I think I can say that I was one of the few persons who really saw a
torpedo discharged at the _Lusitania_. Coming on deck from the dining
saloon. I was leaning against the starboard rail of the ship when I
saw the periscope of a submarine about two hundred yards away. Then
I noticed a long white streak of foam. It gave me the impression of
frothy fizzing in water. A woman came to me and said: "There's a
torpedo coming." Before she had finished the explosion took place and
tons of debris were blown up through the four decks. Almost immediately
there was a terrific impact, followed by an explosion. The _Lusitania_
was going at fifteen knots at the time. The shot was perfectly aimed at
the boat, and when it struck, debris, dust and water were thrown up in
a dense column through the entire superstructure of the vessel about
the bridge. A hundred must have been blown to atoms, including trimmers
and stokers, to say nothing of men and women in the forward cabins, who
were about to come on deck.
The _Lusitania_ fell over to starboard and then slowly righted part
way. Nearly every one rushed below. I went to the flying deck and stood
between the funnels, where I could see them making an awful mess of
getting the boats out. They were cutting and hacking at them. The first
boat floated away empty. The next three were smashed. The Marconi main
room was put out of commission by the first torpedo; then the wireless
operator rushed to the emergency room, and just as he got the first
reply to the "S. O. S." the whole apparatus went out of action.
The first torpedo hit amidship by the grand entrance to the saloon and
rear of the bridge. A Marconi man rushed to me and offered me a chair,
and said I had better take that, as it might be useful and better than
nothing.
A few moments after the explosion the vessel toppled over, as if she
were in drydock and some of the underpinning on the starboard side
had been knocked away. There was a frantic dash from the starboard
entrances to the port side and from below women were shouting, "What
shall we do?" They knew well what had happened, as the chance of being
torpedoed was discussed every day. I heard nothing else on the voyage.
When the _Lusitania_ listed still more I slid off the flying deck on
to the boat deck, and from there fell into a boat lying alongside.
As I got into the boat she was swept almost away by one of the
funnels falling across her, and we only managed to push clear. I saw
a minister's wife sucked right down one of the funnels and shot out
again, looking like a piece of burned coal. We managed to save her. I
rowed for some time with a woman between my knees before discovering
that she was dead.
There was no great excitement, in the real sense of the word. Most of
the women tried hard to keep cool, and except for occasional screams of
"Where is my husband? Where is my child?" they acted bravely. I noticed
more people going below than coming on deck after the explosion. The
last person I spoke to before the vessel went down was Mrs. Mason, the
young American daughter of William Lindsay, a manufacturer of Boston,
who was on her honeymoon. She was asking for her husband.
Alfred Vanderbilt I saw standing outside the grand entrance of the
saloon, looking quite happy and perfectly composed. He was holding a
jewel case for a lady, for whom he was apparently waiting. I did not
see Charles Frohman until I saw his body in a mortuary. His was the
most peaceful face among all those I saw there. There was no trace of
agony, and unlike others his features were not disfigured in any way.
Frohman was none too well on the voyage, and was hardly able to walk,
so he remained in his cabin most of the time, where, I believe, he was
when the ship sank. Elbert Hubbard and his wife I also believe went
down in their cabin.
The first two boats from the port side were manned principally by
officers. The slow speed gave the Germans an absolutely pointblank
shot. They couldn't miss. Only God's fair weather and daylight brought
us ashore. If the _Lusitania_ had been convoyed or had put on speed she
would have been here now.
The wireless operators were still sending out calls from their
emergency apparatus, the main wireless room having been disorganized.
The ship was now listing badly to starboard, and, taking a swivel
chair which an operator offered to me, I slid down into the water
and to a boat which was still attached to the davits and which was
partly covered with water. We cleared the boat not a moment too soon,
for we had hardly done so when the vessel went down on the starboard
side, one of the funnels grazing our heads. In the twinkling of an
eye the monster vessel disappeared amidst the cries of those who had
been caught. It was one long indescribable scene of agony. There was
floating debris on all sides and men and women and children clinging
for dear life to deck chairs and rafts which littered the water. Many
were entangled in wreckage, and one by one they seemed to fall off and
give themselves up.
About the last thing I saw happen on the boat was the chief Marconi
operator taking a photograph when the vessel was listed to 45 degrees,
but the pictures were spoiled by the water. We rowed around for three
and a half hours before we were picked up.