Disasters at Sea

by Liz Mechem

  The Battle of the Nile by Thomas Luny (1759–1837) shows the line of ships standing helpless as their flagship burns. The French flag can be seen still flying above the doomed Orient in the middle.

  WARSHIPS IN THE AGE OF SAIL

  British Royal Navy diagrams of a third-rate ship (top) and a cross-section of a first-rate ship (bottom) from 1828

  Humans have been harnessing the power of the wind for millennia. The oldest-known sailing ships date from ancient Egypt—as long ago as 3500 BCE. The Age of Sail, however, generally refers to the golden age of European sailing ships from the late fifteenth to nineteenth centuries.

  The Age of Sail was concurrent with European colonization in Africa, Asia, and the Americas, and ships grew to accommodate growing trade, exploration, and passenger transport. Naval might took on new urgency as Western powers battled for dominance of the seas and protection of their colonies and interests. The primary world powers during the Age of Sail were Britain, Spain, Portugal, France, the Netherlands, Russia, and later, the United States. Dominance—when achieved—proved fleeting, passing from power to power with the regularity of the tides.

  FORM AND FUNCTION

  The design, construction, and armament of sailing warships were all predicated on the way a ship handles when under sail. Square-rigged ships took on fore-and-aft or lateen rigging—principally on the aftermasts—to allow them to sail closer into the wind. The first European ships to feature this design were carracks, which appeared in the fifteenth century. Portuguese caravels and naos, Spanish galleons, and English galleys grew from this common ancestor ship.

  Firearms became more advanced in the late sixteenth century, and naval battles shifted from onboard infantry engagement to long-distance firing. Deck-mounted cannons gave way to cannons carried belowdecks. Battleships expanded to include up to three dedicated lower decks for cannons, which fired through gun ports with hinged covers. The largest British man-o’-wars of the nineteenth century carried up to 120 cannons, divided between port and starboard. These huge ships, which reached over 2,500 tons (2,270 metric tons), were designated first-rate, while second-rate and third-rate ships carried up to 60 guns. Smaller armed ships, such as frigates, sloops, and brigs, which carried fewer than 40 guns, were fast and maneuverable, and supported these larger ships-of-the-line.

  OWN THE WIND

  NAVAL TACTICS, TOO, were contingent on the wind. A battleship would generally fire broadside on her enemies, but this was done most efficiently from upwind, or windward. Guns on a downwind ship—heeling far to leeward and exposing her hull—would fire too high, failing to strike the enemy’s hull. The tactical advantage of an upwind position is known as the weather gage. Ships at a perpendicular angle—advancing or retreating, for example—could be fired upon as well. Raking fire, as this tactic is called, could damage the vulnerable stern or send shots the length of the enemy ship.

  The USS Cumberland, built as a 1,726-ton (1,566 metric ton) sailing frigate, became a sloop of war in 1855–56. In 1861, she served on Civil War blockading duty off the Confederacy’s Atlantic coast and helped capture Forts Hatteras and Clark in late August of that year. On March 8, 1862, while she was anchored off Newport News, Virginia, the ironclad CSS Virginia came out to attack federal warships in Hampton Roads. The Virginia rammed the Cumberland, whose guns had been unable to hinder the Confederate ironclad. Unable to sail away, the Cumberland sank. This battle decisively demonstrated the power of the armored steam-powered warships against wooden sailing types.

  RMS Lusitania

  U-BOAT ATTACK

  The RMS Lusitania at dock in New York at the end of her 1907 maiden voyage

  As the RMS Lusitania’s sleek hull smoothly cut the waters of New York Harbor on May 1, 1915, the war in Europe seemed far away. The United States had, as yet, no plan to join the fray. Aboard the Lusitania, bound for Liverpool, England, 1,959 passengers and crew enjoyed the British liner’s famously luxurious trappings. Dubbed “The Greyhound of the Seas,” her speed and status as a civilian liner was believed to be good protection against the German Unterseeboots (“undersea boats”), better known as U-boats, bedeviling the North Atlantic shipping lanes.

