Unsinkable: The Full Story of the RMS Titanic

by Daniel Allen Butler

  They couldn’t see the berg—it had long since drifted off into the darkness—but they could still see plenty of ice: tons of broken, splintered ice had been jarred loose from the berg as it brushed by the ship and fallen into the forward well deck. A surrealistic winter wonderland, the piles of ice soon became a source of amusement for the Third Class passengers who, like their counterparts in First and Second Class, had come on deck to find out what was wrong. Unlike the other classes, the Third Class passengers who were berthed forward hadn’t felt a grinding jar or faint shudder. Instead there had been a series of thuds, bangs, and screeches as the berg scraped along the side of the ship. Now up on deck they discovered the ice, and curiosity turned into rambunctiousness as they playfully threw chunks of ice and slush at each other.9

  Soon the forward railing of A Deck was lined with First Class passengers watching the steerage passengers at play. Major Arthur Peuchen, a wealthy but not socially distinguished chemical manufacturer from Toronto, Ontario, spotted Charles Hays, the president of the Grand Trunk Railway, coming out of his stateroom and called out, “Mr. Hays, have you seen the ice?” Hays replied that he hadn’t, so Peuchen replied, “If you care to, I will take you up on deck and show it to you.” The major, seizing the opportunity to be seen in such prominent company, decorously escorted Hays forward. 10

  Ice collecting quickly became a widespread if short-lived fad. A steerage passenger presented a bemused Fourth Officer Boxhall with a chunk of ice the size of a small basin. (It’s easy to imagine Boxhall wondering “What am I supposed to do with it?”) Greaser Walter Hurst lay in his bunk, half awake, when his father-in-law, whom he shared quarters with, mischievously tossed a lump of ice into his lap. In the crew’s mess Able Seaman John Poingdestre produced a shard of ice and passed it around, while in the stewards’ quarters someone brought in a fist-sized fragment with the comment, “There are tons of it forward!”

  Steward F. Dent Ray, unimpressed, rolled over in his bunk, muttering, “Well, that will not hurt anything.”

  As Colonel Gracie stood in the A Deck Foyer a voice behind him said, “Would you like a souvenir to take back to New York?” Gracie turned and there stood his friend Clinch Smith, holding out his hand. In it lay a small piece of ice, smooth and “flat like my watch,” as the Colonel would later remember.

  The most bizarre experience, though, belonged to First Class Steward Henry Etches. Making his way forward along an E Deck passageway, he encountered a Third Class passenger headed aft, carrying a block of ice. Before Etches could murmur “Excuse me” as he passed, the passenger threw the ice to the deck, and, as if demanding an answer, shouted “Will you believe it now?”11

  Whatever it was that Etches was supposed to believe, there were several individuals who already had indisputable proof that something was definitely wrong with the Titanic. Antoni Yasbeck and his wife Celiney, married less than two months, were abruptly awakened by a loud crash twenty minutes before midnight. Traveling in Third Class, the Yasbeck’s cabin was in the bow, down near the waterline. Frightened by the noise and suspecting trouble with the ship, the Yasbecks decided it would be easier to find out what was wrong by going down below than by making the long climb to the upper decks. Creeping along a corridor until they came to a doorway leading down to the engineering spaces, the newlyweds peered down into Boiler Room No. 6. They decided after one glance that they had seen enough, and hurried back to their cabin to dress. The sight of the boiler-room crew and the engineers struggling against the incoming water convinced the couple that the ship was in danger.

