.

Meanwhile, with their ordinary carrying power thus depleted, the Cunard management had been looking about for reinforcements, and had entered into negotiations with certain other lines for additional vessels. Thus they took over from the Canadian Northern Steamship Company (The Royal Line and The Uranium Steamship Company), the Royal George, and three other vessels, which they re-christened respectively the Folia, Feltria, and Flavia. They also purchased five additional vessels which they re-christened the Vinovia, Valeria, Volodia, Valacia, and Vandalia.

Now during the years 1915 and 1916, merchant shipping, apart from those ships especially chartered by the Government, continued under the direction of its various owners. In 1917, however, the Liner Requisitioning Scheme, came into being, and a Shipping Controller was appointed.

Under this scheme all British shipping came under the control of the Government, the object being, in view of the shortage of tonnage caused by the depredations of the submarines, to confine steamers to those trades necessary for providing the Allies with the essential foodstuffs and munitions of war. The greatest percentage of these had, of course, to be obtained from America, and in consequence many steamers which had been trading to other parts of the world, were diverted to the North Atlantic, and placed under the management of the Companies already established on these particular routes. The owners of these transferred steamers were given permission to allot their ships to any of the lines so established, and it came about that the Cunard Company, in addition to their own ships, had the management of a large number of vessels thus diverted. It is estimated, in fact, that the number of additional steamers so handled by the Company, amounted to more than 400. In addition to this, the Company managed several prize steamers captured from the enemy and neutral steamers that had been placed at the disposal of the Allies, and it thus happened that the Cunard management found itself in charge of vessels from the Indian, China, South African, and Australian trades, assembled from the ends of the earth in this vital emergency.

Torpedoing of the “Lusitania”

Some idea of the magnitude of the work thus carried upon the shoulders of the Cunard management may be gathered from the facts that in one year alone not less than 200 sailings were made from American and Canadian ports, and that over 10,000 tons of cargo were often carried in one steamer.

With the entrance of America into the war, the carrying problem became at once more complicated and greater in bulk; and in its solution the Cunard Company may once more justly be said to have played a major part. Let us consider first its work in the carriage of troops. The Cunard organisation was responsible for the transport during the war of over 900,000 officers and men. This excludes the big total repatriated after the Armistice was signed. When it is remembered that this aggregate is greater than the total population of either Liverpool, Manchester or Birmingham; that 900,000 men, marching in column of route in sections of fours would take, without halting, nearly six days to pass a single point, it becomes possible to visualise the immensity of the task represented by these bald figures. When it is further remembered that the total British Expeditionary Force first thrown across the English Channel in August, 1914, was only 80,000; that this was less than one-tenth of the number carried during the war by the Cunard Company; and that the number so carried was equal to not less than one-eighth of the whole British Army at its greatest strength, the nation’s debt to this great Company can be estimated.

Nor was the mere provisioning of these troops while en route a negligible feat of transport. Taking an average voyage as ten days, the food required to feed this number of men amounted to no less than 9,750,000 pounds of meat, 11,250,000 pounds of potatoes, 4,500,000 pounds of vegetables, 9,575,000 loaves of bread, 1,275,000 pounds of jam, 900,000 pounds of tea and coffee, and among other things 900,000 pounds of oatmeal, 600,000 pounds of butter and 127,000 gallons of milk.

The torpedoing of the “Ivernia”: Survivors being taken in one of the boats

Vast as these figures are, however, they are dwarfed when we begin to consider what was accomplished during the five years of war in the way of cargo carrying—in the humdrum performance of an unadvertised and often little appreciated service, upon which, fundamentally, our whole war structure rested. Between August, 1914, and November, 1918, 7,314,000 tons of foodstuffs, munitions of war, and general cargo were carried from America and Canada to the British Isles; over 340,000 tons from the British Isles to Italy and the Adriatic; over 500,000 tons from the British Isles to other Mediterranean Ports; nearly 320,000 tons from this country to France; and nearly 60,000 tons from France to this country. In addition to this, huge quantities were also carried westwards from this country, amounting to a total, in the same period, of more than 1,000,000 tons.

