The cast of characters in what I intend as a traditional, closed-environment mystery-somewhat in the Agatha Christie manner-consists primarily of real people. (Only Philomina Vance is fictional, and she takes the place of a real detective aboard the ship, one William Pierpoint of Scotland Yard.) The background material about all of these characters is as accurate as possible, though in some instances, with minor figures-Staff Captain J.C. Anderson, for example, or Master-at-Arms Williams-precious little is known.
Warning telegrams were in fact sent to Frohman, Vanderbilt and a number of other prominent passengers. Although in reality they were not murdered, the three German stowaways existed, as did Neil (sometimes “Neal”) Leach, who several authorities believe had been in league with these probable saboteurs and other German agents.
Charles Williamson, of course, was not in real life their murderer-since these murders happened only in my imagination-but he was indeed involved in the suspicious “suicide” of Alfred Vanderbilt’s mistress, and did seem to have blackmailed the millionaire with art investment as a front. Williamson seemed, then, fair game to be this novel’s villain. The incident of a passenger with a gun trying to force the launching of a lifeboat, only to be crushed by it, did happen-sources vary as to the identity of that passenger.
I have again used a real-life writer of detective fiction as my protagonist. Unlike Jacques Futrelle (The Titanic Murders), Leslie Charteris (The Hindenburg Murders), and Edgar Rice Burroughs (The Pearl Harbor Murders), S.S. Van Dine was not a favorite author of mine. I did read his Philo Vance novels as a young man-when I was devouring any mystery that wasn’t nailed down-and was fascinated by the pseudo-reality of his memoir technique, including his use of footnotes to achieve verisimilitude; the style of this novel has, in that regard at least, been an attempt to present a pastiche of his work. I reread one Vance novel in preparation for this novel-The Benson Murder Case-and, while the writing itself seemed highly competent, could not remember encountering a more irritating or less appealing detective character than Philo Vance.
Van Dine has always fascinated me, however, because of his rise and fall-that he was a spectacularly popular mystery writer who, within ten years of his prime, was largely forgotten. The eccentric egotist behind the pseudonym, Willard Huntington Wright is the subject of Alias S.S. Van Dine (1992) by John Loughery, a compulsively readable biography that I wholeheartedly recommend. Loughery’s portrait of Wright was the chief influence on my portrayal of S.S. Van Dine, although I turned to numerous references in the mystery field as well, including Encyclopedia of Mystery and Detection (1976) by my friends Otto Penzler and the late Chris Steinbrunner, and Twentieth-Century Crime and Mystery Writers-Second Edition (1985) by John M. Reilly. Wright was not on the final voyage of the Lusitania, but he did sail three months prior, bringing his artist brother, Stanton, safely home; this real-life connection to the Lucy inspired his use in this novel.
My two longtime research associates came through for me in a big way-the sinking of the Lusitania made for a particularly challenging and exhausting research job. George Hagenauer read every book on the subject he could find, and pointed me to the best and most pertinent material; in addition, he spent hours on the phone and in person with me, discussing which real people on the voyage would make interesting characters, probing the historical issues and ramifications, and generally “spitballing” the plot. George in particular helped examine the complicated figure of Elbert Hubbard, a man who was a household name in his day and is largely forgotten now (not unlike S.S. Van Dine). He also helped develop the backstory of Pinkerton agent Philomina Vance. I always thank George for his work, but this time I really couldn’t have done the job without him-he dug into ancient newspapers and magazines, and prepared files on a dozen Lusitania passengers, and prepped me beautifully for this voyage.
Lynn Myers-a real-life Pinkerton agent himself, if not as attractive a one as the fictional Miss Vance-did an incredible job for me, too, finding articles and books, and in particular leading me to (and locating a copy of) the single most important source-“Lusitania”: The Cunard Turbine-driven Quadruple-screw Atlantic Liner, a 1986 reprint of a 1907 Cunard volume that features deck plans, photos and detailed descriptions of everything on the ship. Introduced and expanded upon by Mark D. Warren, this book was an indispensable tool, as most books on the Lusitania-unlike those on the Titanic-tend to focus less on the ship and the voyage and more on the sinking and the politics.
