Lusitania Lost

by Leonard Carpenter

  “Your voyage across from New York on RMS Lusitania caused quite a stir, Colonel,” Grey said. “We in England are flattered, of course, that you chose a British Cunard liner for the crossing, in spite of the U-boat danger. But did you not consider taking passage on a neutral ship, such as one of your own American Lines?”

  House was well-prepared to launch into the yarn he’d evolved to handle this diplomatic event, with all its tall-tale embellishments. “Well, Suh, we ended the trip under the Stars and Stripes anyway, didn’t we?” With that introductory joke, House passed the cigar to his host and lit up his own. “But really, Suh Edward, you may have heard the story by now that my own deah dad was a blockade runner back in Civil War days, a British migrant himself.” He puffed the cheroot to get it going. “That’s how our family suhved the Great Lost Cause of the Confederacy, by sending our supply ships through the Union lines off Galveston to unload in our Southuhn ports.

  “With that in mah history, it seemed like nothin’ much for me to get on board a ship that was doin’ basically the same thing. Except for the contraband, of course—we all know Cunahders don’t carry any war materiel.” He elbowed the minister and gave him a broad wink.

  “I felt, suh, that I needed to travel on the very best, fastest ship. To do any less would have disgraced ouah family name. At the time, I even thought my presence might make your Lusitania’s othuh passengers a little safer, having an American peace envoy on board. And maybe it did.”

  “So then,” Grey asked, “as the child of a blockade runner, was it your idea to raise the American colors when your ship missed its Royal Navy escort and hove into Liverpool?”

  “Why Suh, are you callin’ me a Son of a Gun-runnah?” The Colonel laughed aloud with his host, smiling broadly to reassure him over the quip. “Come now, Suh Edward, I don’t think you British chaps need a Yank to teach you how to bend the rules…or waive them, by waving a neutral flag.” He winked again at the point scored. “But nossuh, it wasn’t my Stars and Stripes your Captain Dow ran up the mainmast! If I’d raised a banner, it could just as well have been the gray southuhn one, eh?” He gave the Minister another sly nudge. “And if you’ll recall, suh, our American government bellowed almost as loudly over it as the Germans did. My boss Woodrow would have been happy to let me go to the bottom, I’m sure, just so long as it kept International Law intact.”

  Sir Edward responded with an understanding laugh, and the conversation flowed on.

  House felt quite at home with these upper-crust British, as no doubt he was meant to feel. But still, neutrality aside, after enjoying all this genteel, homey treatment from the Brits, how was he supposed to look forward to hob-nobbing with a bunch of uniformed, whiskered, goose-stepping and gruff-speaking Prussian generals on his impending visit to Germany?

  After a drive through farm estates and the smoky, congested confines of London, the touring car rolled up to St. James Park and the broad gates of Buckingham Palace. Two red-coated and fur-hatted Beefeater guards, alongside British servicemen in drab olive uniforms, admitted the touring car to the broad plaza at the front.

  Things appeared duly regal in the courtyard, except for the wartime khaki hues sprinkled among the attendants, and the presence of a pale blue biplane parked before the palace. House recognized it as a De Havilland with the short stubby cockpit, almost invisible tail boom, and Vickers machine gun on the nose. Whether it was there on courier duty, for Zeppelin defense, or just for demonstration purposes, a long strip of the royal plaza had been marked off as a runway.

  Colonel House took cordial leave of the Foreign Minister outside the touring car and was ushered by Beefeaters into the palace lobby. A butler led him out again across the vacant inner courtyard to the rear residential part of the great building. He had been told that the audience with His Majesty would be an intimate, informal one. This seemed likely as the single servant led him down empty hallways and through chambers decorated with fine antiques, elegant statuary and imposing royal portraits.

  When House was at last conducted into the magnificent library and told to wait, the delay was miniscule. In mere moments, without fanfare, King George the Fifth entered. He was dressed in tweed slacks and a beige sweater over his shirt and foulard.

