and children on board, the
families of men who had been drawn into the maelstrom of war.

For in spite of the calm and peace prevailing on the great passenger
ship, the shadow of war impended over all. The bloody struggles of the
great European cataclysm were proceeding at the other end of the English
Channel and dire hints of dangers on the sea in the "war zone" had
accompanied the sailing of the ship. But on this bright May day, as the
liner approached its destination, danger seemed far distant and few
indeed among passengers or crew gave serious thought to its imminence.
All was truly well on board. The skies were clear, the sea was smooth,
and though the myriad passengers realized that they had entered a danger
zone of the world's greatest war they had abounding confidence in the
giant ship, in its veteran commander, and in the line to which it
belonged, that had never yet lost the life of a single passenger
committed to its care. And confidently they looked forward to a safe
arrival in port next morning, the happy ending of a wartime voyage which
the children on board, and their children's children, should recall with
pride for a century to come. BUT--

Right ahead in the path of the floating palace, athwart the prescribed
course of the Lusitania there lurked the deadliest slinking serpent of
the seas--the tiny volcanic hull of an enemy submarine, most dangerous
of war's new weapons. Lying leisurely in wait, its body submerged just
beneath the swelling undulations of a summer sea, invisible, ruthless,
insatiable; only the protrusion of a foot or so of periscopic tube
betokened its presence without betraying its purpose. But in that
innocent-looking tube lay vast potentialities for evil--nay, devilish
certainties of dealing death and destruction. For the little
steel-encased arrangement of lenses and mirrors peeping from the depths
was the mechanical eye of the submarine and sufficed to betray to
watchful Teutons below the approach of the great ship, treasure laden
with human freight of non-combatants and neutrals, but flying the flag
of the German's foe.

For the crew of the submarine "der Tag" had come. Without a thought of
the innocents and neutrals aboard; reckless alike of immediate results
and ultimate consequences, animated only by the deadly designs of a
war-madness and a deliberate campaign of frightfulness, the firing
signal was flashed from the German commander's station and the fatal
torpedo was laun