  Carl Jonnson, also a Third Class passenger with a berth in the bow, was awakened by the same loud noise that had roused the Yasbecks. Almost as soon as he got out of bed, water began seeping into his cabin from under the door. Jonnson began to dress, and by the time he had finished, the water had risen high enough to cover his shoes. He wasted no more time, but quickly began to make his way topside. Daniel Buckley, a young Irishman who had boarded the Titanic at Queenstown, had an even more disturbing experience. He had been awakened, like most of the Third Class passengers berthed in the forward accommodation, by the noise of the collision. Instead of getting up immediately, he lay in his bunk until he heard the murmur of voices in the corridor outside his cabin. When he jumped out of his bunk he landed in water up to his ankles. 12

  Far aft, in one of the Second Class sections near the stern of the ship on F Deck, Mrs. Allen Becker and her three children were awakened by, of all things, dead silence. The engines had stopped, something they hadn’t done since the Titanic had left Queenstown. Worried, Mrs. Becker inquired of her steward what had happened. “Nothing is the matter,” he told her. “We will be on our way in a few minutes.” Reassured, Mrs. Becker went back to her bunk and lay down. But sleep eluded her, and the longer she lay there the more concerned she became, since the engines hadn’t started up again. Getting up again, she found another steward, who told her “Put your lifebelts on immediately and go up to the Boat Deck.”

  “Do we have time to dress?”

  “No, madam, you have time for nothing.”13

  Like Nellie Becker, Sarah Daniels awoke when the engines stopped. For some reason this disturbed her, and she went to knock at the door of her employer, Hudson Allison. When she voiced her concern to him, Allison, who had been asleep himself, simply told her, “Sarah, you’re nervous—go back to bed. This ship is unsinkable.” Still worried despite Mr. Allison’s assurances, Sarah began dressing as soon as she returned to her cabin.

  Mr. and Mrs. Norman Chambers, who had left their First Class cabin on E Deck, now stood at the top of the stairs in an F Deck companionway and watched the five postal clerks struggling to save 200 sacks of mail—some 400,000 letters altogether—from the rising sea water. The Titanic’s post office occupied two deck levels: stowage for the mail was on the Orlop Deck and sorting was done just above on G Deck. Within minutes of the impact the postal clerks were working in water up to their knees as they dragged the mail bags up the stairs to G Deck—where less than five minutes later water began lapping over the sill of the companionway, onto the floor of the G Deck mailroom. Temporarily giving up the unequal struggle, the clerks climbed up the stairs to F Deck, and stood by Mr. and Mrs. Chambers, watching the water continue to rise in the mail room. From their vantage point they could also see trunks beginning to float about in the First Class baggage room.

  While they watched, Fourth Officer Boxhall came by, peered over their shoulders into the flooding mailroom, then hurried on his way Boxhall was followed a few minutes later by Assistant Second Steward Wheat, then later on by Captain Smith. Meanwhile the postal clerks climbed down again and went back to trying to save the mail. 14

  Just aft and below where the Chambers and the postal clerks were standing was Boiler Room No. 6. When the alarm had sounded most of the men didn’t have time to duck through the rapidly dropping watertight door into Boiler Room No. 5. Instead they had to scramble up the ladders of the escape trunks to the deck above. They were only about halfway there when a voice shouted out, “Shut the dampers! Draw the fires!” and the men returned to their positions. Frantically racing against the rising water, the stokers, trimmers, and firemen worked to shut down the boilers. Thick clouds of steam filled the air, and in just a few minutes the water was waist deep. But the excess steam had been vented and the fires drawn, so when the sea reached the boilers there would be no explosions. Finally the same unseen voice that had called the men back now sang out, “That’ll do!” and the men fled Boiler Room No. 6 for the last times 15

  Boiler Room No. 5 had its own share of problems. Assistant Engineers Hesketh, Harvey, and Wilson were feverishly working to get the pumps going. A fat jet of seawater was shooting from the two-foot gash that extended from the bulkhead along the starboard side. Eventually the three engineers got the pumps working and were able to stay ahead of the incoming water. A few minutes later the lights went out in Boiler Room No. 5, and Engineer Harvey told Fireman Barrett to go aft to No
. 4 for emergency lanterns. Since the watertight doors had to remain shut, this meant Barrett had to climb up the escape ladder, cross the deck above, and climb down into Boiler Room No. 4. Once he had the lanterns, Barrett then repeated the performance in reverse, only to find as he climbed back down into No. 5 that the lights had come back on.

  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. 16

  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.”17

  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.18

  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....”19

  “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.” 20

  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.21

  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.22

  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.23

  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.24