  In spite of the casual attire, England’s monarch was instantly recognizable because of his sandy-colored mustache and goatee. The guest noted the close resemblance to His Majesty’s Hohenzollern cousin, Czar Nicholas of Russia, whom House had seen only in photographs so far. The King’s family resemblance to photos of Germany’s Kaiser was also eerily apparent.

  “Welcome to our home,” George greeted him. “It’s large and a bit chilly, but we must keep up appearances, even in wartime.”

  The monarch glanced around the cavernous library. “It seems rather musty in here. Perhaps we should conduct our meeting on the back terrace. The sun is out, for a time at least. It appears just now to be a delightful day.”

  House assented, unutterably charmed to be received so graciously by a king. George led him through a salon where a lady was addressing two maids, ordering up tea.

  “Here, Edward,” George said, “let me just introduce you to my wife, Queen Mary as they call her. Vickie, my dear—as we in the family say,” he added with a disarming smile—“this is Colonel Edward House, President Wilson’s personal envoy and close friend.”

  Although her title suggested hoop skirts and a crowned hairdo, the queen was tall and svelte in an informal gown of the latest loose cut, with hair primped in an elegant bun. Turning from the servants, she navigated smoothly across the room to place a slim hand in Edward’s.

  “Very pleased,” she said with a demure smile. Only the mildest trace of a German accent betrayed her Continental origins, and she seemed amused to watch the guest bow in his courtly Southern way.

  “Milady, I am the more pleased,” House said, as with a polite nod she turned back to her household business.

  “Right this way.” George touched his guest’s elbow and guided him toward the French windows at the back of the salon.

  “Because of the confidential nature of your visit we’ve dispensed with all formalities, as you can see.” The regent led the envoy out onto a sunlit terrace. It overlooked the bright gardens and green meadows of St. James Park, under a blue heaven dotted with flotillas of small puffy clouds. “I didn’t suppose,” the king went on, “that you or your President would desire a great deal of fanfare, press photography and so forth.”

  “Well, Your Majesty, that’s most considerate of you. The President asked me to sound things out over here, test the waters so to speak. He wouldn’t want any single government laying public claim to me or to the United States as an ally just yet. I will be going to see your cousin Wilhelm too, you know, and it wouldn’t do to provoke the Germans at this point.”

  “Hmm, yes,” King George said, taking a seat at a glass-topped table opposite his guest. “I’d tell you to say hello to my cousin Willie for me, but things have been a bit strained in the family. We’ve spent several decades trying not, as you put it, to ‘provoke the Germans.’ But with poor success, I’m sorry to say.”

  The monarch sighed and fell silent as the tray of steaming tea was brought, laid out before them, and poured out. “Still, Colonel,” the king went on in his mild, droll way, “I shouldn’t be propagandizing you. We may have an unfair advantage already. I hear that your father was a British subject, a sea captain who emigrated to Texas.”

  “That’s true, Your Majesty,” House said after sampling a tea cake. “I spent half of my boyhood on horseback and the other half on a ship’s deck.” As with the Foreign Minister he lied confidently to the King, knowing that gross exaggeration was expected of all Texans.

  “Well, Colonel, did you know that I myself was raised in the Royal Navy? At age twelve I signed on as a midshipman in our old sailing fleet. I made it all the way up to the dreadnoughts before this kingly
duty called.”

  “How very appropriate, Your Majesty, for the ruler of an empire whose strength is based on sea power. It’s such an amazing feat, for this small island of yours to spread the boon of Western civilization across all the world’s oceans and continents. But now it seems, with the coming of submarines and torpedoes, even your dreadnoughts have something to dread.”

  “Quite so,” the king solemnly said. “Instead of carrying on trade with our colonies and partners, we face being blockaded in our home islands by this undersea menace.” George set down his teacup and spoke in earnest. “That is why it’s so urgent that our neutral friends, like yourselves, continue to trade with us and not be frightened off by the threat of U-boats. I have every confidence in my Royal Navy to defeat this peril and limit our losses to a manageable level. But if the Germans, in their beastly frightfulness, should succeed in turning away all neutral shipping, it would threaten our defensive efforts in France and the very sovereignty of our kingdom here at home.”