Not the least important service rendered in this way was connected with the supply of oil fuel, of which the stocks in this country were seriously depleted—so seriously that at one time they were insufficient to supply the needs of the Navy for more than a few weeks ahead. In this predicament the Admiralty, realizing the danger, approached Sir Alfred Booth, Chairman of the Cunard Company, and asked him to put the matter before other leading ship-owners. He readily consented to do so, and all owners running ships in the North Atlantic, at once agreed to take the necessary steps to allow of oil being carried in the double bottoms of their ships, the Cunard Company themselves adapting for this purpose the double bottoms of the Andania, Carmania, Carpathia, Pannonia, Saxonia, Valacia, Vandalia, Valeria, and Vinovia, each of which brought on each voyage to this country, about 2,000 tons of oil. The Cunard Company alone, in a little over a year, thus brought over 100,000 tons of oil across the Atlantic.

The “Lusitania”

During all this time, of course, it must be remembered that the Cunard Company, as throughout the war, plied in a zone particularly exposed to hostile attack by enemy raiders and submarines; and as we have already shown, and shall show again, a very heavy toll of their vessels was taken by hostile torpedoes. How greatly the Cunard steamers were concentrated upon dangerous routes will be seen on reference to the [map],[B] which indicates the most important services of Cunard Steamers during the war. Finally, let it be stated that from August, 1914 to November, 1918, without taking into account such outside steamers as were working under the Cunard Company’s direction, its own steamers steamed not less than 3,313,576 miles, with a consumption of 1,785,000 tons of coal. This distance is equivalent to the circum-navigation of the world no less than 132 times.

[B] This map will be found in the [inside front cover] of the book.

CHAPTER IV
The Ordeal of the Lusitania

Oh, have you ever seen a foundered horse,

His great heart broken by a task too great

For his endurance, but unbroken yet

His spirit—striving to complete his course,

Failing at last, eyes glazed and nostril wide,

And have not ached with pity? Pity now

A brave ship shattered by a coward blow

That once had spurned the waters in her pride.

N. N. F. Corbett.

With the subsequent progress in infamy of Germany’s submarine campaign it was natural that the sensibilities of the civilised world, so shocked by the ruthless sinking of the Lusitania, should have become somewhat dulled. But it is clear, in retrospect, that this tragic event marked an epoch in the slow gathering of the non-combatant world’s condemnation. Upon the general events preceding the loss of this world-famous vessel, this is not, perhaps, the place to dwell. It will be remembered however, that from February 18th, 1915, the German Government announced that it proposed to consider the waters round Great Britain and Ireland and the entire English Channel as what they described as a “War Zone,” stating that they would “endeavour to destroy every merchant ship found in this area of war, without its always being possible to avert the peril that thus threatens persons and cargoes.”

The “Mauretania” as a hospital ship, off Naples Harbour (The “Mauretania” was a sister ship of the “Lusitania”)

To this the British Government issued a reply on the following March 1st, that the German announcement was in fact a claim to torpedo at sight, regardless of the safety both of the crew or passengers, any merchant vessel under any flag. The British Government proceeded to remind Germany and the world, that by all the accepted traditions of the sea, and under the terms of international law, it was the duty of an enemy vessel to bring a captured ship to a Prize Court, where all the circumstances of the case could be impartially investigated, and where neutrals might recover their cargoes. The sinking of prizes was therefore, as the British Government pointed out, always a questionable proceeding, and could only be justified in exceptional circumstances, and after full provision had been made for crews and passengers. The legal responsibility of verifying the status of any vessel always rested with the attacking ship, while the obligations of humanity required adequate provision to be made for the safety of all crews and passengers of merchant vessels, whether enemy or neutral.

