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Updated: May 22, 2025
We care not the value of a flake of bacallao, if Das Antas the Bearded, Schwalbach the German, Saldanha the Duke, or any other leader of Lusitania's hosts, wins a fight or takes to his heels.
On Lusitania's rock girt coast, All coffinless thy relics lie, Where all but honour bright was lost, Yet thy example shall not die. Albeit no funeral knell was rung, Nor o'er thy tomb in mournful wreath The laurel twined with cypress hung, Still shall it live while Britons breathe.
At home, and at the office, the war was what people talked about most of the time. Since the Lusitania's sinking Captain Zelotes had been a battle charger chafing at the bit. He wanted to fight and to fight at once. "We've got to do it, Mother," he declared, over and over again. "Sooner or later we've got to fight that Kaiser gang. What are we waitin' for; will somebody tell me that?"
'In the name of those Americans who have died with the Allies, in the name of the Lusitania's murdered, in the name of civilisation, I ask, What have you done with America's soul? He sat down amidst a strained silence. Everywhere men's faces were twitching with repressed fury. Some were livid, and others bit their lips to keep back the hot words that clamoured for utterance.
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