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Within hours of the sinking of RMS Lusitania by a German submarine off the Cork coast in May 1915, a narrative was created which over time became the accepted truth of the incident. Many people today still believe the sinking of the Lusitania was a savage attack on an innocent vessel that brought America into the war. In this book, author and historian Michael Martin raises a series of disturbing questions that challenge this longheld perspective. Examining a raft of old and new evidence suggesting a more sinister function of RMS Lusitania, this book explores the widespread use of civilian vessels within the war effort; it shines a light on the operational response of the Royal Navy in the immediate aftermath of the incident; and it looks at the nature of the response of the United States at this crucial juncture. And, above all, this book questions the narrative that has grown up around one of the most pivotal junctures in the war to end all wars.
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Title Page
Acknowledgements
Introduction
1. Queenstown and the Queenstown Command
2. Submarines and Submarine Warfare
3. Shipping Companies and Trans-Atlantic Passage
4. The First World War
5. Blockades and Retaliation
6. Exclusion Zones, Q Ships and Warnings
7. Cargo and Contraband
8. Attack in the Afternoon
9. Human Tragedy
10. American Neutrality
11. The Narrative
12. The Wreck
13. Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Copyright
In finishing a book many authors feel that there is much more that could have been written, that particular areas could have been expanded upon or given more detailed explanations. There can be a deep-felt reluctance to ‘let it go’, punctuated with an insatiable desire to get back into it and begin to update, amend and rewrite all over again. On the other hand the people closest to them are often relieved that the project is finally done. In the writing of a book the author will be motivated and driven to put in the late nights, exhaustive research and lengthy discussions but family and friends, who get no immediate benefit, are the ones who are the background and sometimes frontline support without whom the book would never see the light of day. In this regard there are numerous people I would like to acknowledge. Heartfelt thanks to my wife Geraldine and sons Gary Lee and Ken who offered unconditional encouragement throughout all phases of concept, research, writing and delivery; my nephew Aaron Gaynor (imbued with the patience of Joab), who forensically examined the manuscript and made corrections and offered suggestions that undoubtedly added value to the text; Joan Brennan who oversaw all the requirements of the day job in running a busy office for me in my absence; the many authors and researchers whose work I consulted in the course of writing this book; the staff at the Boole Library of University College Cork; the curator, Heather Bird, and staff of Cobh Museum. Eoin McGarry for sharing his insight into the actuality of the wreck of the ship and its physical legacy; Paddy O’Sullivan and his unwavering encouragement for all things Lusitania; the military veteran’s organisation of Grand Cayman and in particular Gerry and Ali who orchestrated my visit to speak about the Lusitania there; my former colleagues of the Irish Navy who deal on a daily basis with all the vagaries of the Eastern Atlantic that surrounds Ireland; Marcus Connaughton, author, broadcaster, producer and presenter of the Seascapes Maritime programme on Irish National Radio; Jim Halligan and fellow members of The Molgoggers Sea Shanty and Maritime Song Group who continue to offer a healthy diversion for mind and spirit when embroiled in the concentration of daily writing; finally to Eamon and Elizabeth Martin whom I have no doubt are proudly looking on from further afield.
The Royal Mail Steamship RMS Lusitania was torpedoed and sunk by a German submarine on 7 May 1915. Twelve hundred innocent civilians lost their lives that day and became another statistic of what became known as the Great War. The fact that this was a civilian ship and was populated by non-combatants imparted the understandable impression that this action plumbed new depths of inhumanity. Unfortunately, there was nothing new about the slaughter of innocents. Such an event in peacetime would cause consternation around the globe among all peoples. Yet there were some in 1915 that perceived the attack as legitimate. There were some who believed it was justified. Their beliefs arose as a consequence of them being ‘at war’, the wording that gives latitude for unspeakable acts.
