Michael Gabriel Byrne was born in Carrick-on-Suir, County Tipperary, Ireland on the 28th May 1868, the son of James and Nanne Byrne (née Mackey). He was educated at Rockwell College, County Tipperary. In June 1888, he immigrated to the United States of America and settled in New York City.
Michael initially found work as a shoe dealer, and in 1895, he married Hermine Rustmann, who was some years older than him. Hermine had been born in Germany and had come to the United States of America in 1879. Michael became a naturalized U.S. citizen in 1897, and the couple resided at 444. West 50th Street, New York City, for many years. The couple never had children.
Michael became a merchant and businessman, and then a special deputy sheriff for New York County, and later a Major in the New York City Police Reserve, serving in the 26th Precinct. He retired from business at a relatively early age, and lived off income from investments and his real estate portfolio, which comprised of properties in New York City, as well as his native Ireland. He regularly returned to Ireland, and from 1911, made annual visits to his homeland.
He must have been financially comfortable, for in the spring of 1915, he was able to book saloon passage on the May sailing of the
Lusitania to travel from New York to Liverpool and then on to his native land.
He arrived at the Cunard berth at Pier 54 in New York harbour on the morning of 1st May 1915 in time for the liner’s scheduled 10 o’clock departure and having boarded with ticket number 46034, he was escorted to his accommodation in room B64, which was under the personal supervision of First Class Waiter John Roach who came from Liverpool and was serving as a first class bedroom steward on what was to become the liner’s last ever voyage.
She did not actually sail from the port until just after mid-day, because she had to wait to embark passengers, crew and cargo from the Anchor Lines vessel the S.S.
Cameronia, which the British Admiralty had requisitioned for service as a troop ship, at the end of April.
Six days later, on the afternoon of 7th May, and within sight of the coast of southern Ireland, the
Lusitania was torpedoed and sunk by the German submarine U-20. At that time, she was only about 250 miles away from her destination.
Michael Byrne actually saw the U-20 off the Lusitania‘s starboard bow, and at first thought he had seen a porpoise! Not long afterwards, he heard the torpedo detonate against the side of the ship, in what he later described as:-
..... like a million-ton hammer hitting a steel boiler a hundred feet high and a hundred feet long.
Eventually, he realised that the ship could not be saved and once the sea began to lap at his feet as he stood on the deck, he dived into the sea and swam as far away from her as he could before she went down. He was helped in this escape by the fact that he had always been a strong swimmer.
He was later eventually rescued from the sea by the Queenstown harbour tender
Flying Fish and then landed at that port with other survivors. From there, he was able to get to his destination of Paulstown in County Kilkenny, Ireland.
He gave an interview to the New Ross Standard, which was printed on 14th May 1915. He stated: -
Michael G. Byrne, special deputy sheriff, New York, who is a native of Paulstown, Co. Kilkenny, and was coming on a visit to see his friends, has been saved and gave an account of his formidable experiences of the sinking of the Lusitania to our representative on Monday. He says: ‘I was on the upper deck smoking a cigar at about 2 o’clock. We were sailing along nicely in beautiful weather and all on board seemed to be enjoying themselves. I saw away in the distance quite plainly the submarine, immediately I saw a peculiar-looking object coming from it along the water and straight in the direction of our ship.
Several others saw it also and some of them remarked it was a torpedo fired from a German submarine; at the moment some of them got a little excited. Having heard so much about German submarines previous to my trip, I quickly proceeded to my bunk where I managed to get a few of my valuables and my lifesaving jacket as best I could.
I hastened back, jostling passengers, till I got again on deck. The ship had been struck at this time and in an instant a thunderous roar, as if the skies opened, was heard from the bursting of the boilers. The ship reeled and staggered and passengers were thrown all over the place’.
Questioned as to the excitement of the passengers at this time, Mr. Byrne replied – ‘Well some of them appeared quite calm, extremely calm, while others were jumping frantically around everywhere, crying aloud “We are doomed”. I heard an officer say it was a German submarine attack and the order for the lifeboats to be lowered was given and they were filled rapidly’
In reply to a question, Mr. Byrne said: ‘I kept quite cool all this time, though fate looked certain and a sleep in a watery grave to be our end in a few minutes. At last when I saw no chance of a lifeboat, on the ship diving into the sea and many jumping out into the water, I then jumped into the sea as the ship was just going down.
