The Lusitania's Last Voyage: Being a narrative of the torpedoing and sinking of the R. M. S. Lusitania by a German submarine off the Irish coast, May 7, 1915 — John Shaqi
The Lusitania's Last Voyage: Being a narrative of the torpedoing and sinking of the R. M. S. Lusitania by a German submarine off the Irish coast, May 7, 1915Lauriat, Charles Emelius, Jr.
History
The Lusitania's Last Voyage: Being a narrative of the torpedoing and sinking of the R. M. S. Lusitania by a German submarine off the Irish coast, May 7, 1915
Lauriat, Charles Emelius, Jr.
Lusitania (Steamship)
The present style of life belt, or rather jacket, is not the
old-fashioned kind filled with hard cork, but a larger and more bulky
affair filled with fibre, and when you have it on you look and feel like
a padded football player, especially around the shoulders. When I shook
this wire off my head, it caught me around the shoulders on the soft
pad, and I couldn’t shake it off. It took me down under the water and
turned me upside down. I tell you I “kicked.” I came up none the worse
for my ducking, for it simply reminded me of one of my various trips
down to see “Susy the Mermaid” when I was a youngster at Camp Asquam and
the older boys used to duck us youngsters anywhere from five to fifteen
times a day, according to the unpardonable sins we were supposed to
have committed; and these weren’t mere “duckings” either. They used to
push us under, put their feet on our shoulders, and then give a good
shove, so that we went down anywhere from six to sixteen feet under
water. I hated the duckings at that time, but they proved mighty good
training!
When I came up, after shaking the Marconi wire, the waves bearing the
wreckage and people were upon me. After swimming around and helping
those I could by pushing them pieces of wreckage to which to cling, I
saw a short distance away a collapsible lifeboat floating right side up,
swam to it, and climbed aboard. A seaman quickly followed, and a fine
husky chap he proved to be. I heard my name called, and for the moment I
didn’t realize whether it was a call from Heaven or Hell, but when I
turned in the direction of the voice I found the man to be G----, one
of the three men with whom I had played cards each evening. I pulled him
up on the boat, and we three got out our jackknives and went at a kind
of can-opening operation, which was really the removing of the canvas
cover of the boat.
They call that invention a “boat,” but to start with, it is nothing but
a “raft.” Let me try to draw you a word picture and see if you will
understand it.
Suppose you floated a real lifeboat in the water, and at the water line
cut down the sides so that the bottom of the boat that was left floated
flush with the water. Then deck over and make watertight this part of
the boat that is left. This gives you a round bottomed, watertight raft,
floating almost flush with the water.
Take a long piece of about 24-inch high (or wide) canvas that will reach
all around the sides from one end back to the same end. Nail the lower
edge of this canvas to the outside edge of the “raft.” To enable you to
raise these “collapsible” canvas sides and to keep them in place, make a
stout rail that will be curved to the shape of the floor of the “raft”
and nail the top edge of the canvas on to it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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