Unsinkable: The Full Story of the RMS Titanic (21 page)

—II Kings 4:30

 

 

 

DOWN ON F DECK STEWARDESS ANNIE ROBINSON STOOD OUTSIDE THE MAIL room, watching the water rise. Carpenter Hutchinson rushed past her at one point, carrying a lead line. The young stewardess noticed that he looked distracted, almost scared. That was enough for her, and she began making her way to the upper decks. On A Deck she ran into Thomas Andrews, who greeted her with a small scolding.

“I thought I told you to put your lifebelt on,” he said.

“Yes, but I thought it rather mean to wear it.”

“Never mind that! Put it on—walk about—let the passengers see you.”

“It looks rather mean....”

“No, put it on! If you value your life, put it on. Now, I want you to open up all the spare rooms. Take out all the lifebelts and spare blankets and distribute them.”

A moment later, Andrews literally bumped into another stewardess, Mary Sloane, whom Andrews was fond of in a brotherly way. Miss Sloane had just been told by Dr. O’Loughlin, “Child, things are very bad,” and now she asked Andrews if the ship really was in any danger. Andrews replied, “It is very serious, but keep the bad news quiet for fear of panic.” That was his overriding concern now: the last thing the Titanic could afford was a panic.

He seemed to be everywhere, still filled with the boundless, driving energy that had characterized the man for so long, trying to imbue everyone with an appropriate sense of urgency. But unlike Ismay’s frantic dashing to and fro, he instinctively tailored his counsel to match the nature of the individuals he encountered. That was why he had told Mr. and Mrs. Albert Dick, who had been his dinner companions that evening, “She is torn to bits below, but she will not sink if her after bulkheads hold,” even though he knew the ship was doomed. To Mr. and Mrs. John B. Thayer, whom he knew wouldn’t panic and could keep a confidence, he was completely candid: in his estimation, he said, he didn’t give the ship “much over an hour to live.”
¹

Some of those on board had already come to a similar conclusion. It was just after midnight when Daniel Buckley, who had been kicking chunks of ice about the forward well deck, heard one of the stewards repeating the order for all passengers to go to the upper decks with their lifebelts on. Deciding to go back to his cabin on F Deck to retrieve his, he dashed down the staircase that led to E Deck and abruptly stopped when he found the bottom three steps already underwater. Forgetting about his lifebelt, he turned and fled up “Scotland Road” toward the stern. About this same time Steward Ray went down to his quarters on E Deck to fetch a warm overcoat and decided to make his way back up using the forward main staircase. The corridors in the forward part of the ship were now quite empty; the firemen and steerage passengers that had earlier filled them were long since gone farther aft. When Ray reached the foot of the staircase he was disturbed to hear the sound of water sloshing back and forth behind a partition just forward of where he was standing.

Assistant Second Class Steward Joseph Wheat had a more personal encounter with the encroaching sea water. His room on F Deck was just aft of Steward Ray’s on the deck above. When Wheat went to fetch his valuables, everything seemed secure and dry. But as he made his way back to the stairs leading topside, he ran across an unnerving sight: water was flowing down the stairs from the deck above, E Deck. It wasn’t much, just a trickle about a quarter inch or so deep, but it didn’t take Wheat long to figure out what it meant: the compartment forward on F Deck had filled up completely, and just as Andrews had predicted, the water was slopping over the top of the watertight bulkhead on E Deck and had begun filling up the next compartment. For Steward Wheat it was time to go.

A bit later, around 12:30 A.M., Able Seaman John Poingdestre had gone down to the fo’c’s’le in E Deck to get his rubber sea boots. He had just pulled them on when the wooden wall between his quarters and some of the Third Class accommodations forward collapsed and the sea rushed in. Frantically Poingdestre fought his way free of the swirling water that rapidly rose to his waist.
²

Down below, though, there was still a lot of work to be done. In the portside reciprocating engine room, Greaser Thomas Ranger, at the direction of Chief Engineer Bell, began turning off forty-five large fans that were part of the massive refrigeration machinery. Earlier Bell had switched on the emergency dynamos now that Boiler Rooms 5 and 6 were shut down, but he was being careful to conserve every amp of power for the lights and the wireless, and so had told Ranger to shut the refrigeration plant down. While Ranger went about his task, Electrician Alfred White began brewing coffee, and Bell began organizing his men to get as many of the pumps working as possible.

