Unsinkable: The Full Story of the RMS Titanic (18 page)

Engineer Harvey in the meantime was not taking any chances, and he ordered the boilers in No. 5 shut down. Barrett climbed up the ladder once again, and called down fifteen or twenty of the idle men from No. 6 who were milling around on E Deck to help. Together the crews from Boiler Rooms 5 and 6 began to draw the fires in the five enormous boilers. By midnight, by dint of back-breaking work, they had doused the fires and put on the dampers to keep the steam from rising, while the excess steam was blown off. The lights burned brightly and the pumps thumped away, staying ahead of the incoming water. Certainly there seemed no reason to believe anything was seriously wrong.
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Yet the signs were there for those who knew what to look for: the forepeak, the forward cargo holds, and the mailrooms were flooded; water was rapidly rising in the now abandoned Boiler Room 6; and the sea was lapping against the back wall of the squash court on F Deck. Some of the passengers began to get the picture. On D Deck Mrs. Henry Sleeper Harper was trying to get Dr. O’Laughlin to persuade Mr. Harper, who was still ill, to stay in bed. Sadly the old surgeon shook his head, and told her, “They tell me the trunks are floating around in the hold; you may as well go on deck.”

One deck above, in cabin C-51, Elizabeth Shutes asked a passing officer if there was any danger. With a reassuring smile he said, “Everything is all right, don’t worry. We’ve only burst two pipes.”

“But what makes the ship list so?” she persisted.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” the man replied and walked away, but before she closed the cabin door, Miss Shutes heard him tell another officer farther down the corridor, “We can keep the water out for a while.” Closing the door she turned to see if her nineteen-year-old charge, Margaret Graham, had overheard. She had—Margaret had been nibbling on a chicken sandwich, and now her hand was shaking so badly that, as she later put it, “the bread kept parting company from the chicken.”
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A few passengers began to slowly comprehend that all was not right with the ship. Up on A Deck, Major Peuchen noticed something peculiar. As he stood with Charles Hays watching the Third Class passengers playing in the ice, he suddenly cried out, “Why, she is listing! She should not do that! The water is perfectly calm and the ship has stopped!”

Hays seemed unperturbed. “Oh, I don’t know. You cannot sink this boat.” But Major Peuchen was not alone in his observation: not far from where he was standing, Colonel Gracie and Clinch Smith had noticed the same thing, while father aft, in Second Class, Lawrence Beesley noticed he was having trouble putting his feet where he wanted to on the stairs, as if the deck was tilted forward. William Sloper had been walking along the Promenade Deck when he abruptly stopped and remarked to his companion that it seemed as though they were walking downhill.
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At 12:05 A.M., after issuing orders to uncover the boats and muster the passengers, Captain Smith left the bridge and walked down the port side of the Boat Deck to the wireless shack. Inside, Phillips and Bride were completely unaware that anything had happened. After such a hectic day, with the transmitter breaking down and creating such a backlog, the exhausted Phillips was still desperately trying to catch up. Even though he wasn’t scheduled to come on duty until 2 A.M., Bride had offered to relieve Phillips at midnight to allow the senior operator to get some extra rest. Bride had just finished dressing when Captain Smith walked into the cabin.

“We’ve struck an iceberg,” the captain announced without preamble, “and I’m having an inspection done to see what it has done to us. You’d better get ready to send out a call for assistance, but don’t send it until I tell you.” By this time Bride had taken Phillips’s place at the transmitter, and Phillips was behind the green curtain that separated their bunks from the wireless room itself. After hearing Captain Smith’s announcement, Phillips began getting dressed again.

A few moments later Smith returned, this time just sticking his head in the door and saying simply, “Send the call for assistance!” Phillips asked if he should send the regulation call, and Smith said, “Yes, at once!” Then he handed Phillips a slip of paper with the
Titanic’s
position on it, which Fourth Officer Boxhall had worked out moments earlier.

