Voices from the Titanic

by Geoff Tibballs

  This special tender was fastened to a gangway in the fore part of the liner, while the other two were aft, one on either side. A flotilla of boats cruised about, but the London journalists who had chartered most of them were ill rewarded for their enterprise. The best off were the cinematograph operators, who succeeded in getting a clear, continuous view of the men of the Titanic passing from the liner to the Grenville, carrying their kit-bags with them. Ordinary cameras were numerous, and were ‘snapping’ fairly continuously.

  To revert to the earlier hours, a large crowd had gathered at the Millbay end of the docks by six o’clock, though most of them were dock porters. They were rigidly excluded until eight o’clock, much to their indignation, and threats to refuse to work were general, but after the last tender had cleared away badges were distributed, and a sufficiency of men accepted them readily enough. There were many in the crowd who had friends on board, and who chafed under the restrictions but the police on the gate were adamant. One petty officer came down from Dartmouth to meet his brother, but was not allowed to go off, although two other brothers were. For the rest the gathering was chiefly composed of journalists, bathers, and a number of towns-people, drawn together by the unusual occurrence and anxious to get a glimpse of those who had been saved from the disaster. They waited patiently enough in the broiling sun, and seemed to take great interest in the progress of the tenders, some of which were freely photographed from a terrace above Rusty Anchor.

  There were some inevitable scenes of pathos at the dock gates during the morning, one of the most affecting being the distress of Mr Jewell and his wife, who were kept without. They had two sons on the Titanic. One was lost; the other was on the Lapland. Their reunion, which took place inside the waiting-room, was a saddening one, tragic in the extreme. Other relatives of survivors were present but the majority had their emotions well under control.

  The Grenville had been watched for some hours very eagerly from the back of West Hoe Terrace, by several hundred people, and when she was seen to be steaming back to the dock, after an apparently aimless cruise around Jennycliffe Bay, there was a general move to the dock entry, but there was no relaxing of the restrictions keeping the public out. The Grenville was berthed about noon, and the men proceeded at once to the waiting-room for the meal which had been prepared. Many of them quickly found the windows which overlooked the thoroughfare, and had brief, jerky conversations with some of the assembled journalists. The stewardesses were accommodated in a long restaurant car on the railway siding.

  It was at once apparent that many of the men resented the restrictions placed upon their freedom. As soon as they reached the rooms prepared for them several of them opened windows facing the road approach, and spoke to friends who were included in the hundreds of interested spectators assembled outside the premises.

  ‘They won’t let me pass the gates,’ announced a man, one of whose two brothers serving on the Titanic was drowned.

  ‘And we can’t get out,’ answered one of the crew from the window, ‘but we intend to do so even if we have to get out of this window.’

  What happened afterwards was not apparent to those outside, but about half-past one Chief Constable Sowerby announced that those men who would obtain a pass might leave the docks till four o’clock. Naturally there was a rush for the necessary permission, and soon the men were free to have a stroll. It was then possible to interview many, the result being that some thrilling stories of heroism and hairbreadth escapes were obtained.

  SOME HAIRBREADTH ESCAPES

  On the Lapland the survivors were kept very much to themselves, and only came in touch with a few of the ordinary passengers who were peculiarly interested, having crossed the Atlantic with some of them on previous trips, and become acquainted. There was no questioning, or endeavour to secure news, yet some of these passengers called attention to the haggard faces and wan condition of several of the men, as eloquent testimony of the horror and severity of their awful experience. Most of them wore ill-fitting clothes, their new ‘kits’ having been hastily got together by warm-hearted Americans, for the bulk were saved in just their bare working attire.

  Another member of the Titanic’s crew had an experience almost as remarkable. He was carried down by the suction following the sinking of the vessel but struck a grating so violently as to secure a rebound, which sent him to the surface. He was able at once to secure a hold on floating wreckage and was one of the earliest to be picked up. Several members of the crew declared that just before the ship made her fatal dive, the foremost funnel broke off and fell into the sea, killing and injuring a number of men who were already in the water struggling and swimming towards the boats.

  A Lapland passenger who knew one of the Titanic’s crew and had talked with him, but who, like all the others, declined to give permission for the use of his name, said the crew were so confident that the ship was unsinkable that, even when they went about calling the passengers by the captain’s orders, they had pipes in their mouths, and were quite unconcerned. Some of them, just before the vessel went down, had such faith in her stability that they ‘had a few bouts’ in the ship’s gymnasium! This fact was vouched for by several of the survivors.

  THE LAST BOAT TO LEAVE PEOPLE WHO PREFERRED TO REMAIN ON THE LINER

  One of our representatives, who was able to interview several of the firemen of the Titanic who were awaiting transference from Plymouth to Southampton, found that, according to their story, the news from America has not been unduly exaggerated.

  Frank Dymond, fireman, of King’s Lane, Southampton, said he was in charge of the last boat that left the ship. He gave a graphic account of what happened. He said that the day preceding the disaster was beautifully fine and a brilliant starlit night gave place to a day of warm sunshine. There was hardly a breath of air, and the water was as still as a miniature lake.