In Boiler Room 5, the situation appeared to be fairly under control. The sea was still pouring in through the two-foot-long gash in the starboard bulkhead, but the boilers had been shut down and the fires drawn, and most of the stokers and firemen had been sent topside. Now Engineers Harvey and Shepherd, with Lead Fireman Barrett and a few others helping them, were working amid the swirling clouds of steam that rose from the dampened fires, trying to get the pumps going. Under Harvey’s direction Barrett had just lifted a manhole cover of the starboard floorplates so Harvey could make adjustments to the pump controls.

The steam had reduced visibility to only a few feet, and that was why Shepherd, hurrying over to assist Harvey, never saw the open manhole, fell in, and broke his leg. As gently as possible Harvey, Barrett, and Fireman George Kemish lifted Shepherd from the hole and carried him to the pump room at the forward end of the compartment. After making the injured man as comfortable as they could, they went back to work. Orders had come from the bridge for everyone to report to their boat stations, so Barrett saw the rest of his firemen off, except for Kemish, then went back to work at the valves with Harvey.

After a few more minutes’ work the pumps were going strong, the deck of the boiler room was nearly dry, and the steam had nearly dissipated. Without warning the sea suddenly came rushing into Boiler Room 5 as the bulkhead between No. 5 and No. 6 gave way. Harvey shouted for Kemish and Barrett to make for the escape ladders, while he turned and ran forward to try and reach Shepherd. In seconds both Harvey and Shepherd were swept under by a rising flood of water.
³

Up on the Boat Deck there was still little urgency in loading the boats, most people still believing that the fuss was just precautionary. John Jacob Astor summed it up best when he echoed J. R. McGough, remarking while watching Boat 5 being lowered, “We are safer on board the ship than in that little boat.” No one was aware that the bulkhead between Boiler Rooms 5 and 6 had collapsed; very few knew the extent of the damage done by the iceberg; even fewer knew that there were boats for only half as many people as were on board. Only Phillips, Bride, and the
Titanic’s
officers knew that the ship was sending out the international distress call. From bow to stern the Titanic, sitting motionless in the water, was ablaze with bright lights, their glow lighting the ocean for hundreds of yards in every direction. Bouncy, up-tempo ragtime floated across her decks, while passengers and crew milled about in a calm, unhurried fashion. The ship was beginning to list noticeably down by the head, but even that didn’t seem to cause much concern. Certainly few people aboard considered the situation dangerous.

All that changed in an instant a few minutes before 1:00 A.M., just as Boat 5 was being lowered. Without warning a bright flash and a loud hiss came from the starboard bridge wing, and a few seconds later a shower of brilliant white stars burst high over the Titanic with a tremendous bang. (Fifth Officer Lowe was to retain the memory of Bruce Ismay’s startled expression—staring high into the air, mouth open in disbelief—for the rest of his life.) White rockets at sea meant only one thing: distress. Now everyone knew that the Titanic needed the help of any ship close enough to see her: she was in mortal danger.

At 11:50 P.M. the lookout bell in the crow’s nest had rung once, signaling that a ship was spotted nearby off to port. The stars had been so bright, even down close to the horizon, that the lights of this ship hadn’t been clearly seen until the Titanic had turned around the iceberg and swung her bow around to the north. When Fleet and Lee saw the other ship, they had immediately called the bridge, where Sixth Officer Moody had taken their report. He passed it on to Fourth Officer Boxhall, who ran out onto the port bridge wing and through his high-powered glasses saw a steamship about a third of the
Titanic’s
size a half-point off the port bow. She appeared to be motionless and not more than ten or twelve miles away, her green (starboard) running light showing clearly. Boxhall informed Captain Smith as soon as he had returned to the bridge from his inspection with Thomas Andrews, a few minutes past midnight. Smith acknowledged Boxhall’s report, but did nothing until Quartermaster Rowe arrived on the bridge carrying the box of rockets forty-five minutes later. Smith then told Boxhall to try contacting the ship by Morse lamp, and ordered Rowe to begin firing the rockets, letting one go every five minutes or so.
⁴

In the Marconi shack Phillips and Bride were unaware that Rowe had started firing the rockets, although if he had known Phillips probably would have felt better. News from other ships had been discouraging. At 12:18 the first ship to respond to the
Titanic’s
CQD was the Norddeutscher Lloyd’s
Frankfort.
Her response to Phillips’s call was a curt “OK—Stand by.” A few moments later, though, the Canadian Pacific’s Mount Temple responded that she was changing course to meet the Titanic, as did the Russian steamer
Birma,
as well as the Allen Line’s
Virginian,
but none of them was particularly close.

