James Hume was born at 205. Canmore Street, Belfast, County Antrim, Ireland, on the 29th January 1896, the son of Thomas Drew and Margaret Hume (née Briggs). He was the oldest of nine children, and his father worked as a flax dresser.
He first went to sea when he was 17 years of age and he engaged on the Lusitania at Liverpool as an able seaman in the Deck Department, on the 14th April 1915 at a monthly rate of pay of £5-10s.-0d. (£5.50p.). At his time of engagement, he was advanced £1-10s.-0d. (£1.50p) of this wage. He reported for duty five days later at 7 a.m., on the 17th May which was to be the last time that the vessel would ever sail out of the River Mersey. His previous ship had been the Sachem.
He survived the sinking just three weeks later and on his return to Belfast, described his experiences to a reporter of the local newspaper The Belfast Telegraph, which reported in its edition of the 12th May 1915: -
Young Hume said that he was in his bunk snatching a few hours' rest when he was awakened by the sound of an explosion. With the others in the room he rushed on deck, where a scene of great excitement prevailed.
Members of the crew were hurrying to and fro carrying out orders and directing the passengers to the boats. He was making his way to his allotted boat when a woman carrying a baby stopped him and inquired where she could get a life jacket. "You can have this one", replied Hume, handing her the belt he was carrying over his arm.
He assisted the woman to fix on the life belt, and in her thankfulness she snatched a gold watch from her breast and pushed it into his hand, ignoring his protest. Hume placed the token of a woman's gratitude in a pocket of his "dungarees", and after directing her to one of the boats, went to his post.
The boat at which he was engaged was lowered, but before anyone could be got on board, a sudden list of the liner caused the frailer craft to be upset.
Hume went on to describe the herculean efforts of the officers and crew to get the available boats filled with passengers, but he said the terrible list of the ship greatly hampered their efforts. He himself had climbed on to a rail, and when the liner was half submerged he sprang into the sea, his drop being one of about sixty feet.
"All around the ship," he continued, "you could see nothing but heads bobbing up and down in the water and when I looked back I saw the stern of the vessel in the air. People too terrified to jump were clinging desperately to the sides, and they went down when the ship sank."
He gave a pathetic account of how about forty people clinging to an upturned boat were swept away, one after the other, by the buffeting of the waves.
"I managed to swim over to a collapsible boat which was floating bottom upwards, the canvas covering being still attached. There were about forty of us clinging to it, including half-a-dozen girls, whom the men folk did their best to support. The boat was continually turning over on its side, however, and one by one the others lost their grip and disappeared. A child of about six years was washed up against me, and I endeavoured to support her but lost consciousness, and when I came to my senses I was aboard a fishing boat. I do not know what happened to the child. I was over four hours in the water, and that with nothing on but an undershirt, so you may guess I was nearly frozen. My feet were so cut up that I could scarcely walk."
In the course of his narrative, young Hume said that some passengers in the boats started singing to keep their spirits from falling. "Rule Britannia" and "Tipperary" were two of the airs he heard as he was clinging to the upturned boat. On a raft, on which several women were huddled, he saw a clergyman in an attitude of prayer.
Hume spoke in great praise of the kindness of the people of Queenstown. He was provided with clothes "coat and trousers, about two sizes too large for me," he laughingly remarked - and a pair of tennis shoes and was thus garbed when he reached Liverpool.
A sorrowful scene was presented at the Liverpool docks, he said, where crowds of people were gathered, anxiously scanning the faces of those who came ashore, all on the look-out for dear ones who had been aboard the ill-fated Cunarder.
One young woman rushed out from the crowd and, clasping Hume around
the neck, kissed him, only to drop back the next moment with the cry "Oh, I thought you were my brother." She proved to be the sister of a fireman on the Lusitania.
His parents in Belfast did not realise until the evening of the 7th May that the ship had gone down as they had not looked at their daily newspaper until then. It was not until a telegram arrived from their son, on the Saturday morning, which announced his safety that their terrible suspense and anxiety came to an end.
On his eventual return to Liverpool, James Hume was paid off from the Lusitania’s last voyage - the wages owing to him being £3-8s.-8d. (£3.43p). In common with all the members of the crew, whether survived or perished, he was paid up to and including the 8th May, 24 hours after the liner sank.
On the 15th July 1916, James Hume married Margaret Stewart in Belfast. They had at least one child, a son named Robert, who was born in 1917, and in the early years of their marriage, they resided at the Stewart home at Legland Street, Belfast. Nothing further is known about him.
Register of Births, Marriages, and Deaths, 1901 Census of Ireland, 1911 Census of Ireland, Cunard Records, Belfast Telegraph, Belfast Weekly Telegraph, Larne Times, PRO BT 100/345, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.
Revised & Updated – 19th January 2024.