It is now both common and tragic knowledge that these protests, as well as all the canons, so long established, of sea chivalry, were entirely ignored by the German Government, and it was on May 7th, 1915, that this became finally and startlingly clear to every intelligent observer in the civilised world. That the German Government possessed any special spite towards the Lusitania may not perhaps have been the case, but, as we have seen, it was by means of the Lusitania and her sister ship the Mauretania that the “blue ribbon” of the Atlantic, in the matter of speed, had been wrested from German hands.

“Phrygia” sinking a Submarine

Built in 1907 for the Cunard Company by Messrs. John Brown & Co., of Clyde Bank, she had been constructed under Admiralty Survey, and in accordance with Admiralty requirements, and was classed 100 A1. at Lloyds. Built throughout of steel, she had a cellular double bottom, with a floor at every frame, the depth of this on the centre line being 60 inches, and 72 inches where it supported the turbine machinery. This double bottom extended up the ship’s side to a height of eight feet above the keel. All her decks were steel plated throughout, and the transverse strength of the ship was largely dependent on the 12 transverse water-tight bulkheads which had been purposely strengthened and stiffened to enable her to stand the necessary pressure in the event of accident. Inside her hull was a second “skin,” running the whole length of her vital parts, so that she was virtually a ship within a ship.

Her length all over was 785 feet. She was 88 feet in breadth, and nearly 60 feet in depth, with a gross tonnage of over 30,000 tons, and a load draft of 36 feet. Including the hold she had nine decks, with accommodation for 523 first class, 295 second class, and 1,300 third class passengers, together with a crew of about 800. She had turbine engines of 63,220 horse power, four for ahead and two for astern motion, and her speed in 1914 was from 24½ to 25 knots. Her four great funnels rose to a height of 154 feet above the keel, and the diameter of each being not less than 24 feet. Her masts were 210 feet high, while the navigating bridge stood 110 feet above the keel. At a moderate estimate, the cost of running her to New York and back, including wages, victualling and fuel, was in 1914 about £30,000, and she was operated, under the terms of the agreement with the Admiralty, by a crew of which at least three-quarters had to be British subjects.

She was provided with boat accommodation for 2,605 persons, the number of persons on board during her last voyage being 1,959. She carried 48 lifeboats, 22 of which were ordinary boats hanging from davits, with a total carrying capacity of 1,323. The remaining 26 were collapsible boats, with a total carrying capacity of 1,282. In addition, the ship was provided with 2,325 life jackets and 35 lifebuoys, all of these being conveniently distributed on board.

The “Alaunia” as an emergency hospital ship

Now at the beginning of the war it had been a very difficult question for the directors of the Cunard Company to decide as to whether the transatlantic traffic, under the new and unprecedented conditions, would be sufficient to justify the continued running of two such large and costly vessels as the Lusitania and the Mauretania. It was decided, however, after much consideration, that the Lusitania could be run once a month, providing that her boiler power was reduced by one-fourth. The consequent saving in coal and labour of this would, the Directors considered, enable them to run the vessel without loss, although with no hopes of making a profit. Six of the Lusitania’s boilers were accordingly closed, and the ship began to run in these conditions in November, 1914, the effect of the closing of the six boilers being to reduce her maximum speed to 21 knots. It is to be noted, however, that this reduction still left the Lusitania very considerably faster than any other transatlantic steamer.

Nor had she lacked in exciting experiences before the fatal 1st of May, 1915, on which she left New York for the last time. On the very day that war was declared in 1914, she had started from New York for Liverpool, under the command of Captain Daniel Dow, one of the best-known and most respected figures in the Cunard Company’s service, who retired after 43 years’ service in 1919. Within a few hours of leaving New York, an enemy warship was sighted on the horizon, and observed to change her course immediately, with the presumed object of intercepting the Lusitania. Without a moment’s hesitation, Captain Dow set his course for a fog bank to the south, where he was soon lost to sight by the enemy. As soon as he was out of view, Captain Dow swung the Lusitania round again and steamed northwards at his highest speed. Having thus out-manoeuvred the hostile commander, he resumed his eastward course again, navigating his great ship by night without lights, and safely reaching Liverpool.

