Lusitania Lost

by Leonard Carpenter

  The European lingering next to Hildegard introduced himself. “Madam, I am Dirk Kroger, fur merchant of the Netherlands.” After an elegant bow, he produced a calling card from his vest pocket.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kroger,” Hildegard said. Accepting the card and sliding it into her velvet drawstring purse, she fell into polite conversation with him.

  “Oh, look, there they are!” Hazel suddenly cried out. “Mama, Daddy, goodbye!”

  She leaned from the rail and waved, fluttering her little American flag. Her sister did the same—though, amid the waving crowd on the dock, it was hard to pick out the two they recognized, and harder still to tell if anyone below noticed them, in all the flapping and fluttering of gloved hands, pennants, and fashionably oversized bonnets spread out along the ship’s seven hundred feet of hull.

  From the long Cunard transit shed on the pier, summer-skimmer straw hats waved in the air and cameras glinted and flashed right opposite the nurses’ place at the rail. Against the rising sea breeze, some of the ladies were already tying down their hats with the yards of pale chiffon fabric they had wreathed about their heads.

  “How splendid,” Winnie said. “It’s all so bright and cheery!”

  “Yes,” Hazel sighed. “If there’s any such thing as a festive goodbye, this is it.”

  “Parting is such a sweet sorrow,” Florence quoted, wiping a tear from her eye.

  They saw much last-minute activity, the gangplanks re-lowered and people hurrying on and off the ship. Perhaps it had to do with the U-boat warning, and with passengers changing their minds. The young ladies watched in serene wonder…all except Alma, who felt it necessary to look over her shoulder for enemies. One face gave her a start of recognition, but surprisingly, she found it a pleasant sensation.

  * * *

  Matthew Vane made his way along the crowded deck, scouting for news. The ship’s departure spectacle was too lush to ignore. He planned to keep busy on this voyage, even though there was no chance of wiring copy back to New York, much less sending any photos before the Lusitania docked in Liverpool in a week. Still, if things worked out as he hoped, this would be no idle pleasure cruise.

  Cunard Steamship Lines didn’t seem to make any provision for journalists at sea, least of all in wartime. Very likely they didn’t want their celebrity guests being hounded by reporters. And now there were military secrets for them to keep, plenty of those.

  But there must be a way in, or so Matt figured. No luck so far in getting a look at the passenger list. But if he could find the crewman who’d stood at the head of the First Class gangplank, he’d learn something.

  Then he saw a striking face. This one he would’ve gone after even if she hadn’t been familiar.

  “Alma, hello!” Smiling assuredly as he edged through the crowd, he saw her look of wary alertness turn to relief…and was there deeper interest in those snazzy blue eyes?

  “Hello again—Matt, isn’t it? How nice to see you! But no pictures, please,” she added to Flash, as the redhead showed up at Matt’s side.

  Florence spotted the men and pivoted under her large straw chapeau. “Why, Mr. Vane, back so soon?”

  “Hello, Flo, whadda ya know?” As the girl giggled, Matt tipped his bowler hat to all the young nurses. He took a place behind Florence and Alma, even as Flash moved in between Winnie and Hazel.

  “I’m glad you’re not missing all of this,” Matt told Alma confidentially, glancing around to indicate the leave-taking spectacle around them. “Being up here shows real spunk. Even Big Jim can’t keep you down.”

  “Thanks for handling Knucks,” she said. “I saw you cornering him. Did he say much?”

  “Nah, he wasn’t gonna spill anything to me. Knucks and I’ve locked horns before, and his boss Hogan doesn’t like me any better. But it doesn’t matter now, Flash swears he saw him leaving the ship.”

  “You didn’t see anyone else…?”

  “None of Hogan’s crew, no,” Matt reassured her. “But you might keep an eye on that steward. Knucks could have slipped him a few bucks to make trouble. I can try to find out—”

  His words were drowned out by the sudden rumbling bass of the ship’s steam horn announcing final departure. In the stillness that followed, they could hear a brass band strike up a tune from the bow—It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, the British–Irish marching ditty.