The term ‘war’ embodies a great diversity of events and occurrences that always mean different things to different people. It is multifaceted, frequently reflecting division and conflict but also political intrigue, deeply held cultural aspirations, greed, cruelty, loss, human tragedy and almost always unspeakable terror for those who are at the receiving end of the mechanics of war. There can be heroism, bravery, kind-heartedness or hostility depending on which side of the conflict the perspective is formed. Centuries of mankind often perceived war to be the playing out of good against evil, right against wrong. In addition, war was often thought to be about man against man. In the classic scenario, foes line up opposite each other on a chosen site and engage on a most personal level in fighting and hand-to-hand combat until numbers, exhaustion or skill lead to one side becoming victorious. The development of weaponry and tactics from as early as Greek and Roman times began a process of distancing opponents from each other. The longbow, the crossbow, the musket and the cannon all had the effect of removing combatants from the point of lethal impact.
In simpler times, justification of the slaughter of enemies may have been easier. Protection of land, upholding of rights, consolidation of food sources and the defence of the most basic needs to survive would have compelled people to believe that war was defensive and necessary. As man developed, complicating factors increased inordinately. The acquisition of internal power, religious beliefs or control and political intrigue resulting in shifting of influence became the commonplace. It was also crucial to persuade citizens (on whose behalf war supposedly took place) that offensive actions were justified and the enemy was at fault. The repeated perspective of one side over another, the eternal narrative of right against wrong directed at the people of participating nations was to be shaped by the use of propaganda which often could be justification for defending the indefensible. Simplistic views of an arch-enemy embodying all that is evil can be comforting; however, such logic can also disguise errors of judgement and even neglect on the part of those who purportedly are fighting from the high moral ground. The loss of over 1,200 lives as a result of the sinking of RMS Lusitania in May of 1915 may fall into this category.
The outbreak of the First World War was the classic case of the shifting alliances and the balance of power among a small number of elite royalty having consequences of unimaginable proportions. It was also to become the most advanced and hideous mechanisation of the slaughter of millions of lives. Those that were killed in many cases never saw or heard the weapons of destruction that brought about their demise. Those that killed others in the scales of thousands often did little more than press some buttons or adjust some levers. However, this did not prevent soldiers in the trenches witnessing the obscene destruction of human tissue and bone among those they had just spoken to or served with. The appalling discomfort of trench life was made worse by the persistent presence of the dead in forms and shapes that should never be seen by fellow human beings. The sheer size and scale of army numbers that were going to be involved were monumental. Germany had 2 million men in uniform ready to mobilise.
One army Corps alone (out of a total of forty in the German forces) required 170 railway carriages for officers, 965 for infantry, 2,960 for cavalry, 1,915 for artillery and supply wagons, 6,010 in all, grouped in 140 trains and an equal number again for their supplies.1
Millions of young men, women and children were to die between 1914 and 1918 and yet in some places life went on as normal. Business was conducted, relationships blossomed and died, newspapers were written and food was grown and harvested. Sometimes, however, the sanctity of apparent normality was shattered and those that felt physically removed from the battlefield were brought into the epicentre of destruction – often when least expected. Such was the experience of those sailing on one of the world’s most luxurious liners in 1915. On a sunny afternoon in a soft Atlantic swell nearing the end of an otherwise pleasant voyage, those on RMS Lusitania had the worst aspects of the war brought to bear on them. Like many who perished in the trenches they did not see their silent enemy. Like those who had the misfortune to be on the front, they too heard the deafening report of explosives and within seconds witnessed death and destruction around them. In the small confines of a ship made tiny by the vastness of the ocean, men, women and children grappled for life over death. Most did not succeed. Of more than 1,900 people on board only 762 survived.
How did such an atrocious attack take place? What events led to the taking of the lives of so many innocent non-combatants? Who was responsible? How did the reach of the battlefield extend so far beyond terra firma? What decisions were made and by whom?
Within hours of the sinking a narrative was created, a perspective was advanced. Some acquired solace from the simplistic explanations that were proffered. Others swore vengeance. This was a savage attack on an innocent vessel.
War waged by her [Germany] was directed not only against military and Naval forces opposed to her, but against innocent non-combatants whenever she can by the aid of her submarines and aerial craft. Nothing transcends this barbarity.2
But was the vessel innocent? Later it would be claimed that this atrocity brought America into the war. But did it? For almost a century the story of the loss of RMS Lusitania had been neatly categorised by many as an enemy war-crime. Undoubtedly this gave some closure to those who lost loved ones. But do they deserve more? Should we take the perspective that was offered or should we look for other explanations? The inhabitants of the little town of Queenstown (now Cobh) in County Cork, Ireland, were traumatised when they witnessed the consequences of the attack. The Old Church Cemetery near the town was to become the resting place of many of the victims.