Phillips and Bride switched places again, and Phillips put the headphones over his ears. At 12:15 A.M. he began tapping out the letters “CQD”—the international signal for distress: “CO—All Stations” “DDistress” —followed by “MGY,” the
Titanic’s
call letters, and the position “41.46 N, 50.14 W ”

“CQD ... CQD ... MGY ... 41.46 N, 50.14 W ... CQD ... MGY....”
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“Get up, lads, we’re sinking!” The normally smiling face of Second Steward George Dodd was grave as he stood in the doorway of Assistant Baker Charles Burgess’s bunkroom. Further forward Steward William Moss was trying to get the waiters up and moving, but no one was taking him seriously. When Dodd appeared, shouting, “Get every man up! Don’t let a man stay here!” the mood of levity vanished and the men scrambled to comply. Just then, as if to reinforce Dodd’s warning, Carpenter Hutchinson came up the corridor outside and blurted, “The bloody mail room is full!” In minutes the men were dressed, if somewhat haphazardly. (Baker Walter Belford, for example, who had just come off duty, quickly donned his baker’s uniform again—but forgot to put on underwear.) They then rushed out into the companionway toward their work stations.

Trimmer Hemming had returned to his bunk after his trip to the forepeak. Satisfied that despite his odd experience with the chain locker hatch the damage to the ship wasn’t serious, he was just drifting off to sleep when the ship’s joiner shook him awake, saying, “If I were you I’d turn out. She’s making water one-two-three and the racquet court is filling up.” A moment later Bosun Nichols came in, calling out, “Turn out, you fellows, you haven’t half an hour to live! That’s from Mr. Andrews. Keep it to yourselves and let no one know.”
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The passengers certainly didn’t know. Word had spread quickly that Captain Smith had ordered everyone onto the Boat Deck wearing their lifebelts, but nobody really believed it was serious. Lucien Smith had abandoned his bridge game and briefly returned to his cabin to let his wife know that he was, in his words, “going exploring.” Reassured by her husband’s unworried tone, Mrs. Smith had gone back to sleep after her husband had left.

Suddenly she was aware that the lights in their cabin had come back on and Mr. Smith, smiling, was bending over her. Still without the slightest trace of concern in his voice, he explained to his wife, “We are in the north and have struck an iceberg. It does not amount to anything but will probably delay us a day getting into New York. However, as a matter of form, the Captain has ordered all ladies on deck.”

Colonel Astor and his wife were notified by their steward that all women were requested on deck with their lifebelts on, but since her husband had seemed so unconcerned earlier, Mrs. Astor took her time dressing. When she finally emerged on deck she looked as if she were prepared for an afternoon’s shopping in London: she wore a black broadtail coat with a sable revers, a diamond necklace, and carried a muff:

Capt. Edward Gifford Crosby, a retired Great Lakes skipper, had first scolded his wife for not responding immediately to the summons to the Boat Deck. Mrs. Crosby was not happy about leaving her warm berth for the frigid exposure of the Boat Deck, and her husband in exasperation cried out, “You’ll probably lie there and drown!” A few minutes later he apologized and, noting that nothing seemed seriously wrong, said, “The ship is badly damaged, but I think the watertight compartments will hold her up.” But he still insisted that Mrs. Crosby and their daughter Harriet get dressed and go up to the Boat Deck. Resignedly, the two ladies complied.
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In the First Class Smoking Room the bridge games had picked up again, despite the departure of Lucien Smith. Lieutenant Steffanson was still buried in his armchair with his hot lemonade, while nearby, Spencer Silverthorne remained engrossed in his novel. One of the
Titanic’s
officers came through, calling out, “Men get on your lifebelts, there’s trouble ahead!” Nobody moved; hardly anyone even looked Up.
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But more passengers were beginning to have presentiments of danger. Dr. Washington Dodge, with only a hunch to go on, quietly awakened his wife and told her: “Ruth, the accident is rather a serious one; you had better come on deck at once.”

James Drew was quite firm with his wife when she hesitated momentarily, reminding her that they were responsible for their eight-year-old nephew Marshall. With that Mrs. Drew quickly dressed, then woke up the little boy, announcing that she was taking him up on deck. Despite Marshall’s sleepy fussing, Mrs. Drew bundled him up and finally led him to the boats.

