John Martin Sweeney was born in Belmullet, County Mayo, Ireland, on the 14th October 1875, the son of Henry and Ellen Sweeney (nee McDermott). His father was a member of the Royal Irish Constabulary. He had a number of siblings, the exact number being unknown.
On completing his education he became a shop assistant, and then, on the 6th October 1894, he joined the British Army, becoming Conn/5044 Private John Martin Sweeney, 2nd Bn. Connaught Rangers. Following basic training in Galway, he was posted to Egypt, and later India, before he was sent back to England as being deemed unfit for further military service. He was honourably discharged on the 20th May 1902.
He did not remain long at his home, for on the 14th September 1902; he joined the Saxonia at Queenstown and travelled across the Atlantic Ocean to Boston, Massachusetts. From there, he travelled the relatively short distance to Watertown,
where his cousin, Thomas McDermott, was living.
He found work as a conductor and resided at 802. Mount Auburn Street, Watertown, and in 1909, he became a naturalized U.S. citizen.
In the spring of 1915, he decided to return to Ireland for either a holiday, or perhaps to try to re-enlist in his old regiment, and as a consequence, booked second-class passage on the Lusitania, for the sailing of the 1st May. He had intended departing New York on 3rd April, but due to unforeseen circumstances had to re-schedule his plans.
Having arrived at the Cunard berth at Pier 54 on the west side of city on the morning of 1st May 1915, in time for the liner’s scheduled 10 o’clock departure, he boarded and then, like all the other passengers and crew on board, had to wait until just before 12.30 p.m. before the liner actually sailed. This was because she had to embark passengers, crew and cargo from the Anchor Lines vessel the S.S. Cameronia which the British Admiralty had requisitioned for war service.
Then, six days out of New York 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 stage of her return voyage, she was only about 250 miles away from the safety of her home port, and twelve miles off the coast of his native land!
John Sweeney survived the sinking and was eventually landed at Queenstown. He made his way to his home in Ballina, much to the relief of his family and friends. While recuperating, he gave a detailed interview to a correspondent from the Western People newspaper which appeared in the edition of 15th May 1915: -
‘There was nothing unusual in the departure of the Lusitania from New York. I was utterly unaware of any warnings having been given. The only remark I heard made, and which in the light of later events might be construed into a warning, was an observation by some person on the shore to ‘cheer up, the worst is to come yet’.
‘I was travelling second-class, and the gaiety of the life on the ship and the prospect of returning to old Ireland after thirteen year’s exile made me forget the terrors of the sea. Of course there were rumours for some time before the ship left that she would be attacked by German submarines, but the passengers did not pay any heed to them.
‘We had a splendid time of it coming over with concerts, etc., and the ship’s orchestra entertained us with beautiful music. On the fateful Friday, coming from the dining saloon on to the deck at about 2 o’clock p.m., I went to the port side of the ship and gazed at the Irish coast with longing hopes. The ship was going slowly – I would say about 15 knots an hour, and the sea was beautifully calm, but the sky was rather hazy. I think I never felt so happy as at that particular moment, but my happiness and thoughts were soon to be turned in to a struggle for life and against an awful death.
‘The ship was suddenly struck by a torpedo on the starboard side. It appeared to be like a smothered explosion beneath the bow of the mighty vessel. Immediately there was a great commotion and excitement amongst the passengers. It could not be described as a panic, because the most remote idea from our minds was that the ship could be sunk at all. I asked a sailor what was the position of the ship, and he told me we were about 25
miles from Queenstown and eight miles from the Old Kinsale Head.
‘After the ship was struck, I ran down to the dining saloon to find out exactly what had happened, and while there I heard another and a louder crash, and the ship gave a tremendous lurch. I then fully realised all. The first thought that struck me was to run to my bunk and get a lifebelt, but my sleeping quarters were at the bow of the ship, and I would have to go down three flights of stairs. I decided not to risk going down and I went to the crew’s apartment and asked one of the sailors to give me a lifebelt.