Over 1,200 people died that day and while the following work does not purport to answer all queries, it is hoped that it will at least broaden perspectives and lead to the asking of more pertinent, if uncomfortable, questions in seeking to find out what really happened and why on that beautiful afternoon off the south coast of Ireland on 7 May of 1915.
In the aftermath of the sinking of the ship and in the intervening century since there has been much speculation and many theories advanced. The claims and counterclaims have kept scholars and writers busy over the years. Some books concentrated solely on the passengers and their wealth and influence, others have explored the terror of the incident itself. Almost all take one position or another on what happened and a few have tried to unravel the unanswered questions that remain. And there are many unanswered questions. However, adopting or believing a narrative that evolved which fit in then or fits in now with post-war results does not do the matter justice. Conclusions that were reached while the conflict was still in progress are bound to be heavily influenced by the war and people’s perspective on it. There have also been conspiracy and other theories that emerged that counter the official conclusions or seek to shed more light on grey areas. The reality is that even if all facts were laid bare, different perspectives, cultures and positions will lead to different conclusions.
The presence of munitions on board is undisputed, the carrying of .303 ammunition was within the rights of the shipping company according to the regulations at the time and one side can argue that nothing illegal was done. On the other hand, as Paddy O’Sullivan points out in his work, were these not bullets that would be fired at German soldiers and citizens once they reached their destination? If so, was the ship that carried them not a legitimate target? Some would argue that it was but there were procedures in the so called ‘rules of war’ to board such vessels when civilians were present which could have prevented any loss of life but destroyed the offending munitions. However, British merchant sea captains had been ordered to ram submarines whenever they saw them so others will argue it was impossible to approach such vessels. One conspiracy theory has the British Admiralty and Winston Churchill in particular orchestrating the entire incident. This appears to be highly improbable; however, there were certain actions taken and instructions given that are very likely to have increased the loss of life on the ship, some of which can be traced to the Admiralty. These include four areas in particular: the carriage of passengers into danger by the shipping company Cunard, the presence of an explosive cargo on board the ship, the extensive use of ‘civilian’ vessels in the fight against submarines, and the actions and inaction of HMS Juno.
The cause of the second explosion has been the subject of much conjecture and has been exhaustively examined; however, there are other matters that have not been so closely scrutinised. There is also now the added knowledge given to the world by Mr Bemis, the owner of the wreck, who undertook an expedition to the wreck site with National Geographic and beamed images of part of the cargo of ammunition into living rooms around the world as recently as 2012.
The story of the sinking of RMS Lusitania has continued to be a subject of discussion among historians, interested parties and scholars for almost a century now. New discoveries appear to raise more questions than they answer. In the public mind there seems to be still a prevailing narrative, very simplistic, very black and white: it was a savage attack on an innocent vessel that brought America into the war. Without detracting from the tragedy of the great loss of innocent lives that day, it is my intention in this book not only to show, it wasn’t and it didn’t, but also to try and put the incident into its proper historical context. The men, women and children who died that day deserve that we continue to ask the questions and not just accept a narrative handed down by officialdom and conveniently wrapped with a bow of simplicity.
