Read Voices from the Titanic Online
Authors: Geoff Tibballs
Voices from the Titanic (44 page)
Thompson's faith in the accuracy of New York reporters grew after he had read the exact presentation of his shipmate's story in
The World
and he broke the silence, which he had stolidly maintained, as to events in the
Titanic
's stokehole and engine room to tell
The World
man.
That top speed was maintained from the beginning to the end of the
Titanic
's fatal course. That she was speeded uniformly as close to 77 revolutions as could be. That she was racing at the utmost capacity of her engines when she ripped off her plates on the iceberg.
John Thompson is forty-two years old and hails from Liverpool.
From Queenstown out, he said, all the firemen had been talking of the orders we had to fire her up as hard as we possibly could. We were to make as quick a passage as possible, the orders ran, and we were to beat all records on our maiden trip. I heard that these orders came from the engineering department. But, bless you, we men didn't have time to talk about where those orders came from. There was no spare time whatever for any of us firemen.
We were carrying full pressure. From the time we left Queenstown until the moment of the shock we never ceased to make from 74 to 77 revolutions. It never went below 74 and as during that whole Sunday we had been keeping up to 77, surely she must have been making that speed then.
At 11 we were called to be ready to go on watch at 12. Our quarters were in the forecastle. We felt the crash with all its force up there in the eyes of the ship and my mates and I were all thrown sprawling from our bunks. It was a harsh, grinding sound, as if everything were being torn out of her. I judge it must have lasted at least five minutes, until she came to a standstill. I ran on deck and found the forward well-deck covered with masses of ice torn from the berg. We went below to grab some clothes. Our leading fireman, William Small, rushes in, and shouts, âAll hands below!' But we had no chance to go down the tunnels to the fireroom, for the water was rising and plainly to be seen. So we had to go up on the main deck. Next the leading fireman rushes up there and orders us back to get lifebelts and go on the boat-deck.
We put out again for the forecastle, got our lifebelts on and then up to the boat-deck. The chief officer wanted to know what in hell we were doing up there and sent us down to the sun-deck. We walked about there, watching her sink.
About one o'clock the chief officer called us all up again to hoist up a pair of lifeboats. The first we launched was No. 16 from starboard. On the port-side we put off the rest, with two collapsibles on the boat-deck. Two other collapsibles were on a platform alongside the funnels, 12ft at least above the boat-deck, and we had to slide them down to the deck on planks, for launching. By that time the water was rising right onto the boat-deck, and Captain Smith sings out:
âEvery man for himself!'
Next thing she parted in two. I managed to get into the collapsible boat we had on the planks, in which there were twenty-seven altogether, with one woman from the steerage. We were washed over the side. The boat went right under water with the weight of us as we rowed away from the
Titanic
.
Captain Smith was standing within five feet of me at the time our lifeboat went over the side, with nobody between us. He was swept away with the rush of water. He had two lifebelts on, one on his stomach and another over his neck and chest. As he went overboard he shouted, âEvery man for himself!' That was the last I saw of him.
On the collapsible we drifted out from the
Titanic
's side. We could not have been more than twenty or thirty yards away when we saw the stern end coming right up in the air. On it there were hundreds of human beings. Next came the explosion. It was like a waterspout, filled with black things that must have been bits of iron. Then she glided down, headed straight for the bottom.
We had no oars or other means of moving our boat and there we stuck, standing knee-deep in water, till the Fourth Officer came up in one of the sail lifeboats and picked us up. I was told to get up the ladder when we reached the
Carpathia
's side. But I found I could not use my right arm. So they lowered a boat-swain's chair and hoisted me up. I remembered then that my arm must have been broken by the forward one of a broken set of davits as the collapsible was washed against it when we went off the deck. The cold of that night was so intense that when we got to the
Carpathia
my jaws were tight locked together as if with lockjaw.
It was common talk on the
Carpathia
about the âmoney boat' Mr Whiteley told you of yesterday. I think another reason why First Officer Murdoch shot himself may perhaps be found in the story of that boat, for the story runs among the men that he was there when the millionaire's boat was loaded.
(
New York World
, 22 April 1912)
Two priests of the Roman Catholic Church went down on the
Titanic
with men and women grouped about them responding to prayers. Not only Catholics, but Protestants and Jews, realizing that their last hour was at hand, took part in the final religious service on the sloping deck of the
Titanic
as she was heading downward for the depths.
One of the clergymen was Rev. Thomas R. Byles of Westminster Parish, London, who was on his way to this city to officiate at the marriage of his brother in Brooklyn. The other was a German priest who spoke the Hungarian language in addition to his own. Father Byles was in the first cabin. The German priest was in the third cabin. The name of the German priest has not been ascertained.
Both priests celebrated mass for the steerage passengers Sunday morning. Father Byles delivered a sermon in English and French, the other in German and Hungarian. Strangely enough each of the priests spoke of the necessity of man having a lifeboat in the shape of religious consolation at hand in case of spiritual shipwreck.
After the
Titanic
struck, Father Byles made his way to the steer-age. He was active in getting the steerage passengers up to the boat deck and assisting women and children to the lifeboats. Of the two clergymen he was the leader, not only in rendering material aid to the frightened emigrants, but in keeping the religious aspect of the terrible occasion to the fore.
Three of the survivors who vividly remember the last hours of the heroic English priest are Miss Ellen Mocklare, a pretty dark-haired young girl from Galway, now at her sister's home at No. 412 17th Street; Miss Bertha Moran, who has gone to Troy, N.Y., and Miss McCoy, who is in St Vincent's Hospital. These told their story in concert at the hospital today.