  They were proceeding at 22½ knots, or about 29 miles an hour, and had entered the iceberg zone. Small clumps of ice could be seen in all directions, but there was no indication of large floes, or bergs.

  The crew and passengers were calculating on a most enjoyable trip in probably record time. This fact was gathered by the general tone of the conversations carried on on all hands. Most of the passengers had retired by 11.30, and there were only a few moving about the vessel, enjoying the quietness of the scene which was of an inspiring character.

  Mr Dymond had just looked at his watch, which indicated twenty minutes to midnight, when he suddenly heard a rasping sound. To give it in his own words, he said it was ‘like a knife being drawn over a rasp’. He ran up on deck to see what was the matter. No harm seemed to have been done, so he went back to the stokehold again.

  It was not long, however, before water began to pour in, and it had reached his ankles when he saw that something serious must have happened. He was then about to come off duty.

  When he came on deck again he saw the boats being taken off. In fact, they had all except one left the side of the vessel. He was told to man this boat, but just as he was getting into her something happened, and he was swept on one side. There was no eagerness to get into the boat, however, the difficulty really was to get sufficient persons to go away in her.

  He was again warned off to man the boat, and this time he took his place. Eventually there were sixty-eight souls on board this boat. There were no sailors. So far as he could see there was a deal of confusion, and scores who had first chance to get into the boats preferred to remain on the ship.

  He took charge of the boat, in which there were twenty-two women and five children (one a Dago – Italian – woman and child), and one or two stewards. He was ordered to stand by a time, and an officer shouted: ‘Are there any more women to go?’

  There was no answer to this. The women appealed to refused to leave their husbands and relatives. Mr Dymond sat anxiously in the boat awaiting orders, and when no women came forward to take their places the officer shouted: ‘Very well, fill up with passengers and crew.’ Alto
gether he had sixty-eight souls in his boat and, except for the women and children, they were nearly all stewards.

  He had not got more than 400 yards from the Titanic when he heard the first explosion. This happened at a quarter to two o’clock in the morning. The great vessel then dipped at the head and remained in that position for a considerable time. He thought it was nearly half an hour. Then suddenly there was another great explosion, and the bow gave a sort of jump and then seemed to wrench away from the middle portion. A few seconds later the whole fabric dived head foremost and was gone, leaving hundreds of souls floating on the water. From the time of striking to the end was not more than two hours and a half, if so long.

  His boat was but slightly affected by the suction of the sinking leviathan. He had a tank of biscuits on board, and these were distributed to the children, and anyone else who wanted them, but most of them were too excited to think about eating. It was bitterly cold, but fortunately there was no wind, and the sea was smooth. The women and children lay huddled together for warmth, and the men took it in turns to row the boat. It was six hours before they were picked up, by which time many of them were in a prostrate condition. Kind attention on board the Carpathia soon brought them round, but even then most of them seemed to be unable to realize the full character of the experience that had befallen them.

  Thomas Patrick Dillon told our representative that he was the last to leave the ship and be saved. He also is a fireman, and lives at 12, Oriental Terrace, Southampton. He remained down in the stokehold until the water was awash with his knees. He had been assured that the vessel was unsinkable, and did not trouble very much at the time.

  When he came on deck the bow of the Titanic was pointing downwards as though it had been broken off from the main part of the bulk, 12 or 14 feet in from the cutwater. He stood on the poop which was at a slope of about 60 degrees, and was in time to see a second explosion. The bow seemed to bob up and then break down off like a piece of carrot.

  HEROIC SOLOIST MUSICIAN

  Musicians had been playing on the poop, but they and the captain had slid off into the sea, which was strewn with bodies. There was one musician left. He was a violinist, and was playing the air of the hymn: ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee.’

  Mr Dillon said the notes of this music were the last thing he heard before he went off the poop and felt himself going into the icy water headlong, with the engines and machinery buzzing in his ears. He was drawn down, he should think, about a couple of fathoms. Of that, however, he had no positive knowledge.

  The next thing he could remember was waking up in one of the boats in terrible pain. The cold had numbed his limbs, and he had severe cramp in his stomach. He found that he was in No. 4 boat.

  Frederick Harris, 57, Melville Road, Mill Lane, Gosport, had also a graphic story to tell. When the last moment came, and it was found that all the boats were gone and the vessel was going to sink, there was wild confusion. Deck chairs, and anything that would float were seized as the men jumped overboard.

  He saw the captain jump into the water and grasp a child, which he placed on one of the rafts, of which there were all too few. He did not see the captain afterwards. He thought the First Officer, Mr Murdoch, shot himself. He himself got on to a small raft, but was afterwards taken into a boat. He was half-dead with the cold.

  William Nutbean, 5 Horsman’s Buildings, High Street, Southampton, said he was ordered away in No. 4 boat. They stood off some distance whilst the other boats were loading. At first there was no hurry, the difficulty being to get people to enter the boats. The women especially were courageous. They preferred to remain with their husbands when the latter were ordered to stand back. This caused some delay.