Michael Martin, Cobh, 2014
Queenstown in Cork Harbour, on the south coast of Ireland, was to witness the main consequences of the sinking of RMS Lusitania. The town is now, and was then, the largest town on the largest island in Cork Harbour. Not surprisingly it was named Great Island. Its strategic location along the main shipping route between Europe and the Americas had resulted in it becoming a key stopping-off point on trans-Atlantic voyages. From whenever ships began to explore the oceans beyond the Eastern Atlantic seaboard, Cork Harbour had featured as an important station from where fresh produce, crew, water and cargo could be taken on to augment ships’ supplies. It was also a busy commercial port in its own right, with a healthy import and export trade, particularly from the city of Cork. The governing body of Britain’s Royal Navy, the Admiralty, had charted the entrance and approaches to Cork Harbour from as early as the sixteenth century. Their strategic interest in the harbour heightened in the early nineteenth century when their preferred location of the nearby harbour of Kinsale had become unsuitable as a result of natural silting. In 1825 the Admiralty Victualling station was moved from Kinsale to Haulbowline Island in Cork Harbour. There had been a British military presence there since Elizabethan times and during the Napoleonic wars major fortifications were upgraded at the entrance to the harbour and on Spike Island. This was probably the busiest time for the port in terms of military activity. Later, in the early 1850s British troops were embarked from Queenstown to and from the Crimean War, as they were during the Boer War in South Africa at the end of the 1800s. The Admiralty came to the area first in 1793. A hillside building was used as their headquarters which provided panoramic views of the harbour and its entrance. The jurisdiction of the Queenstown Command stretched all along the south coast of Ireland, which is right in the path of Britain’s strategic Western Approaches. Naval vessels of the Royal Navy had come and gone under the command of the Admiralty for many years. However, from the Boer War through to the First World War the strategic importance of Queenstown had somewhat diminished.
Today the town is known as Cobh and it has built up quite a successful tourism industry through its tenuous connections with the RMS Titanic. In 1912 Cork harbour was the last port of call of the ship which only stopped there for ninety minutes before making its fateful voyage across the Atlantic before striking the iceberg. The original buildings where passengers stayed and embarked from are still there. The first Titanic attraction in Ireland was established in the town in 1998. The author created an historical walking tour called the Titanic Trail which explores these connections. However, the sinking of RMS Lusitania was to have a much greater impact on the town than the Titanic ever had. The main consequence of the sinking of Titanic was shared between two cities in two different countries. The Cunard ship, Carpathia, was the first ship on the scene to pick up survivors from the stricken vessel and took them to New York. It was the officialdom of the city that dealt with the repatriation of survivors back to their home countries or final intended destination. New York also established an official enquiry to ascertain the circumstances of the sinking and the world media gathered there to capture the essence of one of the greatest maritime disasters ever. The recovery operation to retrieve the dead bodies from Titanic’s sinking was conducted from Halifax in Nova Scotia, Canada. It was the little Canadian port city that had to deal with the identification of remains, the burials and the notification to families of the fate of their loved ones. In this way it can be said that the immediate consequences of Titanic’s demise was shared between two cities in two different countries. In the case of sinking of RMS Lusitania (which in human terms was not that much different from Titanic) the little town of Cobh found itself at the centre of the consequences of the sinking. The rescue operation, involving the deployment and co-ordination of boats, was arranged there. Hundreds of bodies that were recovered from the sea after the sinking were brought there. Arrangements for the burial of those that died were organised in Cobh and the grisly job of identifying the bodies of as many people as possible were all to be witnessed by the people and the professions of Cobh. Happily for those that survived their repatriation was organised and many left from the old railway station to set out on a journey back to Great Britain.
Cobh as it is today. (© Michael Martin)
Despite the fact that the ship sank closer to other little port towns such as Kinsale and Courtmacsharry, the Admiralty designated Cobh as the place where victims and survivors should be brought soon after the rescue operations had begun. As a result it was the people of Cobh who witnessed most of the trauma and tragedy that followed. Many fishermen from the town engaged themselves in the rescue operation. Some families opened their homes to offer sanctuary for survivors until they could organise their onward travel. People were to see the bodies of men, women and children being brought from the landing pier to the temporary mortuaries that were set up. They witnessed distraught parents looking for missing children, husbands looking for wives, orphans looking for parents. Ninety-four children died on the RMS Lusitania, many having been separated from their mothers during the violent destruction and sinking of the ship.
Most survivors accounts’ describe both the speed with which the ship sank and the consequential violence with which the life-boats were destroyed against the hull of the vessel or had their human contents thrown into the sea because of their frenzied deployment.