Again in February, 1915, while Captain Dow was still in command of her, the Lusitania, on an eastward voyage, received a wireless message to the effect that enemy submarines were cruising in the Irish Sea. He received instructions to fly a neutral flag—a perfectly legitimate ruse—and having on board some 400 Americans, together with the United States mails, he decided to hoist the American flag. Having done so, he crossed the Irish Sea at full speed, without stopping to take up a pilot; steered straight for the Mersey, and once more brought his vessel home in safety. Soon after this, Captain Dow, upon whom the strain of responsibility had been very great, was retained ashore by the Directors for a brief and much needed rest, and Captain W. T. Turner, one of the Cunard Company’s most trusted commanders took his place, with an assistant captain, Captain Anderson, also on board.

The “Lusitania” passing The Old Head of Kinsale, within a few miles of the spot where she was torpedoed

That an attempt was to be made upon the Lusitania had for some days been current rumour in New York, and on Saturday, May 1st, 1915, her advertised sailing date, the following advertisement appeared in the New York Times, New York Tribune, New York Sun, New York Herald, and the New York World. “Travellers,” it stated, “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, that travellers travelling in the war zone in ships of Great Britain or her Allies do so at their own risk. April 22nd, 1915, The Imperial German Embassy, Washington, D.C.” It is safe to say, however, that but small attention was paid to this notice, very few people contemplating that such a diabolical threat as was implied in this notice would be seriously carried out by any civilised Christian Power. On the 1st May, therefore, the vessel sailed in fine weather, and with a calm sea. The voyage till May 7th was marked by no untoward event. As the danger zone was approached, Captain Turner took all the necessary precautions. All the lifeboats under davits were swung out; all bulkhead doors, except such as were required to be kept open in order to work the ship, were closed, the portholes being also closed; the look-outs on the ship were doubled—two men being sent to the crow’s nest, and two to the eyes of the ship; two officers were always on the bridge, and a quartermaster was stationed on either side with instructions to look out for submarines.

Up to 8 o’clock on the morning of May 7th the vessel’s speed had been maintained at 21 knots, but at 8 o’clock this was somewhat reduced, the object being to ensure that the Lusitania should arrive outside the bar at the mouth of the Mersey at such an hour on the morning of the 8th as would enable her to make immediate use of the tide, thus avoiding loitering in a vicinity where Captain Turner had reason to suppose enemy submarines might be watching for him. Soon after this reduction of speed the weather became thick, and the fog into which she had run necessitated a further reduction to 15 knots. Just before 12 o’clock, however, the fog lifted, and the vessel’s speed was increased again to 18 knots—a speed that was maintained until she was struck by the enemy torpedo.

The “white wake” that stretched to the beaches of Gallipoli

At the same time orders were sent to the engine-room to keep the steam-pressure as high as possible, so that in case of emergency the Lusitania might be able to put on all possible speed, should this be ordered from the bridge. Land was now in sight, about two points abaft the beam, and Captain Turner took this to be Brow Head. Owing to the recent fog, however, he was not able to identify it with sufficient certainty to enable him to fix the Lusitania upon the chart. He, therefore, kept her upon her course, which was S.87.E and parallel with the land, until twenty minutes to one, when, in order to make a better landing, he altered the course to N.67.E.

This brought him nearer to the Irish Coast, and he shortly afterwards sighted the old Head of Kinsale. Having identified this, at twenty minutes to two, he altered his course back to S.87.E. and, having steadied her on that course, began ten minutes later to have a four point bearing taken, and this was being carried out when the ship was torpedoed.