  House, in view of George’s forthright tone, felt emboldened to challenge the king’s assertions. “But Your Majesty, what if your neutral friends, as you put it, choose to trade with Germany instead? Has your navy not instituted an illegal long-range blockade of German ports and cut off legal trade with the Central Powers?”

  “Indeed,” the King said, “I fear so, old chap. With all the advances in sea and air power, mines and submarines, the old three-mile blockade limit is hopelessly obsolete. It would render our ships fatally vulnerable to the enemy.”

  “Even so, Suh,” House ventured, “your blockade is in violation of International Law.”

  “Technically, perhaps,” His Majesty admitted. “But unlike the Germans, we do not sink neutral ships. As to the goods confiscated, we always pay a fair price, so the merchants lose nothing, except any illegal cargoes.” George shrugged with his most innocent smile. “In any event, my good fellow, your whole question is moot ever since my dear cousin Willie’s declaration of unrestricted submarine warfare. Any neutral shipping that goes near Germany or England, either one, now runs the risk being torpedoed without warning.”

  “That, of course,” House said, “is a key concern of my government and the American people. Rest assured, Suh, that I will raise it with the Kaiser when I go there. Short of ending this war, if we could come to some agreement or strategy to protect neutral shipping, my visit here would be a great success. I came bearing our Freedom of the Seas initiative, as you probably know, Your Majesty. Then when the Falaba was torpedoed, as you may recall, the death of just one American passenger caused an international uproar. Now, with this warning that the Germans have printed in our newspapers, the tension is high once again.”

  “Indeed, my good man. Suppose, just suppose—” the Colonel looked up to find the King’s earnest gaze fixed on him—“that they should sink the Lusitania with American passengers on board?”

  Taken aback by George’s directness, House had to gather his wits a moment. “Your Majesty, I’ll tell you the same thing I told your Foreign Minister not an hour ago, when he asked much the same question. I told Suh Gray that, if this were done, a flame of indignation would sweep America which would in itself carry us into the war. Ouah people would not stand for it, and my government would have no choice but to pay heed. I think, Suh, that great changes would be set in motion.”

  “Do you think President Wilson would immediately declare war?”

  “Why no Suh, I cannot say that he would. You must know, Your Majesty, that our government is not so centralized as to follow the lead of a single individual. There would be great outcry, great debate in our legislature and the press, and staunch opposition from leaders in our government such as our Secretary of State, Mr. Bryan. And President Wilson himself is above all else a peaceable man.”

  “Your American government is not, I think, so different from ours,” George said with a grave expression. “You do not think, then, that there would be a declaration of war?”

  “Not at once, no, Suh,” House said after consideration. “Public opinion takes time to shift. Even with urging from our leadership, it could take a year, more likely two, to sway a great nation like ours from peace to war. Strong questions raised by some factions, such as the Socialists, would have to be…settled. But I think the tide would have turned. It would just be a matter of time.”

  “Time,” the king echoed. “Time, you know, is not necessarily a bad thing. I would worry that, if some tragic event such as a sinking were to occur, it might touch off an instant panic in your country, with a trade embargo, say. Or a war frenzy, including a rapid military buildup that might just as seriously interrupt the flow of the American goods our nation and war effort have come so much to depend on. That would be…from our standpoint, you understand…a double tragedy.”

  “I think not, Your Majesty,” House said, nodding. “In a democracy as great as ours, nothing is going to happen overnight.”

  “Well, thank you, Colonel, for your reassurances. It’s good to have a friend on whom one can so confidently rely.”

  “Your Highness is most welcome, Suh. I understand.”

  At least, House believed that he did—though he would have many occasions to ponder his royal audience, in the days and years to come.

  Chapter 36

  Evasion

  You are a good electrician,” Kapitan-Leutnant Schwieger told his newest crew member. “You know your wires and batteries, but the job leaves you idle during hostile action. Therefore, Voegele, I am reassigning your battle station. From now on it will be right here in the command room.”

  “Hier, Herr Kapitan?”

  The Alsatian was, as Schwieger expected, taken by surprise. As a draftee, a near-foreigner from the French-German corridor so recently restored to the Fatherland, Voegele was all but shunned aboard the U-20. The captain knew that he must find his assignment lonely. It was time to bring the man into the crew, test his loyalty and, as the Anglischer saying went, make or break him.