  So far as he could remember, the first explosion took place about a quarter to two, and the second almost a quarter past two, the vessel disappearing within two hours of first striking. It seemed that her plates were ripped open from a dozen feet in from the bow to the second funnel. That accounted for the bow breaking off first and the ship making her final dip as described.

  Chairs, small rafts, and other gear were floating about amongst a crowd of agonized strugglers in the water. The bitter cold soon put an end to most of these battles. His boat put back and picked up several persons, but the majority of the people they found floating were dead. It was an awesome sight, and one he had dreamed about ever since. The boat looked so small, in the great expanse of dark grey water, relieved here and there by clumps of ice, which only served to make sea and sky appear greyer.

  He had many sufferers in his boat, and others were heartbroken at the loss of relatives and friends. The long, dreary hours spun out without much thought of eating and drinking until they were mercifully picked up by the liner.

  A graphic description was given by a young fellow who served on the Titanic as a third-class steward.

  I was asleep when the collision occurred, he observed, and the impact was not sufficient to disturb me. The first moment I knew anything was wrong was when I and others were ordered to man the boat-deck by the boats with our lifebelts on. I thought an emergency drill was being held, but, on reaching the deck, was told the ship had struck an iceberg.

  The officers were endeavouring to get the women and children who were quartered aft into the boats, but they experienced some little difficulty at first, because a number of foreigners attempted to rush into the boats. They were soon forced back, however. These men were arrant cowards. When I started to go on deck I saw two of them crying bitterly in the companion-way.

  We filled the boats with women and children, and got them away safely. I stayed on deck, not thinking the ship was going down, but when she gradually became submerged, and the water came up over the boat deck and the bows, I knew there was no hope, so jumped overboard. I swam about for four or five minutes, till I reached an upturned collapsible boat, to which twenty-seven others were clinging, including a saloon passenger and two third-class passengers (an Irishman and a Swede) and the Second Officer. We clung to this boat for five hours until picked up by the Carpathia.

  I saw the Titanic go down. Two of her funnels fell off and after an explosion, which I distinctly heard, being only a short distance away at the time, she smashed in the middle. Her bows went down, and then her stern, which was almost upright when it sank. Fortunately there was very little suction; had there been as much as I had anticipated, none of us would have been saved. As it was, the Second Officer fell off the boat to which we clung, and was not seen afterwards.

  Asked how long it took him to get over the shock of his experience, the steward said that it was hardly possible for him yet to realize what had really happened. ‘I cannot fully comprehend that so many of my comrades of the ship have been drowned,’ he added.

  The band on the Titanic, composed of six Englishmen, a German, and a Frenchman, displayed conspicuous bravery. In order to prevent a panic Capt. Smith instructed them to play. As the musicians ran after their instruments they were laughed at by several of the crew, who did not realize how serious matters were; but they began to render hymn tunes, and continued to do so to the last. While playing ‘Nearer, My God, to Thee’, the water was washing over their feet, and in a very short time they disappeared beneath the waves.

  Several of the crew testified to this yesterday, and spoke in highest commendation of the bandsmen.

  I shall never forget hearing the strains of that beautiful hymn as I was leaving the sinking ship, one observed. It was always a favourite hymn of mine, but at such a time, and under such tragic circumstances, it had for me a solemnity too deep for words. No praise could be sufficient for those courageous musicians whom we left behind; they were heroes to a man.

  But the contrast was too awful to be described. At one moment it was music, at the next moanings and groanings of the ill-fated men who were left behind as they struggled in the water. We could not see them, neither were we able to render any assistance, for our boat was full; but for along while they harrowed our feelings as, in their
agony, they gave full vent to their suffering. I shall never forget that night as long as I live.

  Another seaman intimated that he was asleep in his bunk at the time of the collision. He and some of his comrades went on deck and then returned to their bunks, one of them remarking: ‘We have glanced an iceberg. Let us turn in again.’ A quarter of an hour later they were ordered on deck with their lifebelts on.

  The captain would not allow me on the boat deck for some time, he proceeded, but after a while he told me to assist in launching the boats. The women and children were put in first.

  After the last boat had gone I was standing on the deck and just before the ship went down the captain shouted, ‘Everyone for himself.’ An Italian woman with two children was standing near me. She gave me one of the babies and kept the other herself. We both jumped into the sea. No small boats could be seen, and the last I saw of those on the liner was a crowd standing on the poop, which was rising.

  The intensely cold water killed the baby in my arms and I let it go. I swam about for some minutes, and then caught hold of some wreckage. After about an hour I saw the upturned boat to which the Second Officer and others were clinging. I joined them. The Second Officer said, ‘Now all keep calm, and we shall be picked up.’

  This proved to be true, for we were rescued by a boat which was already pretty full.

  The seaman added that he saw the Chief Officer shoot at two Italians who were pushing women aside on the steamer in a frantic endeavour to reach the lifeboats. As the first shot fired above their heads did not serve as a warning, the officer shot one of them.

  The only one of twenty-six greasers saved jumped overboard shortly before the liner disappeared, and was picked up by one of the small boats. He spoke in high terms of the gallantry of the engineers, and stated that the Titanic had been steaming very smoothly, thus making the voyage for the passengers thoroughly enjoyable.