The Irish coast was the most beautiful shade of green Olive Donnell had ever seen. Its nickname “the Emerald Isle” was well deserved, she asserted.
In spite of London’s promise, there was no British escort.
Rich was among those who witnessed the approach of the U-boat’s torpedo. It cut through the water with moderate speed, followed by a spumy wake, akin to the trail of an outboard motor. At the time of impact, Elaine was lunching with friends she had made during the voyage. The explosion threw several of the women to the floor.
Will watched a plume of coal and debris rise high above the ship’s Marconi wires. This was followed by a wall of water that knocked him violently to the deck. A few moments later came a second explosion from somewhere within the ship.
The list to starboard made for great difficulty in launching lifeboats from the port side. Will and Olive watched in horror as the boats slammed into the side of the ship, spilling passengers — mostly women and children — into the waters below. Ropes snapped or slipped from the hands of those guiding the boats down. The lifeboats smacked the water like heavy stones.
Rich, on his way to meet up with Elaine in the dining room, chanced upon the ship’s doctor and its chief purser strolling up the Promenade Deck calmly chatting and smoking cigarettes. Rich asked the men if they had taken leave of their senses, only to be told that the captain had assured them the ship wasn’t going down. It would right itself soon and the worst would be over. Rich said that even if this were true there were still injured people both on deck and in the water in need of medical assistance. Rich, who was also a doctor, had, for his part, just finished attending to two such passengers only a moment before. The ship’s doctor took a breezy drag on his cigarette, announced his lack of desire to go anywhere, and indicated with a dismissive flick of the wrist that the colloquy was over. Rich, an amateur pugilist in college, responded by punching the doctor in the nose. The purser received a cuff to the jaw.
Having witnessed one deadly launch after another, both the Tattersalls and the Donnells realized that the lifeboats offered little guarantee of survival.
“And yet this is where they kept putting all those poor women and children,” said Olive. “I began to beg people to stay out of the boats — to wait until the right moment to jump, and then swim quickly away from the ship.”
Will nodded. “I watched a boat on the starboard side laden with passengers smash itself against the superstructure and splinter to pieces. I saw another fall stern-first directly on top of those poor souls who had just spilled out of the boat right next to it.”
“I remember the sounds of the day with the most clarity of all,” said Rich, the pages of his own catalogue of memories turning quickly before him. “The deafening scrape of wood against metal, the banging and clanging as the crew members tried to release the boats from the listing ship. The cries and shouts of frantic fathers and mothers; the bawling of lost children; the anguished moans of those suddenly crushed and mangled.”
Elaine took a sip of her Old Fashioned to moisten her dry mouth. “The little girl said her name was Harriet. She couldn’t find her mother. I instructed her to stay with Rich and me. She had no life jacket. Rich went off to find her one. The boat began to tilt at such a sharp angle that Harriet and I had to cling tightly to the rail to keep from being knocked off our feet. She said she was eight. I waited for Rich and he didn’t return.”
Rich took Elaine’s hand as if to remind himself of their ultimate reunion. “I pushed my way through a mob of people ascending one of the interior stairways and rushed down a corridor in which I had remembered seeing a wooden locker marked ‘life jackets.’ I retrieved one from inside and made my way back to the stairs. Now water had begun to cascade down the stairwell and directly into the corridor. I turned to find another means of egress and slogged my way toward a set of stairs that proved more promising. By this time, however, I had forfeited easy passage to the deck where I had left Elaine and the little girl. For the next several minutes I engaged in an ultimately fruitless attempt to make my way back to them. I was thwarted at every turn by debris. It was as if the ship were in the process of dismantling itself right before my eyes. Every passage I found was blocked by thick knots of desperate, panic-stricken passengers and impotent crew members. Men and women were pushing, shoving, clawing their way through the pack, while still others stood or sat immobilized by shock. I passed one of the ship’s saloons. An old woman sat alone in a wicker chair, awaiting the inevitable. Water lapped at her ankles. She was staring vacantly at the wall — staring at the ornately paneled wall of that once stately room.”
Will continued his own family’s story: “I felt that our best chance was on the starboard side, so I took the hands of my two little girls and Olive took the hand of our little boy, and we headed in that direction. Our path was strewn with crushed and bleeding bodies. Few of the still ambulatory were able to stand now without holding onto the railing. As the angle of the deck became more pitched, I felt my youngest daughter’s hand slip from my own, but I was able to catch her in time to pull her up and into my arms. She wrapped her arms and legs around my chest like a tree monkey while we moved in fits and starts to the other side of the ship. On the starboard side we encountered even more pandemonium, even greater panic. It was at this moment that we realized that the ship was sinking too fast for everyone to get away. I lost my footing, as did Olive, who also lost her hold on the railing. Frankie slipped away and tumbled down the deck. Lucy slipped away and did likewise. I held on to the little one, Dorothy, as tightly as I could. The water rose to meet the three of us. I witnessed the horrible sight of my wife being pulled under by the strong suction.”
“I remember blackness,” said Olive. “Things were slamming into me, first from one side and then from the other. I remember a hand in the water — a ghostly hand already stilled. I remember losing any sense of what was up and what was down. And then I recall popping to the surface in an area so choked with bobbing, flailing bodies that I imagined I had arrived in Hell — a numbingly frigid cesspool in Hell.”
“I swam with Dorothy clutched to my side,” said Will. “I paddled like a sloppy-pawed dog in the water, the life jacket making every stroke a trial. I called for Olive but my voice was drowned out by the cries of hundreds of others.”
“I feared that the worst had happened to Rich,” said Elaine softly, “so I vowed to try to save myself and the child. With luck I chanced upon a crew member who had been distributing life jackets. He had one left. I put it on little Harriet. I then sought out a place for us to jump. I waited until the water had risen high enough that the drop wouldn’t prove injurious.”
Rich leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He massaged the back of his head. Staring down at the floor he said, as if in fresh disbelief, “I couldn’t get back. Every path was blocked.”
He looked up. “From the listing of the ship I now concluded that I wasn’t going to be able to make it to Elaine and the little girl. I knew that the odds were against their even still being where I had left them. Within only a few minutes the Lusitania would go under. I prayed that Elaine had somehow gotten the girl a life jacket and found a safe way off the vessel. Seeing the liner’s screw propellers and rudders fully exposed above the water line, I knew that the time for my departure had come. All around me people were jumping or sliding down wires and ropes, burning and flaying skin in their desperate descents. I wanted no part of this. Babies were being thrown overboard, to be caught by men standing in lifeboats, or never to be seen again.