Call Me Ismay

by Sean McDevitt

  “Of what day?”

  “The 10th of April.”

  “The port of destination was New York?”

  “New York.”

  Senator Smith at last put down his pencil, and addressed Ismay directly. “Will you kindly tell the Committee the circumstances surrounding your voyage, beginning with your going aboard the vessel at Liverpool, your place on the ship on the voyage, together with any circumstances you feel would be helpful to us in this inquiry?”

  Ismay felt the time had come to make a formal statement, and in a slightly halting voice, he began to verbalize the words that he had been rehearsing in his mind all morning.

  “In the first place, I would like to express my sincere grief at this deplorable catastrophe,” he stated grimly. “I understand that you gentlemen have been appointed as a Committee of the Senate to inquire into the circumstances. So far as we are concerned, we welcome it. We court the fullest inquiry. We have nothing to conceal, nothing to hide.”

  There was a moment of silence as Ismay anticipated the senators would continue the conversation, but it slowly became clear that he was expected to resume talking. Tired, nauseous, unsure of what to say next in the wake of such dreadful events, Ismay proceeded almost as if to make small talk, terrified he might say something that would offend those in the room- realizing full well that perhaps some of the relatives of those who had died were in attendance.

  “The ship was built in Belfast. She was the latest thing in the art of shipbuilding, absolutely no money was spared in her construction. She was not built by contract. She was simply built on a commission.”

  There was another quiet, unnerving moment as Ismay once again realized that he was unsure of what details he was expected to provide. His bloodshot eyes drifted down towards his reddened, stinging hands which been affected by a mild case of frostbite. For the most part he kept his hands, sore and occasionally shaky, folded in his lap.

  “She left Belfast, as far as I remember- I am not absolutely clear about these dates- I think it was on the 1st of April,” Ismay croaked, frustrated at the lack of energy in his voice. “She underwent her sea trials, which were entirely satisfactory. She then proceeded to Southampton, arriving there on a Wednesday.” He paused, not exactly sure of what he should be expected to divulge next.

  “The, uh... the accident took place on Sunday night. What the exact time was I do not know. I was in bed myself, asleep, when the accident happened. The ship sank, I am told, at 2:20 A.M.”

  Darkness and stars danced through his memory, the smell of seawater and smoke still lingering in his nostrils. The sight of an empty deck, with no one left to rescue, hung like a deranged painting in the forepart of his mind.

  Ismay leaned back a bit, shuddered slightly, drew in a sigh and resignedly shrugged his shoulders. “That, sir, I think is all I can tell you.”

  Unbelieving glances were quickly exchanged throughout the room, and Ismay thought he even heard a few derisive hisses scattered amongst the crowd. Curious spectators expecting some sort of thrilling tale had been disappointed, while relatives expecting some insight into such a senseless disaster were left wanting. He felt helpless, assuming that the scope of the disaster would explain itself, knowing full well his words sounded so.... ordinary.

  Senator Smith, however, had absolutely no intention of letting the matter lie. “Will you please describe what you did after the impact or collision?”

  “I presume the impact awakened me.” The lingering pulse of what had been a substantial rumble and tearing was such that he was not fully sure if he had dreamed of hearing the actual noise.

  “I- I lay in bed for a moment or two afterwards, not realizing, probably, what had happened... eventually I got up and walked along the passageway and met one of the stewards, and said, 'What has happened?' He said, 'I do not know, sir'. I think... I think I went back onto the bridge... I went up to ask Captain Smith what had happened, he told me we had struck an iceberg, and I believe that I asked him whether he thought the matter was serious, and he said yes, he- he thought that it was. I heard the order given to get the boats out... I walked along to the starboard side of the ship, where I met one of the officers. I told him to get the boats out -”

  “What officer?” Smith interjected.

  “That I could not remember, sir. I assisted, as best I could, getting the boats out and putting the women and children into the boats... I stood upon that deck practically until I left the ship in the starboard collapsible which is the last boat to leave the ship, so far as I know.” He paused, then quickly finished his thoughts on the matter. “More than that I do not know.”

  Senator Smith impatiently tapped his pencil on the desk that separated them. “Mr. Ismay, in what part of the ship were your quarters?”

  “My quarters were on B deck, just aft of the main companionway.”

  “I wish you would describe just where that was,” Smith flatly replied.

  “The sun deck is the upper deck of all. Then we have what we call the A deck which is the next deck, and then the B deck.”

  “The second passenger deck?”

  “We carry very few passengers on the A deck.”

  “What was the number of that room?”

