RMS Lusitania was a British transatlantic liner infamously sunk by a German U-boat on 7 May 1915 during the First World War (1914-18). Struck off the coast of southern Ireland, the ship sank in less than 20 minutes, and nearly 1,200 passengers lost their lives. The attack on the unarmed vessel sailing from New York to Liverpool caused such a furore in Britain and the United States that Germany subsequently limited its submarine attacks on merchant vessels. The wreck of the Lusitania was explored and mapped by Robert D. Ballard in 1993.
Design
The RMS (Royal Mail Ship) Lusitania, named after the Iberian province of ancient Rome, was a Cunard liner designed for transatlantic voyages. The sleek design was created by the naval architect Leonard Peskett, whose brief was to make the ship faster than anything else afloat. Built at the John Brown Shipyard on the River Clyde in Scotland, the massive riveted steel hull was launched on 7 June 1906. The ship was fitted out as the most luxurious liner afloat, enabling Cunard to attract the maximum number of travellers in the lucrative transatlantic market. Looking to the future, the design of the ship deliberately permitted an easy conversion to an armed merchant cruiser if required. Indeed, the liner's construction had been partially funded by the British Admiralty, and the ship was officially registered with that body as an armed auxiliary cruiser.
The Lusitania displaced 44,767 tonnes and was 240 metres (787 ft) in length – 1912's RMS Titanic was only 29 metres (95 ft) longer. The ship's four funnels stood at a height of over 47 metres (155 ft). Power for the four screw propellers came from four direct-acting Parsons steam turbines, which gave 76,000 hp (57 MW). 5,000 tons of coal were required for every Atlantic crossing. The cruising speed was 50 km/h (30 mph) with a top speed of 25 knots, making it faster than any other liner with the exception of its sister ship, RMS Mauretania (launched in 1906).
Lusitania's Interiors
The Cunard Line posters, which advertised for transatlantic passengers, described the Lusitania and Mauretania as "Monarchs of the Sea" and the "Greatest Wonders of the Age". Cunard confidently declared that the pair were the "largest and most magnificent steamships in the world".
The heart of the Lusitania, at least for the wealthiest passengers, was the first-class dining saloon. This balconied hall was perhaps the grandest room on any ship afloat. No expense was spared as gold leaf, cherubs, and frescoes beautified the domed space with its elegant Corinthian columns and profusion of potted palms. Here, meals were served that included such fine foods as foie gras, lobster, venison, and French puff pastries. The main lounge, with its striking stained glass ceiling, plush furniture, marble fireplaces, and mahogany panelling, seemed to replicate an opulent gentleman's club. There was, too, a music room, a male-only smoking room, a lady's drawing room, a reading room, a writing room, a verandah café, a long covered promenade deck, and even a barber's shop.
The first-class cabins had that greatest of luxury on ships: space. A first-class cabin had two large bedrooms, a sitting room, a dining room, a bathroom, and a pantry. The suites were provided with all the latest electrical amenities and sumptuously furnished in a variety of styles. First-class passengers, or saloon class as Cunard preferred, certainly paid for their privileges. A one-way saloon ticket in 1915 cost a whopping $4,000; that at a time when a typical working man earned $20 a day. Lusitania's second-class cabins were often as good as first class on any other ship. Third class, in contrast, was stripped-down and functional, with sometimes eight people packed into a single cabin.
The Lusitania made its maiden voyage in September 1907, destination New York. One month later, the ship won the Blue Riband, the prestigious international prize for the fastest crossing of the Atlantic. The ship would cross the Atlantic 202 times.
WWI & Submarine Warfare
During WWI, there were two types of warfare at sea concerning submarines. Restricted submarine warfare dictated particular rules for all sides, such as not attacking a merchant ship without warning, the attacker identifying themselves, and time being given for passengers to board lifeboats. Finally, the attacker was expected to provide, if necessary, some sort of rescue of the stricken crew. Unrestricted submarine warfare, on the other hand, saw captains torpedo an enemy vessel still submerged and without warning. At first, all sides conducted restricted warfare at sea, but when the British began to use Q-ships, that is, armed vessels disguised as merchant ships to entrap submarines, the German Navy moved to unrestricted warfare. Another reason for the decision, put in practice from February 1915, was that Germany itself was being blockaded. Germany declared that the waters around the British Isles were a war zone and any merchant vessel was fair game. It was a fateful decision.
Destination Liverpool
The Lusitania left New York for Liverpool on 1 May with 1,960 passengers on board. There were the rich and famous, well-to-do middle-class travellers, and the poor of the third class, who often travelled with their entire worldly possessions deep down in the bowels of the great ship. Reasons for travel encompassed all manner of activities from attending a new school in England to enjoying a honeymoon. Some male passengers were even intending to enlist in the British Army, while there were women who were going to serve as nurses and play their part in the Great War. Little did they know, they would soon be actors in one of WWI's most shocking episodes.
