Now the sea found a new path into the hull. Water began to flow through open portholes, many of which were barely above the water to begin with. Those of E Deck, for example, normally cleared the water by only 15 feet. By one estimate, at least 70 portholes had been left open in the starboard side. Multiplied by 3.75 tons of water per minute per porthole, that meant that 260 tons was entering the ship each minute through the starboard portholes alone.
It was now about 2:20 P.M., ten minutes since the torpedo struck. For the next few moments, as deckhands and passengers waited for the ship to slow enough to allow the safe launching of boats, there was quiet. “A strange silence prevailed,” said Albert Bestic, junior third officer, “and small, insignificant sounds, such as the whimper of a child, the cry of a seagull or the bang of a door, assumed alarming proportions.”
FIRST WORD
THE TELEGRAMS ARRIVED AT THE ADMIRALTY IN LONDON and the Naval Center in Queenstown in rapid and jarring sequence, sent from various points: 2:15 FROM VALENTIA STATION TO QUEENSTOWN: “ ‘LUSITANIA’ IN DISTRESS OFF KINSALE. BELIEVED.”
2:20 FROM GALLEY HEAD TO ADMIRALTY: “ ‘LUSITANIA’ S.E. 10 MILES SINKING BOW FIRST APPARENTLY ATTACKED BY SUBMARINE.”
2:25 FROM QUEENSTOWN TO ADMIRALTY: “ ‘LUSITANIA’ TORPEDOED REPORTED SINKING 10 MILES S. OF KINSALE. ALL AVAILABLE TUGS AND SMALL CRAFT BEING SENT TO HER ASSISTANCE. ABERDEEN, PEMBROKE, BUNCRANA, DEVONPORT, LIVERPOOL INFORMED.”
LUSITANIA
DECISIONS
THE FIRST ATTEMPTS TO LAUNCH THE LUSITANIA’S LIFEBOATS revealed the true degree of danger now faced by the ship’s passengers and shattered the illusion of safety projected by having so many boats aboard. The list was so severe that the boats on the starboard side now hung well away from the hull, leaving a gap between the boats and the deck of 5 to 8 feet, with the sea 60 feet below. Members of the crew tried using deck chairs to span the opening, but most passengers chose to jump. Parents handed small children across. One boy took a running leap and landed in a boat feet-first.
Meanwhile, the lifeboats on the opposite side, the port side, had swung inward over the deck. These were all but unusable. Only a great effort could move them into position for launch. Capt. Turner ordered them emptied, but as the ship’s condition worsened, passengers and crew tried to launch them anyway.
Ogden Hammond, the New Jersey real-estate developer who’d been assured the ship was as safe as a New York trolley, walked along the port side of the boat deck with his wife, Mary, until they found themselves at Boat No. 20, which a group of crewmen and male passengers had somehow muscled to a point outside the rail. Women and children were climbing aboard.
Neither Mary nor Ogden wore a life jacket. He had wanted to go down to their stateroom and retrieve the jackets stored there, but Mary had pleaded with him not to leave her. They had hunted for jackets on deck but found none.
At the lifeboat, Ogden balked at climbing aboard, out of respect for the maritime custom that gave women and children priority. Mary refused to go unless Ogden came too, so the couple stood aside, watching the process and waiting. At last Ogden agreed to get in. He and Mary took a place near the bow. The boat was half full, with about thirty-five people, when the attempt to launch it began.
Men at the bow and stern manipulated the ropes—the falls—that ran through block and tackle at each end of the boat. A sailor at the bow lost control of his rope. Ogden tried to grab it, but the rope was running so fast it tore the skin from his hands. The bow plunged; the stern rope held. Everyone fell from the boat into the sea, 60 feet below.
Ogden came to the surface; his wife did not. He reached for an oar floating nearby.
AT THE NEXT port-side boat, No. 18, another launching attempt had stalled. This boat contained forty women and children, and was held in place by a restraining pin. The sailor in charge refused to lower it, in accord with Turner’s orders, but held an ax, ready to knock the pin loose should the orders change. Several dozen passengers stood between the boat and the outer wall of the first-class smoking room.
Isaac Lehmann, the New York businessman, was shocked that no effort was being made to launch the boat. He had managed to find a life jacket; his revolver was in his pocket. He glanced toward the ship’s bow and saw water advancing along the deck. He demanded to know why the sailor didn’t act.
“It is the captain’s orders not to launch any boats,” the sailor replied.
“To hell with the captain,” Lehmann said. “Don’t you see the boat is sinking?” He drew his revolver. “And the first man that disobeys my orders to launch the boat I shoot to kill!”