This occurred at a quarter past two, when the Lusitania was steaming some ten miles off the Old Head of Kinsale, the atmosphere having then cleared and the sea being smooth. A seaman, Leslie N. Morton, seems to have been the first person on board actually to have seen the wake of the torpedo, and he reported it at once to the Second Officer, who in turn reported it to Captain Turner, then on the port side of the lower bridge. Captain Turner looking to starboard saw a streak of foam travelling towards the ship, and immediately afterwards the Lusitania was struck full on the starboard side, between the third and fourth funnels, the explosion breaking to splinters one of the lifeboats. Almost simultaneously a second torpedo also struck her on the starboard side, the two having been fired apparently from a distance of from two to five hundred yards. No warning of any kind had been given. Immediately on being struck the Lusitania listed heavily to starboard, and in less than twenty minutes she had sunk in deep water, carrying to their graves no less than 1,198 men, women and children.

Torpedoing of the “Thracia”

Perhaps the most lucid, and, since he was an American, the most impartial account of the occurrence was that afterwards given by Mr. James Brooks of Bridgeport, Connecticut, one of the saloon passengers. Mr. Brooks, who was making the voyage to England for business purposes, had, in common with most of the other American passengers, read the warning notice issued by the German Embassy, to which we have already referred. Like most of his fellow-countrymen, however, he had decided to ignore it. “No one in America,” he said, “ever dreamed that the Germans would dare to carry out their terrible threat to destroy such a magnificent vessel, and with it hundreds of the lives of innocent men, women and children.... A good many passengers were still at lunch when, on Friday afternoon, the attack came in reality. I had just finished a run on deck and had reached the Marconi Deck, when I glanced out over the water. It was perfectly smooth. My eyes alighted on a white streak making its way with lightning-like rapidity towards the ship. I was so high in that position above the surface of the water that I could make out the outline of a torpedo. It appeared to be about twelve feet long, and came along possibly three feet below the surface, its sides white with bubbles of foam. I watched its passage, fascinated, until it passed out of sight behind the bridge, and in another moment came the explosion. The ship, recoiling under the force of the blow, was jarred and lifted, as if it had struck an immovable object. A column of water shot up to the bridge deck, carrying with it a lot of debris, and, despite the fact that I must have been twenty yards from the spot at which the torpedo struck, I was knocked off my feet. Before I could recover myself, the iron forepart of the ship was enveloped in a blinding cloud of steam, due, not, I think, to the explosion of a second torpedo, as some thought, but to the fact that the two forehold boilers had been jammed close together and ‘jack-knifed’ upwards. This I was told by a stoker afterwards.

Officers, nurses and R.A.M.C. orderlies of H.M.H.S. “Aquitania”

“Homeward Bound”

“We had been in sight of land for some time, and the head of the ship, which had already begun to settle, was turned towards the Old Head of Kinsale. We must have been from twelve to fifteen miles from land at the time the ship was struck. All the boats on the ship had been swung out the day previous, and the work of launching them was at once commenced. The attempt in the case of the first boat was a tragic failure. The women and children were taken first and the boat was practically filled with them, there being only a few men. The boat was lowered until within its own length of the water, when the forward tackle jammed, and the whole of its occupants, with the exception of three, were thrown into the water. The Lusitania was then on an even keel. On the decks of the doomed vessel absolute coolness prevailed. There was no rushing about, and nothing remotely resembling panic. In just a few isolated cases there were signs of hysteria on the part of the women, but that was all.

