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. IV--STORY TOLD BY GEORGE A. KESSLER, AN AMERICAN PASSENGER