At the time of the sinking in May of 1915, Cobh was at the centre of a busy military and commercial port. Physically the waterfront area was a series of classic Victorian and Georgian frontages. These buildings housed the various retail outlets, shipping companies, consulates, hotels, restaurants, banks, administrative and operational offices. On any day in Cobh one could witness the movement of ships, ferries and yachts crisscrossing to and fro in the expansive waterway. Royal Naval vessels steamed in and out of harbour regularly, anchoring directly in front of the town in a safe and strategic channel known as ‘the Roads’. It seemed as soon as they had anchored, their ships boats would be lowered from their sides and continually ply back and forth to other naval ships anchored nearby for a variety of reasons. Ferries operating in the harbour conveyed people to and from Cork city and to many of the small coastal towns around the harbour. Civilians going about their daily business found that ferry routes offered a much faster means of travel than using the road systems. Sometimes a short ferry journey could obviate the need for a lengthy road journey taking hours instead of minutes.
Military launches brought personnel from and between the major military installations comprising of forts and barracks on Haulbowline, Spike Island, Crosshaven and Whitegate. Forts Westmoreland, Camden and Carlisle positioned at these places formed the strategic defence of the entire harbour and its approaches. Despite its former military and maritime importance, Cobh at the beginning of the First World War was quite distant from the main theatre of operations of the Royal Navy.
The newly appointed Admiral Sir John Jellicoe as commander of the grand fleet of the Royal Navy of Great Britain held that the use of the navy centred on four points:
• It was absolutely vital for the navy to ensure the unimpeded use of the seas for British ships, because Britain as an island nation was not self-sufficient.
• In the event of war the navy should bring steady economic pressure on the enemy by denying him the use of the sea.
• The navy should cover the passage and assist any army sent overseas and protect its communication and supplies.
• The navy should prevent the invasion of Great Britain and its dominions by enemy forces.1
To give effect to the control of the seas, the Royal Navy were to effectively cut off access to the Atlantic and so other oceans by controlling the North Sea. Twenty-four Dreadnoughts and four battle cruisers were stationed at Scapa Flow and twelve cruisers carried out northern patrols. Eighteen pre-Dreadnoughts and four cruisers were stationed in the south and at Harwich there were two light cruisers, thirty-five destroyers and a submarine flotilla comprising of sixteen E and D class submarines. The Thames estuary, Portsmouth and Devonport were also bases for numerous ships, torpedo boats or submarines of different sizes and classes amounting to over eighty vessels which in the English Channel were augmented by French Naval vessels.
And so the Royal Navy was positioned in heavy concentration to control German access to open oceans and protect the homeland. Other vessels were deployed on the east coast and the entrance to the Irish Sea. In the greater picture Cobh was not seen as such a strategic location for keeping the German surface fleet blockaded. Admiral Coke, who was in charge of Queesntown Command at the time, didn’t have a huge number of vessels under his command. However, it would not have been unusual in Cobh to experience all the colour and movement of a bustling seaport: ships’ suppliers and chandlers provisioning waiting vessels, uniformed military personnel going about their business, postmasters overseeing delivery and collection of mail from rail and sea, consulates hosting diplomats, hansom cabs vying for the attention of foot-weary travellers, Admiralty officers parading along the town. Horses, stray dogs, beggars and stall owners all added to the vision, the sounds and smells of the coastal community that was always endowed with the fresh sea air swirling in and around its houses, docks, and seashore. The rail service that operated in the town had done so since 1862 and every train brought a new consignment of soldiers, sailors, emigrants and travellers to the town.
Most of the buildings that stood directly on the seafront had maritime uses. Shipping companies like the German Lloyd Line, the White Star Line, the Inman Line and many more were strung out along the seafront with their jetties and piers protruding towards the natural deep-water channel that ran immediately in front the town and parallel to the town’s main street. It is estimated that millions of emigrants threaded these streets and piers in the haemorrhage of Irish people that left the country over decades. In the dead centre of the town two large cambers offered refuge for small boats from the main harbour waterway where they could moor in relative safety.
The main population of the town lived in the outlying suburbia that stretched from behind the seafront façade, drifting around St Colman’s Cathedral and reaching back to the townlands that then became farmlands, making up the rural landscape of Great Island. In the townland of Clonmel, less than a mile from the cathedral, the Old Church cemetery had been in use for centuries and contained the graves of many military, business, literary, ecclesiastical and civic figures that had featured in the life of the town.
Almost adjoining one of the cambers was the office of the Cunard shipping company. Cunard were the owners of RMS Lusitania
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