Arthur Ryerson wasn’t going to get any more sleep, either. Though Mrs. Ryerson was never sure afterward what it was, something convinced her that time was short. So now she was rushing about like a mother hen as she quickly got her husband, her three children, their governess, and the maid, Victorine, up and dressing. But her youngest, Emily, just couldn’t seem to get herself dressed. Despairing of the youngster ever being ready, Mrs. Ryerson had Emily throw a blanket over her nightgown; then taking her youngest by the hand, Mrs. Ryerson led her little band up to the Boat Deck.
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In some cases the passengers were getting conflicting advice from the crew. The Countess of Rothes and her cousin, Gladys Cherry, were standing in the First Class Entrance Foyer on B Deck when a crewman came up and informed them of the captain’s order to go up to A Deck with their lifebelts on. The two women hurried back to their cabin, but on their way encountered their steward. When they asked him where they might find their lifebelts, he informed them that they weren’t necessary.
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The countess’s experience was a bit unusual, though, for most passengers in First and Second Class learned of Captain Smith’s orders from their stewards. In those days, on board a crack liner like the Titanic, stewards had at most only a half dozen or so cabins in their charge, so that they could devote more time and attention to individual passengers and learn the small details that allowed them to keep passengers happy. As a result, the large number of experienced stewards meant that word spread very quickly through First and Second Class, and their innate tact usually ensured that the passengers were cooperative.

This was why, when William Stead fussed about leaving his cabin, Steward Andrew Cunningham gently but firmly stood his ground with the old curmudgeon, and finally got him into his lifebelt. It was why in B-84, after fitting Benjamin Guggenheim into his lifebelt, Steward Henry Etches insisted, despite the smelting baron’s protests, that he put on a heavy sweater before going out on deck—it was much too cold, Etches maintained, for Guggenheim to go without it. And it was why when Alfred Crawford, who had spent thirty-one years on the North Atlantic liners, went in to help Mr. Albert Stewart into his lifebelt, he heard no argument. Once the lifebelt was on, Steward Crawford bent down to tie the elderly gentleman’s shoes.
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Mrs. Lucien Smith, for one, was in no hurry whatsoever, as she carefully dressed for the cold April night: wool dress, high shoes, two coats, and a knitted hood. The whole time she was dressing, Mr. Smith kept up a steady stream of cheerful small talk, carefully avoiding any mention of the collision (no one really knows just how much he knew for certain at this point). Mrs. Smith announced that she was ready, but just as they were closing the door to their cabin, she realized that she was leaving some of her jewelry behind. This brought her husband up short—this was no time to be concerned with what he termed “trifles”—and Mrs. Smith suddenly realized how serious the situation was. Relenting slightly, Mr. Smith allowed his wife to pick up two favorite rings, then closed the cabin door with a certain finality and hurried his wife to the Boat Deck.
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Major Peuchen, like Mrs. Smith, was also slow to realize the danger, although he had noticed that the ship was listing. An accomplished yachtsman (Peuchen was the vice commodore of the Toronto yacht club), he was more sensitive to such things than the average passenger, but after a moment’s initial alarm, he decided that he was in no immediate peril, so he began to make his way back to his cabin. As he passed through the A Deck Foyer one of the First Class stewards informed him that the captain had ordered all passengers to the Boat Deck with their lifebelts. Having already experienced the cold, the major decided it would be wise to dress warmly first.

The stewards were doing their best to pass on the captain’s instructions, though their civility wasn’t always returned. For several minutes Steward Etches had stood at the door of C-78, trying to explain the situation. The door was locked, and when Etches knocked he received no reply. After knocking loudly with both hands, Etches heard a man’s voice ask, “What is it?,” then a woman call out, “Tell us what the trouble is.” Etches repeated Captain Smith’s order, then asked them to open the door. The couple inside refused, and after a few minutes Etches gave up and moved down the corridor to another cabin. He never knew who the couple were or if they ever unlocked the door.
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