  As the cables were cast off, they felt the slightest lift underfoot. Then a sputter of small engines rose as tugboats began to muscle Lusitania away from the dock.

  The moment brought most everyone to a brief silence, followed by a sea-swell of cheering from the ship’s decks and the dockside. Over that same interval, a space of water opened out between hull and pier, as if their mutual cheers were driving the ship on its way.

  “Hurray, we’re off!” Florence cried out with the others, tears still gleaming on her sweet young face.

  The crowd’s enthusiasm had something brave and carefree about it, echoing the Lusitania’s past departures when the great ship hadn’t been heading off to a terrible war overseas. Regardless of modern-day reality, everyone seemed to join in the bon voyage spirit.

  Then, gradually, the docks and loved ones receded and became something remote, just part of the scenery. The cheering along the rail subsided, and faint currents could be seen among the land-dwellers ashore as they turned to go home.

  The huge vessel backed out into the Hudson and swung downstream, aided by valiant little tugboats snubbing at her bow and vigorously tooting their whistles. The passengers were left with a broad view of Chelsea Piers and the lower Manhattan skyline. The day was bright at noontime. A fresh breeze carried away the black smoke from the boilers as river currents hurried them along. Then came the full throbbing of the steam turbines below decks, the pulse-beat of their journey.

  “There’s the Woolworth Tower,” Hazel said, pointing to the tallest building jutting up from the city spires passing before them. “The five-and-ten-cent store empire! Just think of how many nickels and dimes it took to make that.”

  “Yes, and there’s the Singer building,” Winnie called back, pointing. “Easy to remember—it looks just like a big sewing machine needle, doesn’t it?”

  “Singer’s used to be the tallest in the world,” Alma said to Matt, “before Woolworth’s came along.”

  “You’d know that all right, if you’re a New York girl,” Matt said approvingly. “But see that one there, the big double one that’s almost finished? That’s the Equitable Assurance Company. It’s going to be the biggest building in the world—not the tallest but the largest, 45 acres of floor space.”

  “Just like this ship, the Lusitania,” Florence said. “Biggest in the world when she was made.”

  “One of the two biggest, you mean,” Hazel put in. “Along with her sister ship the Mauretania,” she added, sticking up for sisterhood.

  “Largest, fastest and most luxurious,” Alma sighed. “I remember the celebrations with fireworks, and the aeroplanes flying over when the Lusitania first came to New York.”

  Matt saw that, now that Alma was safely at sea, she seemed to be enjoying the conversation. “Right,” he agreed. “And Lusi stayed number one for years, didn’t she, until the Titanic came along…a shame about that.” Hoping to impress her, Matt saw his remark fall flat as Alma turned abruptly aside.

  “Yes, and then Titanic sank right away,” Florence volunteered. “On her maiden voyage, with all those people drowned.”

  “The Germans have launched bigger steamers since, the Imperator and Vaterland,” Matt added, trying to liven up the conversation. But Alma kept her gaze averted, not seeming cheerful anymore.

  Hazel was lamenting, “Yes, but all those really huge liners have been converted to warships in disguise. Now they’re shooting and sinking each other, like the Cap Trafalgar last year. Or kept interned in port.”

&nbs
p; “Oh yes, isn’t it just awful?” Florence said.

  Matt let his little group fall silent. Conversations, it seemed, could run into rocks and icebergs, just like ships.

  But Flash still happily chattered with Winnie as the engines and tides swept them rapidly to sea.

  “Look, there’s the Statue of Liberty,” the photographer said. “Seems like she’s waving goodbye.” He raised his camera for a picture.

  Leaning out and looking forward, the others could see the giant effigy facing out to sea, until it was obscured by the ship’s turning bow.

  Matt decided to get back into the conversation. “Who’s that fellow talking to your head nurse?”

  “Oh, he’s a Dutch trader who helped us find this spot,” Hazel said. “He seems to be partial to Miss Hildegard.”