“Meanwhile the ship had taken a decided list, and was sinking rapidly by the head. The efforts made to lower the boats had apparently not met with much success. Those on the port side had swung inboard and could not be used, while the collapsible boats which were lashed beneath them could not be got at. The ladies were standing quite coolly, waiting on board to enter the boats when they could be released by the men from the davits. The davits by this time were themselves touching the water, the ship having sunk so low that the bridge deck was only four feet or so from the surface of the sea. Losing no time, the men passed the women rapidly into the boats, and places had been found by now for all the people about the midships section. I stepped into one of the lifeboats and attempted to assist in getting it clear. I saw the list was so great that the davits pinched the gear, rendering it improbable that they could be got away when the ship went down, so I stepped on to the gunwale and dived into the water. I had no lifebelt and am not a good swimmer, but I decided to take the risk. I had been wetted right through when the explosion occurred, and I believe that had I gone in dry I should have swallowed so much water that I should not have lasted long.

The sun-cure

The “Franconia” passing through the Suez Canal

“I swam as hard as I could away from the vessel, and noticed with feelings of apprehension the menacing bulk of the huge funnels as they loomed up over my head. I expected them momentarily to fall on me and crush me as I swam, but at last I judged myself to be clear, and I turned round and trod the water in order to watch the great hull heel over. The monster took a sudden plunge, and, noting the crowd still on her decks and the heavily laden boats filling with helpless women and children glued to her side, I sickened with horror at the sight. The liner’s stern rose high out of the water; there was a thunderous roar as of the collapse of a great building during a fire, and then she disappeared, dragging hundreds of fellow-creatures into the vortex. Many never rose again to the surface, but the sea rapidly grew black with the figures of struggling men, women, and children. The wireless installation came over with a crash into the sea. It struck my uplifted arm as it fell, and I felt it pass over my body as it sank, almost dragging me under.

“The rush of water over the steamer’s decks swept away a collapsible boat, and I swam towards it. Another man reached it shortly after, and after we were rescued I found him to be Mr. James Lauriat, jun., of Boston. Two seamen also managed to swim to the boat and to climb on to it. One had a knife, and the other asked me for mine, and together they set about cutting away the canvas cover of the boat. When they had finished, I climbed inside, and the three of them followed me. We started to rescue the unfortunate people in the water, or at least those of them who were still living. We quickly had about 30 of them in the little craft. Around us in the water were scores of boats. There were no oars in our boats. We managed to raise the sides of the boat as they should be raised when the boat is in use, and we collected five oars from the mass of floating timber in the water. Then we started to row towards the lighthouse, which we could see in the distance. At the time the liner was torpedoed there was absolutely no ship of any kind in sight, with the exception of a trawler—the Peel 12, of Glasgow; she was close inshore under the lighthouse, and, owing to the lightness of the wind, she was of no use so far as the rescue of persons actually in the sea was concerned. She came along as fast as she could, however, and was able to pick up about one hundred and ten persons from lifeboats and life-rafts. Her limited capacity was pushed to the utmost, and I even had to sit with one leg hanging over the sides because there was no room to put it on the inside. We took in tow a lifeboat and a raft, which were also filled to the gunwale, and when the occupants were able to be taken out they were cast off. The auxiliary boat Indian Prince had by that time arrived from Queenstown. The Peel 12 was the first boat on the scene, and she was followed by a tramp Greek steamer, which came up from the west, and was able to pick up several lifeboats which had got away.”

American troops never forgot the “Lusitania”

Such was the experience of Mr. Brooks, and in his moving narrative we can not only divine something of a tragedy beyond the scope of any human pen, but gather also an impression of heroism, of unquestioning devotion to duty, at which every member of the Cunard Company may well thrill with pride.

Particularly noticeable perhaps, was the conduct and sound judgment of the young sailor, Leslie N. Morton, to whom we have already referred, and he was especially commended by Lord Mersey, the Commissioner in charge of the formal investigation afterwards held into the loss of the Lusitania. This boy, for he was only 18, had been stationed as extra look-out on the forecastle head, starboard side, during the fatal watch; and it was, as we have said, he who was the first to perceive the approach of the torpedo. This began, as he described it, with a “big burst of foam about 500 yards away.” This was followed by a “thin streak of foam, making for the ship at a rapid speed, followed by another going parallel with the first one, and a little behind it.” Having immediately reported this through a megaphone to the bridge, Morton made for the forecastle to go down below to call his brother who was asleep, and on the way there he saw what he took to be the conning-tower of a submarine just submerging.