  A 1915 cartoon published by the influential British satirical magazine Punch, showing the Lusitania in her final minutes. Negative press about the incident colored opinion against Germany, although the Imperial German Embassy had placed advertisements in 50 U.S. newspapers, including those in New York, that warned Americans to avoid crossing the Atlantic in ships flying British flags.

  The Lusitania’s captain, William Thomas Turner, had been instructed to keep his speed up and travel a zigzag course in order to evade the lurking undersea wolf pack. Unbeknownst to most of her crew and passengers, the Lusitania had recently been refitted as a ship of war, with ammunition magazines and gun mounts hidden under her teak decks. She also carried a secret cargo of ammunition and war contraband. Lusitania made good progress across the Atlantic, but lingering fog banks in the Celtic Sea caused her to slow down and hew a straight course.

  An Irish recruitment poster from 1915. The sinking of the Lusitania became an international rallying point to secure the support of a war against imperial Germany.

  Captain Walther Schwieger, in command of German submarine U-20, lay waiting some 15 miles (24 km) off the Irish town of Queenstown (present day Cobh). U-20 had been harassing ships in the area, and had torpedoed several liners and merchant ships. The captain was thrilled to see the huge hull and distinctive four smokestacks of the Lusitania in his periscope. U-20 fired one torpedo, which Schwieger watched all the way to a direct hit on Lusitania’s port side, below the waterline. He anticipated one explosion, but was astonished to see a second, bigger blast 15 seconds later. This blast devastated the great ship, and within 18 minutes the Lusitania had disappeared from sight beneath the frigid waters. The angle of the sinking prevented all lifeboats but one from launching, and this capsized immediately. Those passengers not trapped inside the ship were left floating amid the debris field, to die in the inescapable cold of the Celtic Sea.

  THE INQUEST

  Shortly after the tragic and devastating loss of 1,119 lives, authorities began piecing together what had happened. How had one torpedo caused such a large ship to sink so quickly? Most investigation and speculation centered on the mysterious second explosion. Suspicions quickly fell on the “secret cargo,” which indeed turned out to be ammunition. Not only quite explosive, but—as prohibited war goods—a cargo that would have made Lusitania a fair target under the rules of war.

  Though only a fairly small percentage of the dead were Americans (128), public opinion in the United States turned against Germany. Germany, in fact, agreed to give warning before firing upon civilian passenger liners in the future, but the die was cast. The Lusitania had awoken the slumbering lion of the United States, and within two years America would join Great Britain in the war against Germany.

  A Lusitania victim is carried away. The U.S. flag covering the body indicates the victim’s nationality.

  The Lusitania’s builders published this diagram of her deck plans seven days after a U-boat sunk the liner. U-boats had already proved difficult to constrain under the rules of war. Legally, U-boats were required to breach the surface before attacking, in order to give enemy crews time to abandon ship—but following this rule put the U-boat crews at great risk, and so it usually went unheeded.

  COAL DUST

  IT SEEMED QUITE LOGICAL that the second, fatal explosion had been caused by the detonation of Lusitania’s ammunition. Yet, when undersea explorer Robert Ballard dove the wreck of Lusitania in 1993, he determined that the hold carrying the ammunition was not the site of the second explosion. Instead, empty coal bunkers allowed coal dust to mix with air, creating an explosive aerosol mixture. When touched off by the fires ignited by the torpedo blast, the coal bunkers doomed the ship.

  HMHS Britannic

  THE TITANIC’S UNLUCKY SISTER

  T he Titanic had two sis
ter ships. The Olympic was the second of the trio to be completed, and, although she encountered her share of accidents, she survived until her deliberate demolition in 1937. The third sister was the Britannic. The Britannic was to be the largest and most spectacular of the three, with a length of 1,000 feet (304 m). The White Star Line intended to christen her the Gigantic, and her launch was expected to guarantee the line’s pre-eminence in transatlantic luxury service.

  But two major events interceded. First, the sinking of the Titanic changed everything for her youngest sister. She shrank to a still-impressive 883 feet (269 m) in length, and her name was changed from Gigantic to Britannic. The primary modifications, though, were for safety: the fore watertight bulkheads (which had been breached on the Titanic) now extended all the way up to the B-deck—three levels higher than the Titanic’s. Engineers also fitted Britannic with lifeboat davits, designed to launch lifeboats even in the event the ship was listing severely.

