III—STORY OF OLIVER P. BERNARD, AN ENGLISH PASSENGER
I think I can say that I was one of the few persons who really saw a torpedo discharged at the Lusitania. Coming on deck from the dining saloon. I was leaning against the starboard rail of the ship when I saw the periscope of a submarine about two hundred yards away. Then I noticed a long white streak of foam. It gave me the impression of frothy fizzing in water. A woman came to me and said: "There's a torpedo coming." Before she had finished the explosion took place and tons of debris were blown up through the four decks. Almost immediately there was a terrific impact, followed by an explosion. The Lusitania was going at fifteen knots at the time. The shot was perfectly aimed at the boat, and when it struck, debris, dust and water were thrown up in a dense column through the entire superstructure of the vessel about the bridge. A hundred must have been blown to atoms, including trimmers and stokers, to say nothing of men and women in the forward cabins, who were about to come on deck.
The Lusitania fell over to starboard and then slowly righted part way. Nearly every one rushed below. I went to the flying deck and stood between the funnels, where I could see them making an awful mess of getting the boats out. They were cutting and hacking at them. The first boat floated away empty. The next three were smashed. The Marconi main room was put out of commission by the first torpedo; then the wireless operator rushed to the emergency room, and just as he got the first reply to the "S. O. S." the whole apparatus went out of action.
The first torpedo hit amidship by the grand entrance to the saloon and rear of the bridge. A Marconi man rushed to me and offered me a chair, and said I had better take that, as it might be useful and better than nothing.
A few moments after the explosion the vessel toppled over, as if she were in drydock and some of the underpinning on the starboard side had been knocked away. There was a frantic dash from the starboard entrances to the port side and from below women were shouting, "What shall we do?" They knew well what had happened, as the chance of being torpedoed was discussed every day. I heard nothing else on the voyage. When the Lusitania listed still more I slid off the flying deck on to the boat deck, and from there fell into a boat lying alongside. As I got into the boat she was swept almost away by one of the funnels falling across her, and we only managed to push clear. I saw a minister's wife sucked right down one of the funnels and shot out again, looking like a piece of burned coal. We managed to save her. I rowed for some time with a woman between my knees before discovering that she was dead.
There was no great excitement, in the real sense of the word. Most of the women tried hard to keep cool, and except for occasional screams of "Where is my husband? Where is my child?" they acted bravely. I noticed more people going below than coming on deck after the explosion. The last person I spoke to before the vessel went down was Mrs. Mason, the young American daughter of William Lindsay, a manufacturer of Boston, who was on her honeymoon. She was asking for her husband.
Alfred Vanderbilt I saw standing outside the grand entrance of the saloon, looking quite happy and perfectly composed. He was holding a jewel case for a lady, for whom he was apparently waiting. I did not see Charles Frohman until I saw his body in a mortuary. His was the most peaceful face among all those I saw there. There was no trace of agony, and unlike others his features were not disfigured in any way. Frohman was none too well on the voyage, and was hardly able to walk, so he remained in his cabin most of the time, where, I believe, he was when the ship sank. Elbert Hubbard and his wife I also believe went down in their cabin.
The first two boats from the port side were manned principally by officers. The slow speed gave the Germans an absolutely pointblank shot. They couldn't miss. Only God's fair weather and daylight brought us ashore. If the Lusitania had been convoyed or had put on speed she would have been here now.
The wireless operators were still sending out calls from their emergency apparatus, the main wireless room having been disorganized. The ship was now listing badly to starboard, and, taking a swivel chair which an operator offered to me, I slid down into the water and to a boat which was still attached to the davits and which was partly covered with water. We cleared the boat not a moment too soon, for we had hardly done so when the vessel went down on the starboard side, one of the funnels grazing our heads. In the twinkling of an eye the monster vessel disappeared amidst the cries of those who had been caught. It was one long indescribable scene of agony. There was floating debris on all sides and men and women and children clinging for dear life to deck chairs and rafts which littered the water. Many were entangled in wreckage, and one by one they seemed to fall off and give themselves up.
About the last thing I saw happen on the boat was the chief Marconi operator taking a photograph when the vessel was listed to 45 degrees, but the pictures were spoiled by the water. We rowed around for three and a half hours before we were picked up.