  “B-52 is the room I had.”

  “You had the suite?”

  “I had the suite- I was sleeping in that room, as a matter of fact.” Ismay quickly grimaced, hoping that his choice of words wasn't becoming too jocular.

  “Was the inspector or builder on board?”

  Ismay felt his stomach lurch. “There was a representative of the builders on board.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Mr. Thomas Andrews,” he replied, solemnly.

  “In what capacity was he?”

  An image of Andrews, the intelligent, elegant Irishman who been at his side practically since the moment of the Titanic's birth, flashed through his mind: a man so helpful, constructive and engaging every step of the way, confident in his opinions and abilities. A man who appeared practically hypnotized that fateful night, unable to communicate with clarity and certainty. For a moment, Ismay fought through the exhausted fog of his mind, searching for a final memory of Andrews- and he believed that he had last seen him, staggering and uncertain, headed for the deck below.

  Ismay quickly drew in a breath, apologetically refocusing his attention. “I am sorry, I do not quite follow you.”

  “What was the occasion of his coming to make this trial trip?”

  “As a representative of the builders, to see that everything was working satisfactorily and also to see how he might be able to improve the ship.”

  “Was he a man of large experience?”

  “Yes,” Ismay replied quietly.

  “Had he had part in the construction of this ship himself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he among the survivors?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” A sad murmur rumbled through the room.

  The senator unfolded his next question with great deliberation.

  “Did you... prior to the collision, did you have occasion to consult with Captain E.J. Smith about the movement of the ship?”

  “Never.”

  “Did he consult you about it?”

  “Never.” Ismay paused, realizing that his memories of E.J.- and nearly everything else- from that Sunday the 14th were frustratingly vague. He hesitated, uncomfortable, then offered a fragment of information, in hopes of addressing what he knew was a potentially sensitive issue. “Perhaps... perhaps I am wrong in saying that. I believe...” He struggled to provide the correct answer. “I should like to say this- I believe it was arranged before we left Queenstown- I do not know that it was quite a matter of consulting him about it, of his consulting me about it, but we would not attempt to arrive in New York before 5 o'clock on Wednesday morning.”

  Senator Smith rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. The break in the interrogation allowed Ismay to retreat within himself, i
f only temporarily. While rubbing his own sore hands together, feeling the eyes of senators and journalists and what seemed like an endless multitude of hostile Americans boring into him, he remembered the comforts of home, of his wife- and it all seemed to be removed by a lifetime of misery that in fact had only lasted a bit more than seventy-two hours. He took note of the golden ring on his little finger that bore the motto of his family crest, BE MINDFUL. He marveled, in a guilt-ridden fashion, at the fact that he hadn't managed to lose the keepsake in the violence of the disaster, and he couldn't help but be struck at the stark contrast between its glittering beauty and his rough, dry, aching skin. A sudden cough from Senator Smith pulled him out of his reverie.

  “Pardon me. Mr Ismay, there is a matter that I want to revisit. Were you outside on the deck, or on any deck, when the order was given to lower the lifeboats?”

  “Yes, sir. I believe so, yes.”

  “Will you tell us, if you can, how they were lowered?”

  “They were... they were swung out, people were put into the boats from the deck and then they were simply lowered away down to the water.”

  “Was there any order or supervision exercised by the officers of the ship in loading these lifeboats?”

  “Yes, sir...” Ismay replied with a sustained reflection, for it was at this part of the story that he truly could not fully recall just what exactly he had experienced.

  Senator Smith waited for Ismay to elaborate, then realized that he needed to prompt him. “I wish you would tell just what that was.”

  “That I could not say. I could only speak from what I saw for myself.”

  “That is all I wish you to do.”

  “The boats that were lowered where I was were in charge of the officer, and were filled and lowered away.”

  “They first put men into the boats for the purpose of controlling them?”

  “We put in some of the ship's people.”

  “Some of the ship's people?” Smith seemed to pounce on his choice of words.

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “That I could not say.”

  “About how many?”

  “I could not say.” Ismay's reddened eyes seemed to gravitate to the edge of the table, avoiding Smith's line of sight.

  “How many passengers were in the lifeboat in which you left the ship?”

  “I should think about forty-five.”

  “Four to five?” Smith exclaimed, again incredulous.

  “No, no, no, sir- forty-five. Forty-five is what I said.”

  “Forty-five?” Smith seemed to narrow his eyes suspiciously, indicating that he believed Ismay's count to be a bit high.

  “That is my recollection,” Ismay nodded.

  “Was that its full capacity?”

  “Practically.”