  “Dutch, eh?” Matt said, taking in the man’s dapper appearance. “I’ll have to try and make his acquaintance. Holland is another neutral country. They could help out a foreign journalist.”

  “Can anyone really be neutral in this war?” Winnie asked. “I know America is supposed to be. But the Dutch are probably just praying the Germans won’t attack them, the way they did poor Belgium.”

  “Is that why you became a nurse, to stop Germany?” In his reporter’s way, Matt answered her question with a question.

  Winnie replied tartly, “Last I heard, the British Expeditionary Force wasn’t taking women. Nursing is the next best thing.”

  “Anyway, someone has to do something,” Hazel put in. “There’s so much suffering over there! What could be more useful?”

  “Yes,” her sister added. “So many nice young men could lose their eyesight, or a limb, without good nursing. Or even die! We can do so much good.”

  “As long as the lousy Huns don’t try to rape us, the way they did Brussels,” Winnie said sharply.

  “A nurse is a close as you can get to being an angel,” Hazel declared. “That’s what our father said, after reading about Clara Barton in the Franco-Prussian war.”

  “An angel? Yes, I suppose so.” Getting his chance at the interview he’d wanted, and seeing the young women’s innocence, Matt hesitated. “I’m sure there are ways to get closer. Plenty of ways to become one,” he added, echoing some of Winnie’s bitterness—until at last, his reporter’s instincts took hold.

  “But please, ladies, tell me more about yourselves….”

  Chapter 4

  Neutrals

  US Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan was admitted to the Oval Office at 1:45 p.m. The President’s private secretary, Joe Tumulty, nodded the elder statesman through without any small talk. This was in keeping with the brisk, businesslike air of Woodrow Wilson’s Democratic administration, so Bryan took no offense.

  Even so, he went in feeling slightly awkward, like a tardy student carrying a note from his mother up to the teacher’s desk. Even after two years in office, he was never quite sure where he stood. Bryan was in the cabinet by agreement, having stepped back from his own presidential candidacy out of respect for Wilson’s talents and similar beliefs. He certainly wasn’t one of the President’s closest friends, the tycoons and Eastern highbrows from Wilson’s days as chief of Princeton University. Bryan sensed that, by many of those and even by his fellow cabinet members, he was regarded as a hayseed with his farm- and Bible-based Populist views.

  Still, having just returned from a railroad tour of the Western states, Bryan felt fit and ready for vigorous engagement. His reputation as a stump orator, the true voice of America’s rustic heartland, had never served him better. Rather than being tired from his journey, Bryan the Great Commoner, felt energized by his contact with the throngs who’d applauded his inspirational words across this vast continent, all the way to California and back.

  Now the earnest, businesslike atmosphere of the White House steadied him. There was no call for expansive flights of rhetoric here.

  President Wilson sat at his writing desk in shirtsleeves. “Good afternoon, Bill,” he said, glancing up without bothering to rise.

  “Hello, Mr. President. It’s good to be back.”

  “Back? Oh yes, from your speaking tour out West. Please, have a seat.” The President looked distinguished and professorial even without a coat. His handsome face and pleasant, dignified manner gave him the perfect presidential profile. “Your trip went well, I hear.”

  Bryan wondered if Wilson had even noticed his absence. “Yes, it was most inspiring. But now I’ve returned to the hornet’s nest, with this European nightmare going on! I’m pleased to say that, among the ordinary rank and file of Americans, the spirit of neutrality remains strong, with plenty of support for your administration and our efforts to secure peace.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it. There’s constant pressure to take sides, particularly from our British friends with their claims of German atrocities. These naval incidents don’t make it any easier.”

  “I can imagine,” Bryan said. “I heard about this latest Gulflight torpedoing. Two Americans drowned, and one dead of a heart attack…a tragedy. But it’s hardly a casus belli worth taking the whole nation to war over. And here is something even more dangerous.” Relieved to get so soon to the point of his visit, Bryan reached to his vest pocket. “Have you seen this German warning about passenger ships in the war zone? It’s printed right next to this morning’s Lusitania sailing schedule in a dozen of our papers.”