As a precaution for its passage through waters where enemy submarines were known to lurk, the ship's name was painted over, no flags were flown, and the four giant red funnels were repainted black. In addition, the ship could bring into action concealed rotating gun placements, fitted back in 1913.
William Turner, the Lusitania's captain, was 59 and had vast experience. Turner, as usual, ensured the giant ship safely crossed the Atlantic and reached the waters off the Old Head of Kinsale in southern Ireland on Friday, 7 May. All was well, and the weather was clear, but the radio room had already received a warning message the day before that German U-boats had recently been sighted hereabouts. The Admiralty recommended that ships follow a zigzag course in these circumstances, but Turner was confident the ship's speed was its best defence against attack, and so the Lusitania steamed on in a straight line. Turner ran the ship closer to the southern Irish coast than was advised by the Admiralty since the U-boats tended to lurk in the rocky headlands. Speed was certainly a priority for Cunard, and for the wealthiest and most influential passengers on board, all eager to resume their busy appointments after a week at sea.
The Hunter: U-20
The same day the Lusitania left New York, the German U-boat U-20, which was based at Wilhelmshaven, had left Emden on the northern coast of Germany. The submarine headed up the North Sea, followed the coast of Scotland, and entered the Atlantic Ocean. Following the Irish coast, U-20 had already sunk two small freighters and was set to head into the Irish Sea when its captain, Walther Schwieger, doubled back into the Celtic Sea. In the early hours of 7 May, U-20 surfaced to recharge its batteries. Schwieger noticed a telltale column of smoke on the horizon; even better, the smoke appeared to be coming from four funnels. This must be a large ship, just the target U-20 was hoping for. As Schwieger surveyed the smoke through his binoculars, he must have smiled with satisfaction when he realised the ship was heading straight for him. As the U-boat waited patiently for its prey to approach, the oncoming ship's silhouette was positively identified as either the Lusitania or the Mauretania. Schwieger ordered U-20 to dive.
Disaster
Lusitania, given no warning, was struck by a torpedo fired from U-20. The torpedo had just 700 metres (765 yards) to travel, but its distinctive white wake was spotted by crew members on the liner. It was too late. The killer weapon struck the ship's side near the bridge and exploded. A few seconds later, there was another, much bigger explosion. The origin of this second explosion has caused much debate ever since. No second torpedo was fired – Schwieger went on record that he had only fired one – but the additional explosion could have been the boilers exploding or ammunition in the hold igniting. The Lusitania's captain turned the ship towards the Irish coast in a forlorn hope that the stricken vessel could be beached. Long before this could be achieved, the ship began to list to starboard, and the bow lowered appreciably. The list meant that the lowering of the lifeboats on the port side was greatly impeded. The ship sank – bow first, according to eyewitnesses – in just 18 minutes, some 19 kilometres (12 mi) from the coast.
Confusion and horror reigned on the stricken vessel in those few, precious minutes. There had, incredibly, been no lifeboat drill, and most passengers had no idea where to go or even how to put on a lifejacket correctly. When the power failed, the ship's interior was plunged into darkness. Some were trapped in the elevators. The ship had enough lifeboat capacity for all on board, but getting the boats safely to the water was far from easy. In addition, the lifeboat drills carried out had not involved passengers, but merely a handful of crew hopping in and out of two of the lifeboats without lowering them. Neither crew nor passengers were prepared for a full-scale ‘abandon ship' scenario. At least one lifeboat swung uncontrollably on the listing ship and killed passengers waiting to get into them. One lifeboat packed with women and children overturned and spilled its passengers into the sea. The famous millionaire sportsman Alfred Vanderbilt would go down with the ship, but not before helping several children into their lifejackets. Vanderbilt had been booked on the RMS Titanic back in 1912 but had cancelled his ticket for the liner's final voyage. The millionaire had even had a warning about this particular voyage, an anonymous handwritten note delivered to his hotel room in New York, which had warned that the Lusitania was destined for destruction.
Distress calls had been put out, and ships were on their way from Kinsale and Queenstown (Cobh) in Ireland, but when they arrived at the scene, the liner was gone, and only a few people were still alive in the cold and unforgiving sea.
One passenger on the rescue ship Missanbie describes the scene of desolation:
My God, it has happened…Lifeboats. One pair of boots and a hat within. Collapsible boats. Some sides not up. An oar. Whale boats keel upwards. A body with life belt slipping off at neck. Now a bald head bobs up not 20 feet away ghastly in the sunshine. The water almost motionless. The silence. The shrieking of that silence.