Having called his brother, he went along the starboard side of the main deck and up on to the starboard side of the bridge deck, where he found the starboard boats useless owing to the vessel’s heavy list. He then went to his own boat No. 13, and assisted in filling it with passengers. Giving up his own seat, he then went to No. 11 boat, and assisted in filling that one also; and it was in this one that he eventually took his place. Unfortunately, owing it appears to the unskillful action of some of the passengers, this lifeboat was unable to push away from the ship, and it was eventually sunk. Morton then swam for it and succeeded in reaching an empty collapsible boat, into which he climbed, succeeding with the help of another young sailor, Joseph Parry, in ripping off the cover and rescuing from the water some 50 people. He then made for a fishing kedge about five miles away, and having reached it transferred his passengers to it, and returned for some more, subsequently rescuing about 30 people from a sinking lifeboat—the little collapsible boat being subsequently rescued by a mine-sweeper. These two boys were thus instrumental in saving nearly 100 lives; and in recognition of their bravery they were awarded decorations by the Board of Trade, Morton receiving the Silver Medal for Gallantry, and Parry the Bronze Medal for Gallantry.

Equally heroic was the conduct of the First Officer, Mr. Arthur Rowland Jones, who was in the luncheon saloon when the torpedo struck the vessel. He immediately went to his boat station on the starboard side and began to fill his boat with passengers—a matter of extreme difficulty, owing to the ever increasing angle which the ship was presenting to the sea, which caused the boat to swing away from the tilted surface of the deck. After great efforts, however, he succeeded in getting about 80 passengers aboard before she was lowered into the water, entered her himself when the boat deck was level with the surface of the sea, and only some 15 seconds before the Lusitania sank. It was fortunate for the passengers that he succeeded in doing so, since it was only by his skill and coolness, combined with that of two or three members of the crew who had also clambered on board, that the little lifeboat was able to survive the suction and disturbance caused by the disappearing liner.

In the spring of 1918 the “Mauretania” brought 33,000 American soldiers to Europe

She did so however, and afterwards transferred some of her passengers into another empty boat, the two boats then putting back in order to attempt further rescues. This they succeeded in doing, and the First Officer again filled his boat up, thereupon pulling off to a little fishing smack, the Bluebell, then about five miles distant. Having disembarked his passengers, Mr. Jones once more went back to the scene of the disaster, and after pulling some two and a half miles, fell in with a broken collapsible boat in a bad condition with about 35 people inside it. Some of these were lying exhausted in the bottom of the boat and others were injured, so Mr. Jones took them all on board, afterwards transferring them to a trawler. He then pulled off once more and saved yet another 10 people, whom he took to the Flying Fox, a Queenstown Tender. By this time it was 8 o’clock in the evening, and his crew were at the last point of exhaustion, having been working hard without food and water. There was too, by this time, a large number of destroyers and patrol boats on the scene, so Mr. Jones and his weary helpers themselves boarded the Flying Fox.

Mention must also be made of the conduct of Alfred Arthur Bestwick, the Junior Third Officer, who was responsible for the working of five boats on the port side of the ship, and courageously remained there endeavouring to launch them under practically impossible conditions, until the Lusitania went under. He was dragged down with her, but fortunately came to the surface, and succeeded in reaching a collapsible boat, into which, with the help of a companion, he dragged several people from the water. These he transferred to a second and more navigable empty boat that they afterwards came across; and he then returned and saved three more people whom he had previously noticed supporting themselves by means of a bread tank, besides taking on board several others who were keeping themselves afloat by means of lifebelts.