  Wilson’s right sleeve was held taut by a ladies’ purple-stitched garter at the elbow, to keep his white cuff clear of the drying ink on his letters. He loosened it as he reached for the clipping. After scanning it he nodded to Bryan.

  “Yes, Bill, this was read to me by courier. I’ve been told by the German embassy that it’s official, the wording approved by their High Command.”

  “But not necessarily by the Kaiser or their Prime Minister Bethmann-Hollweg? I’ve found that he’s a moderate on this matter of sea warfare.”

  The President took a breath and handed back the clipping. “Well, that’s an old story, Bill. We know there are cross-purposes high up in the German government. But Wilhelm might easily have approved this. His speeches are fiery enough.”

  Wilson gave the emperor’s name the proper German pronunciation, with a “V” sound for the “W” in Wilhelm.

  After a moment’s silence, Bryan pressed him, “Well then, Mr. President, I must ask, how we are going to reply to this new threat?”

  “I understand, Bill. It is provocative. How would you suggest that we respond?”

  It was just like Wilson the Professor to question his student, rather than rendering an opinion. Bryan seized the opportunity.

  “Another warning should be issued, by us—if not to the Central Powers, then to our own citizens who may think they can travel with impunity under a foreign flag in wartime.”

  The President laid down his pen beside the inkwell. “I already have issued a stern warning to Berlin, strict accountability for any attacks that harm our ships or citizens. In your absence, it was drafted by your Assistant Secretary, Robert Lansing.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. But earlier, before the Gulflight, we did nothing about the Falaba sinking, and the press furor about that was bad enough.”

  President Wilson sighed. “One American lost to heart failure, on a British vessel trying to flee at first, and then allowed by the U-boat to lower lifeboats and abandon ship. You see, Bill, if I reacted strongly to the smallest tragedy that can occur in war, I’d be drawn into the fighting in a matter of months. I knew that you as a strict pacifist would agree.”

  “Indeed, as a good Christian I do,” Bryan said whole-heartedly. “And I know you are too. But we must do more, in an even-handed way. Warn our citizens as well as the Germans. And warn the Western allies too, or forbid them outright to carry American passengers.”

  “Perhaps. But what I say as President is vastly significan
t, don’t you see? Americans might take it as a sign of weakness. Businessmen will hate any restriction on trade–and our friends across the pond, as they say, could use that to pressure us further.”

  “I have to say you’re being too sensitive to Britain, Mr. President,” Bryan said, risking bluntness. “That’s not neutrality. It can only get us in deeper over the long run. And today the Lusitania is setting sail once again with Americans on board.”

  “Well, Bill, the British do set an example.” Wilson spoke in a judicious tone. “They abide by a legal standard that I can justify to our voters. King George’s bunch may not always play by the rules, but at least they avoid getting caught.”

  “Yes, they’re good at it,” Bryan said. “Meanwhile, they invite neutral trade to Europe, but use the Royal Navy to divert all of it into their own ports. They also carry on arms traffic hiding behind false flags and passenger bookings, possibly with the aim of luring Americans into harm’s way.”

  “There’s truth in that,” Wilson agreed. “But how are we to respond to this printed warning, which reads like a challenge? The Lusitania is a British vessel and would never obey an American order to return to port. And the Admiralty, or even King George himself, would ignore such a demand in time of war.” The President shook his head hopelessly and went on, “For this crossing, our American nationals will just have to trust the Royal Navy to protect them from the Prussians with all their new toys, aeroplanes, Zeppelins and U-boats.”

  “Never a comfortable prospect,” Bryan agreed. “And the Brits must know that if a big ship gets sunk, with more American losses–pardon my language, Mr. President, but there’ll be Hell to pay.”

  Chapter 5

  Troubled Waters

  The nurses were having a pleasant time on deck with their male devotees. By mutual if unspoken consent, they lingered at the rail long after most other passengers had gone below. As New York harbor deepened into the blue Atlantic, the Lusitania’s sharp bow cut the waves so cleanly that none of the party even thought of seasickness.