The Other Side of the Night (35 page)

Action was something Stanley Lord most definitely wanted to avoid. The only genuine reality for a sociopath is their own self-preservation; at no time will such a person ever place themselves in a position of real or perceived danger. This is the key to Lord’s refusal to entertain the idea that the rockets sighted by Stone were distress signals, as well as his failure to awaken Evans. If the possibility that a ship nearby might be in peril was never raised, Lord and the
Californian
would not be compelled to respond, and in responding steam into what Lord believed were dangerous waters.

Therein lies the explanation for Lord’s inaction: he had already stopped, because, as Sir Rufus Isaacs had said, “the Captain of the vessel was in ice for the first time and would not take the risk of going to the rescue of another vessel which might have got into trouble, as he thought, from proceeding through the ice when he himself had stopped.” Lord, in his mind, had done the wise and prudent thing by stopping; anyone else who failed to exhibit such sagacity should be left to suffer the consequences of their rashness. Nor would he risk his own personal safety. He had stopped because of the ice, and in his judgment the waters around the
Californian
were dangerous. To attempt to answer the distress call of some unknown ship foolish enough to run onto the ice would have required him to expose the
Californian —
and himself—to danger. He would refuse to take such action as long as it could be plausibly avoided. It should not be forgotten that it was Chief Officer Stewart, not Captain Lord, who roused Cyril Evans to “see what he could learn” about the ship that had fired rockets in the night. This was, in its coldest and most cynical form, genuinely “reckless disregard for the safety of others.”

Demonstrations of the other major characteristics of a sociopath, duplicity coupled with a lack of remorse, quickly followed. Even when Lord was confronted with unavoidable proof that the
Titanic
had sunk, his actions were carefully qualified and orchestrated. The infamous gaffe about the
Titanic
’s position—“This won’t do, you must get me a better position”—was followed by a carefully crafted series of maneuvers calculated not to bring the
Californian
to the
Titanic
’s position as quickly as possible, but rather to create the impression that the ship had traveled much farther and with considerably greater difficulty than she actually did.

The duplicity went even further, of course, including the inexplicable disappearance of the
Californian
’s scrap log, for example, or the impossibly innocuous entries in the formal log for the morning of April 15, 1912. Falsifying a log entry is one of the most egregious offenses which any captain can commit, yet only someone truly credulous would believe that Stanley Lord was not responsible for the alterations and omissions found in the logbook of the
Californian
.

Lord’s demand for signed affidavits from his officers, Stone and Gibson, is particularly revealing, as were his words in Boston, when he said, “It is all foolishness for anybody to say that I, at the point of a revolver, took any man into this room and made him swear to tell any kind of a story.” Lord quite clearly knew that awkward questions would almost certainly be asked when the
Californian
docked in Boston, and the statements from the two officers were an early attempt to make certain that Lord’s version—and only his version—of the events of the night would be published. The “point of a revolver” remark is fraught with implications: no one had ever suggested that Lord
had
coerced his officers to say anything. When Lord made the remark, the existence of the affidavits was still completely unknown; yet here he was, defending himself against non-existent allegations.

But it was in front of Senator Smith, and later Lord Mersey, that Lord’s duplicity would be given free rein. His story would change substantially between Boston and Washington, and again between Washington and London. First he claimed that he had never actually seen the other ship, but then later recounted how he had personally watched it come up “within 4 miles of us.” Initially he would say that he had never seen the
Titanic
, yet a few days later he testified that he told Cyril Evans of the other ship, “This is not the
Titanic
, there is no doubt about it.”

Most damning of all was how Lord’s account of the white rockets seen by Stone and Gibson, as well as his own responses, was altered with the passage of time and changing of venues. From not having seen any rockets or signals of any kind on the night of April 15, 1912, as he told the Boston press, he then told Senator Smith that Second Officer Stone had indeed reported seeing rockets fired by the distant ship to the south. While at that point he carefully avoided offering any explanation of what he believed those rockets were, by the time he was sitting before the Board of Trade Inquiry, Lord’s story had evolved into his expressing the opinion that they were only company signals, and claiming that this had been his openly stated belief all along. What set Lord apart from all of the other witnesses at both investigations was that he was the only one to substantially change his story. Others would remember details differently, but only Lord would attempt to present fundamentally different—and contradictory—accounts of his actions.

(His remark to the Boston press the day prior to his appearance before the Senate subcommittee is also revealing, when he said, “
If
I go to Washington…” Lord had been served with a Congressional subpoena and there was no “if” about his appearance; had he ignored the subpoena, he would have been arrested by U.S. Marshals and brought to Washington in shackles. Yet another symptom of a sociopath is a disdain for authority when its requirements seem inconvenient.)

The manipulative and intimidating side of Lord’s character showed itself even before the
Titanic
disaster, as evidenced by his autocratic style of command. He was not a captain who inspired loyalty, rather he was a superior who motivated through fear. He was not given to towering rages, but rather a quieter, more subtle anger, one that created a brooding undercurrent of tension among his officers and crew. It is telling to note that it was members of his own crew who first came out against him. Lord’s treatment of Second Officer Stone and Apprentice Officer Gibson, on the other hand, went even further than simple intimidation. Both men were vulnerable—Gibson as a consequence of his youth and inexperience, and Stone by dint of his insecurity. Lord drew a bead on both of these weaknesses, knowing that an unfavorable report to the Leyland offices could do significant damage to Gibson’s career prospects, an unspoken threat which Lord could hold over the young apprentice whenever it was useful. At the same time he knew that he could depend on Herbert Stone’s loyalty, which stemmed from a compound of the young officer’s respect for the father-figure of Lord and fear of his position as captain. Lord literally held the careers of both men in his hands, and if that loyalty were tested too sorely, he would have the man’s affidavit on hand to assure it.