  The Olympic, sister ship to both the Britannic and the Titanic. The first to be built, she was the last to survive, and earned the nickname “Old Reliable.”

  In 1976, famed marine explorer Jacques Cousteau (standing) dived the wreck of the Britannic, which lay on her starboard side in 375 feet (114 m) of water.

  The second, and more fateful event, was the outbreak of World War I. Before the Britannic could enter passenger service, the British Admiralty requisitioned her as a hospital ship for service in the eastern Mediterranean Sea. Refitted with capacity for more than 3,000 wounded, close to 500 medical staff, and a crew of 860, she served her country well during wartime. But the Britannic never survived to make the glamorous transatlantic voyage she was designed for. A mine sunk the Titanic’s youngest sister off the coast of Greece on November 21, 1916.

  ONE MORNING IN NOVEMBER

  The Britannic had made five round-trips to the Mediterranean and was on her sixth in November 1916. As she entered the Kea Channel in the Aegean Sea, the crew heard a loud explosion at 8:12 on the morning of November 21. The ship had struck a mine on her starboard side. Many rushed for the lifeboats, but Captain Charles Bartlett decided he would attempt to beach the ship. Unfortunately, two lifeboats were launched anyway, while the three massive propellers were still turning. Crew members watched in horror as the propellers sucked the lifeboats into their churning vortex, tearing apart both the boats and their passengers. Captain Bartlett immediately ordered the engines cut, but within 15 minutes, the ship was listing severely, with water entering through the blast hole and also through open portholes in the lower decks. At 8:35 AM, the captain gave the order to abandon ship.

  Rescue boats, from Greek fishermen to British destroyers, quickly arrived on the scene. But nothing could be done to salvage the massive Olympic-class ship. The great Britannic sank at 9:07 AM, less than an hour after the explosion, in spite of her lavish safety features. Although 1,036 people were saved, the gruesome lifeboat debacle claimed 30 lives.

  SURVIVOR!

  ONE LUCKY WOMAN SURVIVED DISASTERS on all three Olympic-class ships. Violet Jessop worked as a stewardess onboard the Olympic when it sailed in 1911 and collided with the HMS Hawke. The following year, Jessop survived the wreck of the Titanic; employed as a crew member, she climbed aboard one of the first lifeboats. Undeterred, the brave woman signed on to serve as a Red Cross nurse and was assigned to HMHS Britannic. She survived this third disaster as well.

  Violet Jessop

  Lifeboats salvaged from the Titanic. Ultimately, the improved safety features on her sister ship the Britannic still didn’t save the liner from destruction. Also complicating any hope of rescue from sinking early-twentieth-century ocean liners were the passengers’ own clothes. Fashions of the day dictated heavy, constricting clothing. For women especially, enmeshed in cloth from head to toe, such styles contributed to a high death count. Even for those capable of swimming, cloth made heavy with water spelled death.

  RMS Laurentic

  SECRET CARGO

  The Megantic, sister ship to the Laurentic. The ships were outfitted with experimental propulsion systems and tested against each other. The Laurentic’s, which proved most efficient, would later become a White Star Line standard, but the Megantic outlived her sister, surviving until sold for scrapping in 1933.

  RMS Laurentic departed Buncrana, Ireland, through the picturesque Lough Swilly on January 25, 1917. She carried 475 passengers and crew for the transatlantic crossing to Halifax, Canada. In addition to the usual load of paying passengers, mail, and general freight, the Laurentic held a secret cargo in the second-class baggage room. No “second-class” cargo, it was gold bullion—3, 211 bars worth 5 million pounds sterling (more than £250 million, or about $500 million today). This vast fortune was destined for the U.S. Treasury as payment for ammunition the United States had contributed to the British war effort.

  Those aboard the Laurentic had no way of knowing that German submarine U-80 had just completed a mine-laying mission attempting to block access to the northernmost Irish port. The Laurentic plowed right into the heart of the minefield and struck two mines in short succession, less than an hour after leaving port. Fifty minutes later, she lay at the bottom of the Lough, most of her passengers and crew drowned or killed by hypothermia in the frigid waters.