I swam about for two hours among dead and live bodies and floating wreckage’. Mr. Byrne here remarked: ‘I am a good swimmer. There was a boat about two hundred yards away and I swam to it, but it was overcrowded and I would not be taken in.
I still swam to and fro, listening to drowning cries all around me of men, women and children. After some time I was picked up by another boat quite safe, and indeed I still think I see the struggling of the poor passengers in the water. Poor little children in the arms of their mothers tightly grasped in death floating on the surface of the sea.
The dying cries are still in my ears and the sight of the struggle for life through the deep sea will remain forever in my memory. The hideous howl of the Lusitania as she was swallowed in the waves brings a dismal thrill all over me’.
Asked how things looked at Queenstown, Mr. Byrne further stated – ‘I managed to get to Queenstown in a weak and exhausted condition. All my trunks, etc., are gone down in the Lusitania. I was thankful to have my dear little life safe indeed. The scenes at Queenstown were also horrifying. Many had arrived in boats with life just in them, others dead. The ghastly look on the survivors’ face as they met each other, many enquiring for lost friends’.
It was a sad landing port, through a few hours before bright and happy faces sighted the shores of Erin. Mr. Byrne stated that he heard the warning of sinking the ship before leaving New York, but received no personal warning. He remembered well the farewell given by some Germans as they were about to start on their voyage – ‘Goodbye, the worst is yet to come’. In fact the warning was not heeded by anyone.
Mr. Byrne is married to a German girl and left Germany at the outbreak of the War.
Within a few days, Michael Byrne wrote a 54 page letter to his wife in New York, describing his experiences, which was reported in the
New York World on 25th May 1915:-
In a letter from her husband, a survivor of the Lusitania, made public last night by Mrs. Michael G. Byrne, of No. 444 West Fiftieth Street, the sinking of the vessel and the activities of the submarine which sank her are described.
A summary of the letter of fifty-four pages is given. Mr. Byrne, a retired merchant, was a first-class passenger. He says he saw the periscope of the undersea fighter appear, and soon the wake of a torpedo approaching the ship. The letter continues:
‘We were really led to slaughter. An officer ran about the decks, telling passengers there was no danger; that the ship would be beached, although several passengers questioned the statement, knowing the torpedo had struck near the engine room.
I waited until the water was level with the main deck, then dived overboard. In the water, the sight of women with children and babies in their arms was terrible. Screams filled the air and mothers besought persons in boats to take their babies’.
Soon after the liner disappeared, he says:
‘A ripple on the surface was increased to a wave as a conning tower appeared, followed by the hull of a submarine. It rested just even with the surface and a man looked about the surroundings and disappeared. The submarine quickly dropped out of sight’.
Mr. Byrne was in the water two hours.
Waiter Roach who had looked after Michael Byrne in room B64 also survived the sinking, and eventually made it back to his home in Liverpool.
Michael Byrne remained in Ireland until August 1916, probably to properly recover from his ordeal, and also to take care of his various business interests, before returning to his home in New York City. He remained in New York City until 1919, after the end of the Great War, before resuming his visits to Ireland on an annual basis until around 1924.
His wife, Hermine, died in New York City on the 19th July 1926, aged 67 years and shortly afterwards, Michael returned permanently to Ireland. On his return to Ireland, Michael was styling his name as “Michael G. O’Byrne”, probably to emphasise that he was an Irishman despite the American accent he most have spoken with after so many years spent in New York City.
On the 30th August 1927, he married Mary Anne Rowan in Paulstown, Co. Kilkenny. The couple had known one another for many years prior to their marriage, and they resided at Shamrock Cottage, Paulstown, Co. Kilkenny.
Michael Byrne died at his home on the 28th February 1953, aged 84 years. His remains were buried in his second wife’s family grave in the cemetery behind the local Catholic Church.
Ireland, Civil Registration Birth Index, 1864 – 1958, Ireland, Select Births & Baptisms, 1620 -1911, Ireland, Civil Registration Marriages Index, 1845 – 1958, New York, New York, Death Index, 1862 – 1948, 1905 New York State Census, 1910 U.S. Federal Census, 1920 U.S. Federal Census, 1925 New York State Census, New York Passenger Lists 1820 – 1957, U.S. Passport Applications 1795 – 1925, U.S. Consular Registration Certificates 1907 – 1918, Cunard Records, New York Times, New Ross Standard, New York World, The Munster Express, PRO 22/71, Seven Days to Disaster, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.