At 12:25 Phillips got his first piece of good news. The wireless operator of the Cunard liner
Carpathia
had missed the Titanic’s first CQD, so when he casually asked Phillips if he knew there was traffic waiting for him at Cape Race, Phillips brushed his query aside, rapidly tapping out, “Come at once. We have struck a berg and require immediate assistance. It’s a CQD, old man [CQD OM]. Position 41.46 N, 50.14 W.” After a moment’s pause the
Carpathia’s
operator asked whether to tell his captain. Phillips replied, “Yes, at once!” A few minutes later, the news came that the
Carpathia
was only fifty-eight miles away and “coming hard.”

At 12:34 the
Frankfort
called again, this time with a position—one hundred fifty miles away. Phillips asked, “Are you coming to our assistance?” The German liner asked, “What is the matter with you?” Patiently Phillips tapped back, “Tell your captain to come to our help. We are on the ice.”

At this moment the Olympic barged in. She was five hundred miles away, but her powerful wireless easily put her in touch with her stricken sister. Phillips asked her to stand by. Captain Smith had just come in the cabin to get a first hand report of the situation. Phillips told him about the
Carpathia.

“What call are you sending?” Smith asked.

“CQD,” Phillips replied.

That jogged Bride’s memory. Recently an international convention had introduced a new distress call to supersede the traditional CQD. It had chosen the letters SOS—not because they stood for anything in particular, but because they were simple enough for even amateurs to send and receive. Bride suggested to Phillips, “Send SOS; it’s the new call, and besides this may be your last chance to send it!”

Phillips, Smith, and Bride all laughed together, and at 12:45 A.M. April 15, 1912, the Titanic sent out the first SOS in history. Phillips would continue to send the new signal, interspersed with the traditional CQD call, as long as the power lasted.
⁵

Outside, on the Boat Deck, the mood had shifted dramatically once the rockets started going up. The lights were still bright, the music was still cheerful, but Lightoller and Murdoch found that they no longer had to coax people into the lifeboats. The hardest thing now was looking away while the goodbyes were being said.

“Be brave. No matter what happens, be brave!” were Dr. W T. Minahan’s parting words to his wife as he helped Mrs. Minahan into Boat 4. Adolf Dyker watched his wife climb into one of the boats, handed the little satchel containing their valuables across to her, and simply said, “I’ll see you later.” He then faded back into the crowd.

“Walter, you must come with me!” cried Mrs. Walter Douglas. Shaking his head, Mr. Douglas replied, “No, I must be a gentleman,” and stepped back onto the Boat Deck. “It’s all right, little girl,” Daniel Marvin told Mary, his bride of three weeks. “You go and I’ll stay a while.” As the boat was being lowered he blew her a kiss.

Mark Fortune saw his wife and three daughters into a boat, then reassured them that he and his son Charles would be fine. “We’re going in the next boat,” he explained. One of the girls called back, “Charles, take good care of Father!”

Thomas Brown brought his family out onto the Boat Deck and quickly saw them into Boat 14, then stepped back and calmly lit a cigar. When Mrs. Brown urged him to get into the boat, he shook his head and said, “I’ll see you in New York.”

Mr. and Mrs. Turrell Cavendish said nothing as Mrs. Cavendish climbed into the waiting boat. Turning to her husband, she kissed him, held him close for a moment, then kissed him again. After a few moments she let him go and he turned away.

Sometimes the husbands had to be firm with their wives. Arthur Ryerson told Mrs. Ryerson in no uncertain terms that “You must obey orders. When they say ‘Women and children to the boats’ you must go when your turn comes.”

Mrs. Lucien Smith didn’t want to give in to Mr. Smith, and tried appealing to the captain. As Captain Smith stood out on the bridge wing, Mrs. Smith ran up to him asked if he would make an exception and let her husband go with her. Not having the heart to refuse her directly, Captain Smith instead raised his megaphone and shouted, “Women and children first!” down the starboard Boat Deck.