  LOST AND FOUND

  The Laurentic was built at the famous Harland and Wolff shipyard in Belfast, Northern Ireland, and was launched in 1908. She was one of a pair of liners built partly as prototypes for the Titanic and her sister ships, the Britannic and the Olympic. The Laurentic was equipped with three screws; a then-experimental low-pressure turbine engine powered one of them. Conventional engines drove the two outer props. This arrangement made the Laurentic one of the fastest ships afloat, an ability put to good use because the White Star Line used her to haul mail (hence the Royal Mail Ship designation) between Europe and North America.

  Fortunately, the Laurentic was traveling with an unusually light load of passengers on her last journey. She sank rapidly, and although lifeboats were launched, the winter gale and frigid waters of North Ireland quickly took the lives of many of those who managed to escape the sinking ship.

  The Laurentic’s vastly valuable cargo made salvage a priority for the British navy; within weeks the wreck had been located and teams of divers brought to bear. The Laurentic had sunk in fairly shallow water—only 130 feet (39 m)—which made her wreck accessible to divers of the era. Lieutenant-Commander Guyban C. C. Damant received the difficult and dangerous assignment of retrieving the Laurentic’s lost gold. Damant and his teams of divers mapped the wreck and gradually made their way to the second-class baggage room. The first year of diving (involving hundreds of dives) yielded a treasure trove of gold. Yet, even as Damant and his teams were retrieving gold bars, the Irish winter weather was pounding the wreck with swells off the North Atlantic.

  The salvage divers had to stop work for the winter, and they returned the following year. Little did Damant and his teams know that they would be involved with the salvage operations for seven years, performing more than 5,000 dives. Eventually, they recovered all but 22 gold bars.

  SWIFT JUSTICE

  PRIOR TO HER SINKING, the Laurentic was one of the fastest ships on water. In 1910, Chief Inspector Walter Dew of Scotland Yard was hunting the notorious Dr. Hawley Harvey Crippen, who was fleeing murder charges in England. Dew used the Laurentic’s speed to his advantage, reaching Canada before his escaping quarry. There, Dew boarded the SS Montrose disguised as a pilot and arrested the astonished Crippen.

  Chief Inspector Dew escorts convicted wife-killer Dr. Crippen off the Montrose.The Laurentic’s speed advantage put the detective in Canada before his quarry.

  Reaching 164 feet (50 m) deep, Lough Swilly served as a major harbor for the British Royal Navy during World War I, and a boom protected it from U-boat attacks.

  KMS Bismarck

  THIRD REICH LEVIATHAN

  T he front view of the KMS Bismarck must have been a terrifying sight. The l
argest warship ever built (along with her sister ship, Tirpitz), she epitomized the naval component of Adolf Hitler’s Third Reich. Measuring 118 feet (36 m) wide, the Bismarck bristled with armament, including eight enormous guns measuring 15 inches (380 mm). Her very first mission—and her last—would take her almost 4,000 miles (6,437 km) around the Atlantic. In a cat and mouse game involving aircraft, ships, and shore observers, the Allies tracked the Bismarck as she worked her way through fjords and up the coast of Norway before heading to the open Atlantic to attack Allied shipping.

  The Bismarck and the German heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen fought in the Battle of the Denmark Strait on May 24, 1941. The two ships sank the pride of the British navy, the flagship HMS Hood in minutes. Another British ship, the Prince of Wales, was damaged so severely that she was forced to withdraw from battle. Upon hearing the news, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill channeled the rage of a nation when he famously bellowed, “Sink the Bismarck!”

  AND SINK HER THEY DID

  The Bismarck had received some battle damage from the Hood and headed back to Brest, France, for repairs. Two days later, on the night of May 25, the British caught up with her. Nearly antique Swordfish biplanes managed to drop torpedoes but wreaked only superficial damage. The next evening, another fleet of Swordfish from the aircraft carrier Ark Royal attacked the Bismarck—this time with success. A torpedo jammed the rudder, so the mighty warship could steam only in circles. Hasty repairs enabled the ship to sail straight, but not to turn. The most modern and terrifying ship afloat had been rendered a virtual sitting duck.