Four other books provided the bulk of the information I drew upon, and all are quality works, any one of which would be worthwhile for a reader who’d like to know more about this subject (most also tell the story of the U-boat that sank the Lusitania, which is absent from this novel): Exploring the Lusitania (1995), Robert D. Ballard with Spencer Dunmore; The Last Voyage of the Lusitania (1956, 1996), A.A. Hoehling and Mary Hoehling; The Lusitania (2000), Daniel Allen Butler; and Seven Days to Disaster (1981), Des Hickey and Gus Smith.
Also useful were Lost Liners (1997), Robert D. Ballard, Rick Archbold and Ken Marschall; The Lusitania (1972), Colin Simpson; The Lusitania Disaster (1975), Thomas A. Bailey and Paul B. Ryan; The Lusitania’s Last Voyage (1915), Charles E. Lauriat, Jr.; and The Military History of the Lusitania (1965), Louis L. Snyder. Of these, Simpson’s book is probably the best known and most widely circulated, and provided me with information about Leach and the stowaways, as well as some nice details about the sinking. Some of Van Dine’s movements during the sinking are drawn from Lauriat’s experiences.
I also viewed two documentaries, Sinking the Lusitania (2001), written by its director John Booth with David Davis; and National Geographic: Last Voyage of the Lusitania (1994), directed by Peter Schnall and written by Patrick Prentice. The latter follows Robert Ballard’s exploration of the shipwreck, which dispelled some theories about the cause of the sinking. Both documentaries were helpful.
My portrait of Elbert Hubbard drew upon Elbert Hubbard of East Aurora (1926), Felix Shay; “Elbert Hubbard: Warrior with Words,” an article by Norman Carlise in the April, 1955 issue of Coronet; and various Roycrofters publications, in particular issues of The Philistine. Much material on Hubbard is available on the Internet, including several pages of his aphorisms. Most of what Hubbard says in this novel comes from his writing and speeches and other quoted sources; his feelings about Mr. and Mrs. Isador Straus, the tragic couple who died on the Titanic, are from an article he wrote, rather presciently. Alfred Vanderbilt material was drawn in part from Who Killed Society? (1960), Cleveland Amory, although Vanderbilt-like Hubbard-was covered in detail in various Lusitania books. Ideas for period apparel were aided by Maryanne Dolan’s Vintage Clothing 1880–1960 (1987). The material on S.S. McClure and Edward Rumely came from Loughery’s Van Dine biography and the excellent Success: the Life and Times of S.S. McClure (1963) by Peter Lyon.
The government opened postwar reparations hearings that enabled businesses and individuals to make claims for losses caused by Germany’s actions during the war, including the Lusitania sinking. Various government publications of the United States and Germany Mixed Claims Commission and other reparations tribunals served as perhaps the most useful source of information on Lusitania passengers. Here we found the information on Charles Williamson’s shady deals, which came to light when his relatives made claims on papers of his describing art and other assets that, under investigation, proved not to exist.
Also used were various issues of The New York Times from right before and after the tragedy. Times coverage provided the background on Madame DePage and the dock scandal that grew out of the German blockade.
This was a difficult novel for many reasons, not the least of which was my writing much of it in the aftermath of the September 11, 2001, tragedies. Such an event calls into question the value of entertainment-and for a number of days, I did not feel much like playing the role of entertainer-and proved particularly troubling to a writer in the process of creating a confection based around another tragedy of war.
That the Lusitania prefigured so much of the September 11 tragedies-one of my references reported a survivor comparing the swift sinking of the ship to “the collapse of a great building on fire”- made this task both more distressing and, finally, rewarding. Through the distance of history, in the guise of