‘By this time the ship’s lights had been extinguished, and it was with some difficulty the sailor got me the belt, owing to the darkness. As soon as I got it, I ran to the port side, and from there saw two lifeboats smashed into pieces, one at the bow and the other at the stern of the boat.
‘The ship had by now listed heavily, and the women on board seemed to have lost their heads completely. I saw several of them fling themselves over the side of the ship. It appeared to me that they were very slow in getting the lifeboats from the davits.
‘Several of the boats when lowered immediately capsized. A Church of Ireland clergyman asked me to help him affix his lifebelt for him, and I did so. I did not notice that clergyman amongst the survivors in Queenstown. By this time the ship was almost lying on her side, and knowing how to swim, I decided to make a jump for it.
‘I got into the water and started to swim towards a lifeboat. Luckily I was carried way from the ship by the current. I tried to get as far away as I could from the doomed vessel, in order not to be drawn in by the suction when she went down. Shortly afterwards I saw the ship tumble over on her starboard side.
‘Some of the lifeboats left on her broke loose as the giant vessel lay writhing in her death agony. The bow of the ship then disappeared, and the stern shot into the air, and in two or three m minutes afterwards, with a tumbling noise, something like a groan, she sank beneath the waves.
‘I was carried back towards the vessel by the suction, but I managed to keep on the surface. I afterwards got hold of a piece of wreckage and swam towards an upturned collapsible boat, to which some of the crew and a number of the passengers were clinging, among them a woman with her head partly submerged. I pulled her onto the boat. She died in the same position in which I laid her in the boat, mouth downwards.
‘We subsequently managed to rescue a few babies who were floating about on the water. There were two other lifeboats quite near to us, and we succeeded in attaching the three boats together by a rope so as to form a raft. There was another boat about 20 feet away and it was waterlogged.
‘It overturned several times, throwing its occupants into the water. The shouted at us to stand by, but we were unable, unfortunately, to go to their assistance, as we had no oars. However they eventually drifted towards us, and we managed to get them into our raft’.
Proceeding, Mr. Sweeney said that when the ship went down the air was filled with the heartrending shriek of women and children. ‘I saw the living persons,’ said Mr. Sweeney, ‘hanging to floating dead bodies. While swimming dead bodies bobbed against me several times. It was the most terrifying sight I ever witnessed, and the recollection of it – the dying shrieks, wild yells, and muttered prayers, all intermingled – will never be effaced from my memory.
‘About two hours after the ship went down we sighted the smoke of three steamers, but they did not see us and did not come to our assistance. Three fishing smacks subsequently came on the scene, and rescued a number of people. Five or six other vessels afterwards hove in sight, filling us with happy emotions and causing some of the men on the raft to burst out into It’s a long way to Tipperary.
‘We were picked up by the Indian Empire, a patrol boat mounted with one gun. Personally I did not suffer any great physical hardship. I did not feel cold while in the water, but when I got on to the patrol boat a reaction set in and I could hardly move hand or foot.
‘There were six women and three babies dead on our boat when we arrived at Queenstown. The large crowd at the landing stage received us with cheers. Every kindness and hospitality was shown to us, and we were supplied by the agent of the Cunard Company with prepaid telegraphic forms to communicate with our friends.
‘I was delighted to find that my messmate, a young man named Patrick Slattery, from Tipperary, had also been saved. He could not swim, and although he had his overcoat and boots on him, his lifebelt kept him afloat until he was picked up.’
It appears that Mr. Sweeney never crossed the Atlantic Ocean again and remained in Ballina, County Mayo, where he found employment as a clerk. He never married.
He died of tuberculosis in Ballina on the 7th February 1933, aged 56 years. He was laid to rest beside his parents in Leigue Cemetery, Ballina.
Register of Births, Marriages and Deaths, Ireland Catholic Parish Registers 1655 – 1915, Massachusetts U.S. State and Federal Naturalization Records 1798 – 1950, Massachusetts Passenger Lists 1820 – 1963, Cunard Records, UK Royal Hospital Chelsea Pensioner Soldier Service Records 1760 – 1920, Western People, UniLiv D92/2/53, UniLiv D92/2/345, UniLiv D92/2/403, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.