  “Jawohl, Voegele,” Schwieger said, clapping a hand on his crewman’s shoulder. “During an attack I can use you here. It will give you valuable combat experience.”

  “Combat, sir?”

  The electrician’s quavering tone made others in the cramped compartment laugh aloud.

  “Herr Kapitan,” the pilot Lanz called from his seat astern, “does that mean you will no longer be needing him as ballast?”

  The joking term, greeted by more laughter, was in reference to the duty of most crewmen to run forward during a crash dive in order to weigh down the nose of the craft and make it sink faster, out of sight of attackers on the surface. Knowing this, Herr Kapitan Schwieger still regarded the question as impertinent. But then, his longtime, reliable pilot was technically a civilian, not subject to the harshest military discipline, so he let it pass.

  “Indeed,” Schwieger announced, “Herr Voegele’s duty will be right here, to listen for my orders from the conning tower—” the captain gestured up to the tiny turret, ladder and hatchway that stood open above them “—and then repeat the commands so that they can clearly be heard here below. In a combat situation, I don’t like to rely on the speaking tubes. So you, Voegele, will be my speaking tube…I promote you to Obersteuermann.”

  The humble steersman rank, only equivalent to quartermaster in the land army, nevertheless had the effect of silencing the crew’s snickers.

  “If my firing order is made to one of the torpedo rooms,” Schwieger pointedly instructed Voegele, “you will run forward or aft to convey it, see that it is carried out, and immediately report back to me.”

  The electrician looked puzzled and less than enthusiastic—hardly the fitting demeanor for a U-boat officer.

  “But sir,” the Alsatian said, “once a torpedo is armed and the tube flooded, you also have a Fire button in the conning tower. Wouldn’t it be quicker to use that?”

 
As electrician he would know this, of course. And indeed, failing an instant response to his speaking-tube command, Schwieger fully intended to use the electronic link rather than relying on this weak-livered draftee. By waiting, he would possibly miss the shot. But Voegele didn’t need to know all that.

  The Kapitan responded, “Since you ask, Herr Voegele…yes, indeed it would be quicker, assuming that the electric circuit works. But it is the teamwork that I am interested in, and prompt obedience.”

  Schwieger also knew it was important, given enough time, to exercise the crew in their appointed duties, the jobs they’d trained so tirelessly for. They valued that and saw it as a privilege. It was good for the boat, good for morale, and there should be no need to tell a raw recruit this.

  “And because it is my order,” the Kapitan finished curtly. “Any more questions? Enough, then, you are dismissed.”

  As Voegele half-heartedly saluted and turned away, Schwieger listened for more jeers but heard none. Now the Alsatian was put on notice, as was the entire crew…or soon would be, once the word got around. These morale-building duties were tiresome and sometimes embarrassing, but they were a necessary part of his command…at least on a fogbound homeward journey, when there was little to be done, and the men might so easily get into mischief.

  Returning to his charts on the map table, Schwieger silently cursed the fog. He cursed England too, and the poor luck that forced him now to turn his course homeward without notable success so far. True, he had sunk the sister ships Centurion and Candidate—along with one puny Irish sailboat armed only with cheese and chickens. Wartime provisions, and the means of transporting them, had been destroyed—a token revenge, at least, for the British sea blockade that was crippling Germany and threatening to slow the progress of the Der Kaiser’s armies. He and his crew had done their duty.

  Still, this double sinking was hardly the kind of achievement that would advance his career in the Kaiserliche Marine, or win admiration from his fellow captains. It was no great feat, such as taking on a warship or some of the troopships setting out from these same ports, carrying new hordes of English invaders to Churchill’s Turkish Delight in Gallipoli—or, as was rumored lately, to the very beaches of Northern Germany. It was nothing like sinking one of the great ocean liners that, under a pretense of ferrying passengers and mail, smuggled the munitions used to prosecute this devious war of encirclement against his homeland. The chances of any such accomplishment on this voyage grew slimmer by the hour.