  “How about the other two boats?”

  “The other three, I should think, were fairly loaded up.”

  “Fairly loaded up,” Smith repeated, the tone of his voice flat. “Was there any struggle or jostling?”

  “I saw none...” Ismay twitched.

  “Or any attempt by men to get into the boats?”

  “I saw none...” Ismay cringed slightly once more, for his hazy memories seemed to include horrible sounds that indicated otherwise. Privately, he had himself wondered why so many of the lifeboats seemed to carry so few passengers. To his immense relief, the senator scribbled down a few notes, then proceeded with a different question.

  “When you first went on to the deck, you were only partially clothed?”

  “That is just about correct, sir.”

  “How were you dressed? Were you completely dressed when you went into the lifeboat?”

  “I believe I had a suit of pajamas on, a pair of slippers, a suit of clothes, and an overcoat.” Ismay, his sensitivities heightened, stiffened as he thought he heard a giggle or two at his description. A ripple of anger coursed through him, wishing his audience could have experienced the cold that had nearly turned his skin blue by the time he was pulled on board the Carpathia.

  If there had in fact been laughter, Senator Smith did not acknowledge it. “How long were you on the ship after the collision occurred?”

  Ismay lowered his head, blinking his tired eyes, frustrated that clarity of thought seemed impossible. He sighed heavily. “That is a very difficult question to answer, sir. Practically until the time- almost until she sank.”

  “How long did it take to lower and load a lifeboat?”

  Ismay shook his head. “I could not answer that.”

  “Can you approximate it?”

  “It... it is not possible for me to judge the time. I could not answer that.”

  “Were you on the Titanic at least an hour after the collision?”

  “Yes, sir,” he uttered, hoping the senator would move on to a different topic.

  “Did you, during this time, see any of the passengers that you knew?”

  “I really do not remember... I saw a great many passengers, but I do not think I paid very much attention to who they were.”

  “What were the circumstances, Mr. Ismay, of your departure from the ship?”

  Ismay answered darkly, his emotions becoming difficult to control. “In what way?”

  “What were the circumstances of your departure from the ship?” Smith repeated, becoming agitated. “I ask merely that-”

  “The boat was there,” Ismay interrupted. “There was a certain number of men in the boat, and I called out asking if there were any more women, and there was no response, and there were no passengers left on the deck.”

  “There were no passengers on the deck?”

  “No, sir, and as the boat was in the act of being lowered away, I got into it.” Ismay heard his words hanging in the air, again so... ordinary.

  “At that time the Titanic was sinking?”

  “She was sinking.”

  “Mr. Ismay, what can you say about the sinking and disappearance of the ship? Can you describe the manner in which she went down?”

  “I did not see her go down.”

  “You did not see her go down?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How far were you from the ship?”

  Ismay pulled at his moustache with a shaky hand and appeared ill at ease before continuing. “I- I do not know how far we were away. I was sitting with my back to the ship. I, um, was rowing all the time I was in the boat. We were pulling away.”

  “You were rowing?”

  “Yes, I did not wish to see her go down.” The smashing rumble that came across the water that night, the multitude of screams from women and babies, remained all too distinct in his hearing.

  “You did not care to see her go down?”

  Ismay's eyes brimmed with tears. “No. I am glad I did not.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “I really could not say. It might have been 10 minutes after we left her. It is impossible for me to give any judgment of the time. I could not do it.”

  “Was there much apparent confusion on board when you saw her last?”

  “I did not look to see, sir!” Ismay virtually pleaded. “My back was turned to her. I looked around once only, to see her red light- her green light, rather.” The recollection was difficult for Ismay; so few clear images for him to describe, and so much unbearable noise.

  Senator Newlands, who had been completely silent through the entire testimony, suddenly dropped a question on Ismay. “How did the ship strike the iceberg?”

  “From information I have received,” Ismay spoke carefully, “I think she struck the iceberg a glancing blow between the end of the forecastle and the captain's bridge, just aft of the foremast, sir.”

  “When you went to the bridge after this collision, was there any ice on the decks?” Newlands queried.

  “I personally saw no ice at all, and no icebergs at all until daylight Monday morning.”

  “Do you know whether any people were injured or killed from
ice that came to the decks?”

  “I do not, sir. I heard ice had been found on the decks, but it is only hearsay.”

  Just as quickly as he began, Senator Newlands indicated that he was finished. “Nothing further.”

  Senator Smith glanced at Newlands, then resumed. “I think I asked you, but in case it appears that I have not, I will ask you again- were all of the women and children saved?”