Strangely, the ship had no escorts whatsoever. Even stranger, in Schwieger’s view, was that the vessel was in these waters at all, especially after his two successful attacks the day before. That the ship “was not sent through the North Channel is inexplicable,” he wrote in his log.
Schwieger ordered the torpedo set to run at a depth of 3 meters, about 10 feet. He had not yet had time to let Lanz take a look at the target. The big ship continued its approach, its giant hull black against the otherwise gleaming seascape.
Schwieger’s firing crew armed the torpedo and flooded its tube.
THE LUSITANIA was now about sixteen hours from Liverpool, or, put another way, three meals out—one lunch, one dinner, and, on Saturday, a last breakfast in Liverpool Harbor. Now came the lunch. First-class passengers had only one seating, in the dining saloon at the center of the ship under the great dome; second-class had two, at 12:30 and 1:30. Over lunch there was talk of the talent show the night before, and of the latest war news, published in the ship’s daily Cunard Bulletin, and, of course, of the fact that the ship was now well into the “war zone.”
Charles Lauriat went to lunch with Lothrop Withington, as always, and they sat at their usual table in the first-class saloon. Lauriat noted that portholes on either side of the room were open. He was certain of this, he said later, because the unusual warmth of the day had conjured an annoyance that had plagued the two men throughout the voyage. Owing to the warm weather, the stewards had opened portholes throughout the dining room and turned on a large electric fan positioned directly over Lauriat’s table, thereby creating a draft that was strong enough to be irritating. The same thing had happened several times previously during the voyage, and each time, as now, Lauriat felt compelled to ask the steward to turn the fan off.
Otherwise, the lunch was a pleasant one. The two men looked forward to the ship’s arrival. “We had a jolly time together,” Lauriat wrote, “and made plans for seeing each other in London, as his rooms were near our London office.”
It was clear now that the unexpectedly slow pace of the Lusitania would cost Lauriat a day’s work in London, but soon enough he’d be handing off the Dickens Christmas Carol and meeting with Thackeray’s daughter, Lady Ritchie, to plan the notes she would write for each of the 118 drawings still locked in the shoe case in his cabin. Next he would meet with the framers and binders who would transform those drawings into items worth far more than the paltry $4,500 he had paid for them.
ELSEWHERE IN the dining room, Theodate Pope and her companion, Edwin Friend, were finishing up their lunch. “A young Englishman at our table had been served with his ice cream and was waiting for the steward to bring him a spoon to eat it with,” Theodate recalled. “He looked ruefully at it and said he would hate to have a torpedo get him before he ate it. We all laughed and then commented on how slowly we were running. We thought the engines had stopped.”
The ship, however, was still moving at a brisk 18 knots. This perception of slowness was likely caused by the fact that the sea was so smooth, which reduced the level of vibration transmitted through the hull.
Dwight Harris, with his engagement ring hanging snug under his shirt, joined his usual luncheon companions but did not share the cheerful anticipation that colored the talk around him. He was ill at ease, uncannily so. He wrote, “While at table I had a most intense nervous feeling come over me, and I got up and left without finishing my lunch!”
He went to his stateroom, A-9, to get his coat and hat, and his Medici book, and went back out on deck to read.
MEDICAL STUDENT Preston Prichard and his roommate, Arthur Gadsden, were very much aware of the ship’s entry into the danger zone. They had become friends during the voyage and talked often, owing to the fact that both had the upper berths in their room. On Friday, Prichard and Gadsden spent part of the morning “talking about Submarines & wondering if we should see one at all, never having the least fear but what we should get away from them,” Gadsden wrote.
Shortly after noon, Prichard walked to the smoking lounge to join the other men who had gathered there to see the results of the mileage pool and then set off to the second-class dining saloon for lunch. As usual he sat opposite Grace French.
Today there seemed to be a certain charge between Prichard and Miss French. He wore his green suit—not his best blue—but handsome was handsome, and after six days in the sun and weather Prichard was very handsome indeed. He mentioned to Grace that he had seen a young woman aboard who could be her double, and that he had even gone up to this other woman to start a conversation before realizing his mistake. This was not merely a flirty line meant to ignite conversation. One or two of the other men at the table had encountered the same woman and had done likewise. Prichard “volunteered to point her out for me after lunch,” Grace recalled. “I agreed and went down for my hat and coat.”