At the same time it is worth noting that Lord made no similar attempt to coerce Third Officer Charles Groves into giving testimony that supported Lord’s version of the events in question. Groves was a much different kettle of fish from Stone and Gibson, possessing far more self-confidence than either, and with a broader range of experience at sea. It was Groves’ assertion that the ship to the south of the
Californian
was a large passenger liner that undermined Captain Lord’s contention that she was just a small tramp steamer. Despite his relatively junior grade, Groves’ experience with large passenger ships was considerably greater than Lord’s, and made his testimony difficult to credibly refute.

The final and most compelling evidence of Lord’s sociopathy, though, comes from one glaring omission that spanned the remainder of his life. At no time did Lord ever express the slightest remorse or regret for his inaction in the early hours of April 15, 1912. Not one word of condolence for the families of those lost on the
Titanic
ever passed his lips. Never once was there the recognition, however belated, that he might have—should have, could have—done things differently that night. Instead he only sought unqualified validation of his actions. There was never the slightest expression of doubt on his part that he was absolutely right in what he did and did not do; not even a passing recognition that others might see the circumstances differently and draw different conclusions. It was not simply a case where Stanley Lord did not believe himself to be guilty of the actions of which he was accused: to him, it was simply inconceivable that he could have done anything wrong.

The question would arise many times in the years since 1912, as to why, if he were so clearly guilty of criminal negligence at the very least, Captain Lord was not prosecuted. That he wasn’t is often seized upon by his defenders as proof that Lord was a scapegoat for the Board of Trade. The Board, they claim, was right to blame for the loss of life on the
Titanic
, even though it was never suggested at the time that Lord was at fault for failing to save everyone aboard the doomed White Star liner, but rather that he had failed to come to her aid. A conspiracy existed then and still exists, they claim, to prevent certain facts from emerging which would clear Lord’s name.

Yet here again the very selectiveness they employ in presenting the facts of their case betrays them. In point of fact, the opposite is true: in the Board of Trade files can be found a series of memorandums and legal opinions which reveal just how seriously the Board was considering bringing charges against Stanley Lord. Lord Mersey was far from alone in his judgment of Captain Lord’s culpability; even among professional seamen there were serious questions raised about the master of the
Californian
. At one point, after the proceedings were closed but before Lord Mersey drew up his report, Captain A.H.F. Young, the Professional Member of the Marine Department for the Board of Trade, went so far as to press Lord Mersey for a formal inquiry into Lord’s “competency to continue as Master of a British ship.” After a few weeks debate—some of it rather heated—the decision was made to not pursue a criminal case.

“Captain Lord’s fault carries its own punishment,” and “his punishment is already real and very heavy” were among the comments made, though this was not a universally held opinion. Captain Young would write of the decision, “From the point of view of ‘gross misdemeanour’ I think an Inquiry should have been held, but as I gather…that it has been decided by the President not to do so, I cannot well offer any further observation.” In an unspoken but obvious rebuke of Lord, however, the Board of Trade circulated a pamphlet to all British merchant marine officers carrying Master’s and Extra Master’s certificates, which reiterated the proper use of rockets as distress signals, as well as emphasizing the responsibility of all watch-keeping officers to take swift action to confirm the meaning of any signals sighted that they did not immediately understand. Never again would hundreds die needlessly while Herbert Stone ineptly paced his bridge, Cyril Evans slept peacefully in his bunk, and Stanley Lord napped uncaring in his chartroom, barely eleven miles away from a tragedy.

So, in the end, a formal verdict on Stanley Lord was never delivered. Yet under the weight of the evidence, and despite the workings and machinations of those who supported him, it was unnecessary, for the undelivered verdict bore punishment enough—the condemnation of generations, and the example of Stanley Lord as the model of that to which no merchant marine officer must ever aspire. In the decades that followed, the conclusions of both the American and British Inquiries, echoing each other with devastating precision, have withstood all the legal maneuvering, political posturing, and forensic legerdemain that has been employed in the attempt to refute them, and so Lord continues to stand condemned.

It has often been maintained and it may be true, at least superficially, that Stanley Lord in person was charming, warm, kindhearted, and a devoted family man; but in a moment of crisis which would bring out the very best in the character of other officers, the deadly flaw in his own would be revealed for all the world to see. Arthur Rostron was a man who would risk everything in the hope that he could reach the
Titanic
in time to save as many lives as he could. Stanley Lord was a man who simply didn’t care enough to awaken his own wireless operator in an effort to learn why a ship nearby was firing distress rockets into the night sky.

It was the Attorney General, Sir Rufus Isaacs, who at the time came closest to understanding what compelled Stanley Lord to do nothing in response to those white rockets. It was there, lurking in the dry, almost detached language of British jurisprudence that the truth about Stanley Lord has abided since that day in May 1912 when these words were uttered by Sir Rufus: “I am unable to find any possible explanation of what happened, except it may be the Captain of the vessel was in ice for the first time and would not take the risk of going to the rescue of another vessel.” It was with those five words, “
would not take the risk
,” that Sir Rufus struck what for Stanley Lord’s reputation and career was a mortal blow. The man who “would not take the risk” was a coward.

The
Titanic
disaster was the beginning of the end for the White Star Line. When she vanished into the depths of the North Atlantic, the
Titanic
took with her the company’s hopes and dreams for a new ascendancy on the North Atlantic. Gone were the plans for a weekly express service between New York and Southampton which would rival Cunard’s service from Liverpool. There were to have been three sister ships: the
Olympic
, the
Titanic
, and the still-building
Gigantic
. The loss of the
Titanic
crippled the plan, while delays in completing the
Gigantic
put paid to it.