âWhen the crash came we were thrown from our berths,' said Miss Mocklare. âSlightly dressed, we prepared to find out what had happened. We saw before us, coming down the passageway, with his hand uplifted, Father Byles. We knew him because he had visited us several times on board and celebrated mass for us that very morning.
â “Be calm, my good people,” he said, and then he went about the steerage giving absolution and blessings.'
âMeanwhile the stewards ordered us back to bed,' spoke up Miss McCoy, âbut we would not go.'
âA few around us became very excited,' Miss Mocklare continued, âand then it was that the priest again raised his hand and instantly they were calm once more. The passengers were immediately impressed by the absolute self-control of the priest. He began the recitation of the rosary. The prayers of all, regardless of creed, were mingled and the responses, “Holy Mary,” were loud and strong.'
âContinuing the prayers,' said Miss Bertha Moran, âhe led us to where the boats were being lowered. Helping the women and children in, he whispered to them words of comfort and encouragement.'
âOne sailor,' said Miss Mocklare, âwarned the priest of his danger and begged him to board a boat. Father Byles refused. The same seaman spoke to him again and he seemed anxious to help him, but he refused again. Father Byles could have been saved, but he would not leave while one was left and the sailor's entreaties were not heeded.
âAfter I got in the boat, which was the last one to leave, and we were slowly going further away from the ship, I could hear distinctly the voice of the priest and the responses to his prayers. Then they became fainter and fainter, until I could only hear the strains of “Nearer, My God, To Thee” and the screams of the people left behind. We were told by the man who rowed our boat that we were mistaken as to the screams and that it was the people singing, but we knew otherwise.'
âDid all the steerage get a chance to get on deck?' she was asked.
âI don't think so, because a great many were there when our boat went out, but there were no more boats, and I saw Father Byles among them.
âA young man who was in the steerage with us helped me into the boat. It was cold and I had no wrap. Taking off the shirt he was wearing, he put it around my shoulders, used the suspenders to keep it from blowing undone and then stepped back in the crowd.'
Wedding bells, quickly followed by a funeral march, changed on Saturday what was to have been the happiest day in the lives of Miss Isabel Katherine Russell and W. E. Byles. More than 2000 people were expected to be present.
The ceremony was to have been performed in St Augustine's Church and the Rev. Thomas R. D. Byles of Ongar, Essex County, England, brother of the groom, was asked to officiate.
Miss Russell and Mr Byles did not give up hope that Father Byles had been saved until every passenger had arrived from the
Carpathia
. They returned to the Russell residence, No. 119 Pacific Street, and, by telephone and telegram, recalled the numerous invitations.
Believing in the superstition, however, that it is bad luck to postpone a wedding, the ceremony was performed Saturday by a life-long friend of the bride, in St Paul's Church. The bride wore her white satin gown which had been imported from Paris, and was attended by her sister. Only relatives and a few friends were present.
Instead of the usual reception following, the party hastened home, and, donning garments of mourning, returned to the church where the Rev. Father Flannery, rector, performed a requiem mass for the late father.
(
New York World
, 22 April 1912)
Of all the survivors of the
Titanic
those two whose impressions would be most worth gathering remain resolutely silent. The two little waifs whose father perished in the disaster and who gained a temporary home with Miss Margaret Hays, a fellow passenger on the ill-fated steamer, are still at Miss Hays' home at No. 304 West 83rd Street, and not a word have they vouchsafed to anyone as to their names, their relatives or any other matter which might shed a ray of light on their antecedents or identity.
Under the shadow of a giant azalea they sat yesterday after-noon, each with a brand new boat in hand with which they entertained themselves while the French Consul to New York strove vainly to extract some enlightening word from the elder boy, whose age has been given as three and a half.
To every question the little curly-haired chap replied with a polite and baffling, âOui' and said nothing more.
âDo you like to play with your boat?' asked the Consul, taking the little fellow on his knee.
âOui,' came the monotonous reply.
âWhat city do you come from?'
âOui.'
âDo you remember the big boat that brought you away from France?'
âOui.'
This time the child's assent was rather bored as though he wished to add: âWhy do you bother me with questions about that old boat when I have this new shiny, painted, wonderful boat of tin in my hands?'
Probably I am the only person to whom it seemed in the least incongruous that these two babies should be playing with brand new tin boats. The boats obviously delight them and bring back no memory of the night of horror which saw the younger boy tossed naked from the
Titanic
into a lifeboat while the older boy followed later, clad in a flannel shirt .?.?.
We have no intention of keeping them, remarked Miss Hays's father, beyond the time when their relatives are found or the search for them is given up. A Montreal family who were passengers on the
Titanic
are anxious to adopt them, and my daughter says they shall have the preference. Of course, many persons here in New York have also offered to take them.
The published story that the children were in the same boat with my daughter and clung to her instinctively, is a misstatement. My daughter left in the first lifeboat and the two children followed on in later boats. The smaller boy was tossed from the deck of the
Titanic
into a lifeboat without a stitch of clothing. The older child wore only a shirt when he was taken aboard the
Carpathia
. The survivors of the
Titanic
on board formed a ladies' committee, and as my daughter was the only one among them who had not suffered some personal loss through the disaster, she was asked to care for the two children, and gladly did so. She was told that the two children had been in the second cabin of the
Titanic
in the care of a man named Hoffman, but we have been unable to get any clue to their whereabouts from the White Star Line or anywhere else.
(
New York World
, 22 April 1912)
Two survivors of the
Titanic
called on Mayor Gaynor today. One is a sailor who was assigned to help man a lifeboat, the other a steerage passenger who, wearing a lifebelt, leapt overboard from the sinking ship, was picked up by passengers aboard an already over-burdened life-raft, again to be hurled back into the ocean and again to be saved by the occupants of a lifeboat. They sought immediate assistance, having lost every possession when the
Titanic
sank.