(Pickford, 73)
Only six of Lusitania's 48 lifeboats made it to shore. 1,198 passengers and crew died in the disaster, including 128 from the United States. The dead included men, women, and children. The survival rate was approximately equal for all three classes of passengers. Bodies were recovered and laid out at Queenstown harbour for identification. There were 764 survivors, and some of them escaped death as if by a miracle. Margaret Gwyer got herself safely into a lifeboat but then fell out of it. She was then sucked into one of the Lusitania's funnels, only to be blown back out again when the ship's boilers exploded. Rescued again, she was ultimately reunited with her husband, who had also been on board. Meanwhile, the U-20 reached Wilhelmshaven safely enough on 13 May.
Aftermath: Blame & Propaganda
The United States almost broke off diplomatic relations with Germany over the disaster. The German government tried to justify the sinking by claiming – without producing any evidence – the Lusitania had been acting as an armed merchant cruiser. The liner had neither troops nor arms on board, but the issue was certainly not clear-cut. The Lusitania did, in fact, have a relatively small quantity of ammunition on board, specifically, shrapnel shell cases and 4 million rounds of rifle cartridges, both of which were openly declared on the ship's manifest since they could be legally transported by passenger liners. Cunard denied heavier ammunition was onboard, material which was not officially permitted on merchant vessels since this would have contradicted the United States' neutral status and presented a serious hazard to the civilians on board. It is possible that heavier ammunition was aboard the liner but disguised on the manifest as something innocuous but equally expensive. A large consignment of furs was on the manifest, sent from two US towns which each had a Dupont factory that made gun cotton (a notoriously unstable explosive). Even more curiously, the furs were destined for a company in Liverpool with no history of ever dealing in such material. Dupont, in contrast, did have records that its factories sent 600 tons of gun cotton to the New York docks a few days before Lusitania set sail.
The German government reminded everyone that a German Embassy in the United States had previously warned civilians through newspaper advertisements of the dangers of travelling to Europe by sea at a time of war. The German government also pointed out that the British Admiralty had authorised merchant vessels to ram German submarines if the opportunity arose.
A feeling of shock and outrage persisted. In Britain and Ireland, images of a stricken Lusitania were used on posters to encourage people to enlist in the armed forces. A German-minted medallion was produced by a private company, and this further outraged Anglo-Saxon opinion against all things German and produced another round of propaganda from the British side.
The German Navy did, from September 1915, impose restrictions on its U-boat captains after the sinking, but this did not significantly reduce losses to British merchant ships. Further, unrestricted submarine warfare was resumed in February 1917. The decision backfired spectacularly since the subsequent sinking of several US merchant ships (along with the intercepted Zimmerman telegram, which proposed a new Mexican-German alliance) so angered the government of the United States that it finally declared war on Germany. The Allies went on to win the war as Germany signed an armistice on 11 November 1918.
The Lusitania Wreck
The location of the wreck was well-known since it proved a hazard to fishing nets. Rumours persisted as to just what the Lusitania had been carrying as cargo. Some wreck-hunters convinced themselves that gold bullion had been aboard; others were interested in recovering paintings by celebrated masters, which may have been on board, sealed in waterproof boxes. The purser's safe was another choice target as this would have contained the gold sovereigns and jewellery of the 291 first-class passengers. The fact that the ship lay just over 90 metres (300 ft or 49 fathoms) below the surface presented another temptation to try and recover whatever was of value.
Starting in 1923, several unauthorised attempts were made to plunder the wreck, but none were successful. A diver in a specially designed diving suit was able to get to the wreck, but the absence of light meant any hopes of salvaging anything had to wait for technological developments. Then the Second World War (1939-45) interrupted the project, and the British government forbade any further exploration of the site.
In the post-war years, the wreck was used by the Royal Navy to observe the effects of depth charges, further damaging Lusitania. The Royal Navy sent divers to the wreck in 1948, but the motive and results of this operation have never been disclosed. Several private expeditions subsequently sent divers to the wreck, but no substantial relics were recovered. By the 1980s, technology had advanced so that artefacts could be brought to the surface. Finds included cutlery, clocks, and three propellers.
Robert D. Ballard (born 1942) had already discovered the wrecks of the Titanic and the German battleship Bismarck. In the summer of 1993, Ballard's expedition explored and digitally mapped the Lusitania wreck using remote-controlled submersibles. The once great liner was lying on its starboard side. Ballard discovered that the bulkhead between the ship's magazine and where the torpedo had hit was still intact and so concluded that the contents of the magazine (whatever they were) could not have been the source of the second explosion. The presence of a large amount of coal around the wreck led Ballard to believe that the mysterious second explosion was most likely caused by coal dust in the largely empty bunkers igniting after the torpedo had caused the dust to be disturbed and so mixed with oxygen, making it much more volatile. The problem with that theory is that the coal bunker where the torpedo struck may not have been used to carry coal at the time of sinking, but at least part of it may have been devoted to carrying extra cargo. What that cargo was, explosive or otherwise, remains a mystery, if indeed it ever existed at all. In February 1995, the Irish government prohibited any future expeditions to the wreck.