All this time on every hand deeds of self-sacrifice, recorded and unrecorded, were being performed. A typical one was that of one of the able seamen of the watch, who had been sucked down by the sinking vessel and coming to the surface again had managed to sustain himself by means of a floating piece of wood. Clutching this he then found himself drifting towards a woman struggling unaided in the water, whereupon he pushed towards her his piece of wood, which could only support one person, and swam away himself on the chance of finding some other means of escape. Presently he found a collapsible boat containing one of the ship’s officers, and a few other persons, but this unfortunately proved to be extremely unseaworthy. Capsizing again and again, it was only righted by the determination and skill of this seaman and his comrades, and on each occasion, alas, lives were lost until but a few survivors remained to be picked up by another of the ship’s boats.

The “Aquitania’s” stage

The “Saxonia,” camouflaged, leaving New York with American troops for Europe

Such is the story of the greatest maritime crime in history and, now that the war is over, it is well that it should not be forgotten, with its record of heroism and self-sacrifice, of competent seamanship and resourceful initiative, of suffering and death. Lord Mersey’s report on the disaster, after he had heard a mass of evidence from officers and men, as well as from surviving passengers, is a document which after generations will read with pride. It contains not the personal opinion merely of a former President of the Probate, Divorce and Admiralty Division of the High Court of Justice, but is a considered judgment in which Admiral Sir F. S. Inglefield and Lieutenant Commander Hearn, both officers of the Royal Navy, and Captain D. Davies and Captain J. Spedding, of the Merchant Service, acting as the four assessors, concurred. The report contained a short, but consolatory statement of the competency with which the sudden emergency was confronted when the ship was attacked. “The Captain was on the bridge at the time his ship was struck,” Lord Mersey recorded, “and he remained there giving orders until the ship foundered. His first order was to lower all the 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 continually 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.”

Welcoming the first contingent of returning American troops, New York, December, 1918

The “Mauretania” arriving at New York, December, 1918

Was the Lusitania well found? Did she comply with the requirements of the Merchant Shipping Acts? Was she armed? Did she carry war material? Was the conduct of the Captains, officers and men consistent with the high traditions of the Merchant Service? To all these questions the report furnished satisfactory answers. The ship was well provided with boats, which were in good order at the moment of the explosion, and “the launching was carried out as well as the short time, the moving ship, and the serious list would allow.” Lord Mersey added that he found that the conduct of the masters—for as already stated there were two—the officers and the crew was satisfactory. “They did their best in difficult and perilous circumstances, and their best was good.”

And what of Captain Turner, upon whom the chief responsibility for the safety of the ship and the lives of passengers and crew mainly rested? He remained upon the bridge until the very last. He went down with the unhappy vessel and was only rescued by chance after having been in the water for three long hours. The Wreck Commissioner and the Assessors examined his every act from the moment when the Lusitania entered the so-called “war zone” until this devoted officer found himself in the water confronted with death. In the opinion of Lord Mersey, Captain Turner “exercised his judgment for the best,” and the report added that “it was the judgment of a skilled and experienced man.” Captain Anderson, whose duty it was to assist in the care and navigation of the ship was, unfortunately, one of the victims of this German crime, but in Lord Mersey’s own words, “the two captains and the officers were competent men and they did their duty”—and higher praise than that there could not be.

“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 disaster was regarded in all civilised countries with horror. As Mr. Roosevelt said at the time, it represented “not merely piracy, but piracy on a vaster scale of murder than any old-time pirate ever practised,” and a Danish paper, in recording this terrible incident in the war, declared that “whenever in future the Germans venture to speak of their culture the answer will be ‘It does not exist: it committed suicide on May 7th, 1915.’” A Norwegian paper in denouncing the crime remarked that “the whole world looks with horror and detestation on the event.” In fact, throughout the whole civilised world the sinking of the Lusitania with merciless disregard for the lives of those on board, was condemned as an act of wholesale murder which, as the New York American added “violates all laws of common humanity.”