Call Me Ismay

by Sean McDevitt

  “On B deck, Number 56?”

  Ismay drew in a breath- aside from a nagging uncertainty on the room number which Smith had previously questioned him about in New York, he could not understand really what difference it made which room he had stayed in. Still, he decided quickly to cooperate, despite his irritation. “I am not sure whether I said 52 or 56, but a gentleman who was on the stand yesterday said he had 52, and if he had, I could not have had it. I must have been in 56, I think.”

  Senator Smith briefly made eye contact with Ismay, then continued. “The shipbuilding firm of Harland and Wolff built the Titanic, did they not?”

  Ismay nodded. “Harland and Wolff of Belfast built the Titanic, yes, sir.”

  “Have they built other ships for your company?”

  “They built practically the whole fleet of the White Star Line.”

  Senator Smith glanced at his notes. “Including the Olympic and the...” He seemed to lose his place for a moment. “The Baltic?”

  “The Olympic and the Baltic and all those ships.”

  “Under whose immediate supervision has that work been done?”

  “Lord Pirrie is the chairman of the company.” Ismay cleared his throat, the expression on his face grim. Lord William James Pirrie had initially been expected to sail on the Titanic's maiden voyage, but he had undergone a serious operation that had prevented him from making the trip.

  “He is chairman of the building company?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has Mr. Thomas Andrews held-”

  Ismay blurted out an interruption. “He was one of the directors of Harland and Wolff.”

  Senator Smith gazed upon Ismay for a moment, puzzled. Thomas Andrews had been the architect of the Titanic. Smith continued. “He himself was a builder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he an engineer?”

  “I would not call him an engineer. He was more of a designer, and was superintending the building of the ships....”

  “And he designed the Titanic?”

  “Yes.” Ismay felt an odd sense of panic that had seemed to come in waves ever since his rescue on the Carpathia, but retained his composure.

  “And he was one of the passengers on this ill-fated voyage?”

  Ismay cast his eyes downward. “Yes, sir.”

  “And he did not survive?”

  “He did not,” Ismay replied quietly. A murmur of recognition filled the room. If Ismay had been the heart behind the design of the Titanic, Andrews had been the brains. While the precise details of his death were not known, the simple fact that he had perished while Ismay- his employer- survived had not been missed by an unforgiving public. Andrews' death had already been confirmed during Ismay's testimony in New York, making this exchange an uncomfortable sequel.

  “How old was he?”

  “It is difficult to judge a man's age, as you know, but I should think he was perhaps 42 or 43 years of age. He may have been less. I really could not say.” Ismay rubbed the side of his face with a trembling hand, uncomfortable.

  Senator Smith seemed to weigh his words carefully before speaking. “Was the company of which you are the head been afflicted with the loss of many ships at sea under your management?”

  “No, sir,” Ismay responded, diffidently. “I do not think we have had more than our share, perhaps.”

  “Do you now recall how many you have lost during your management?”

  Ismay hesitated, uncomfortable with Smith's phrasing. “Sir, the only two that I remember are the Republic and the Naronic. I really was not the manager when the Naronic was lost. The only ship that has been lost since I have been manager is the Republic.”

  “Where was the Republic lost, do you remember?”

  “She was lost after being hit by an Italian steamer, I do not remember where. I think she was about 36 hours out of New York, but I really do not remember the place.” Six people had perished during the Republic incident, which had occurred just a few years before. For an instant, Ismay considered pointing out that those who had died were lost in the collision, and not the sinking, but he thought better of it.

  “Do you remember where the Naronic was lost?”

  “She was never heard of after leaving Liverpool.”

  There was a small stir in the room, and Senator Smith glanced at his colleagues, startled somewhat. “For what port was the Naronic destined, Mr. Ismay?

  “New York.”

  “And you have no means of knowing as to the latitude and longitude in which the Naronic was lost?”

  “No, sir. She was practically a new ship when she was lost, and she had a moderately sized crew, and I believe a few dozen cattlemen on board.”

  “Cattlemen?”

  “Yes, sir, her primary cargo was livestock.”

  Smith took a moment to carefully review his notes, and for a moment a slightly bewildered Ismay thought the Senator was going to try to draw a connection between where the Titanic and the Naronic had foundered. However, Smith took his questioning in a different direction.

  “What was the Naronic's tonnage?”

  “I do not remember, sir.”

  “Do you remember how much she cost?”

  “No, I could not tell you that.”

  “Do you remember how high she was insured?”

  “I do not think she had been insured at all, sir.” Nearly twenty years had passed since the Naronic disappeared, taking nearly eighty souls with her. It was a mystery that had never been solved, but an iceberg had been suspected. As Smith fell silent again, once again reviewing his notes, Ismay quietly cringed. The feeling of some of his own skin, still chapped and irritated from the cold when he had been rescued just a fortnight before, had given him a newfound empathy for what the victims onboard the Naronic had surely endured. The skin on his upper thighs, which had been protected by only the thinnest of clothing on the night of the disaster, burned incessantly under his pant legs as though they had been affected by a rash. His hands, folded tightly on the table before him, still bore a dry soreness that he feared would never leave.

  Senator Smith resumed his questioning. “Who of your company directed Harland and Wolff to build the Titanic?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “You examined this ship from time to time, I assume, on the voyage from Liverpool to the place of the accident?”

  Ismay paused, his stomach churning, then found himself almost compulsively providing an almost non sequitur response. “I was never outside the first class passenger accommodations on board the ship, sir. I never went into any part of the ship that any other first class passenger had not a perfect right to go to. I had not made any inspection of the ship at all.”

  Senator Smith took a moment to apparently jot down some of what Ismay had just said. “From that, do you wish to be understood as saying that you were not officially on board the ship for the purpose of inspecting?”

  “N-No, sir, I do not,” Ismay flinched, his dry hands incessantly itching. “I was there to inspect the ship, and see if there were any defects in her.”

  “Did Mr. Andrews go about the ship?”

  “He was about the ship all the time, I believe.”

  “Inspecting and examining her?”

  “I think so....” Ismay hesitated as Senator Smith sat motionless, apparently expecting more of an answer. “N-Naturally, in a ship of that size, there were a great many minor defects on board the ship, which he was rectifying, he... he was there to right any small detail which was wrong.”

  Smith leaned forward. “Were you in conference with Captain Edward James Smith during this journey from Southampton?”

  Ismay felt his chin quiver as he realized that his proximity to Captain Smith was once again going to be the subject of interrogation. He came across as slightly too eager to clarify. “I was never in the captain's room the whole voyage over, sir, and the captain was never in my room. I never had any conversation with the captain except casual conversation on the deck.”

  �
�No conversation with the captain,” Smith repeated, and he held eye contact with Ismay before responding with another question. “Were you on the bridge at any time?”

  “I was never on the bridge until after the accident.”

  “How long after the accident?”

  Ismay had been berating himself in private for not being able to provide a more coherent timeline under questioning. However, this was one of a few events from that night he could recall all too clearly. He delivered his answer with careful understatement, trying not to let emotion overtake him. “I should think it might have been ten minutes.”

  Smith paused, seeming to compose himself for a moment. His tone then took on a quiet solemnity. “Had you known Captain Smith for some time?”

  “Yes, I had known him a great many years.” Ismay coughed, trying to slow the momentum of the sadness welling up within him.

  “On what ships of your line had he been captain?”

  “I think he had been commander of a great many of them,” Ismay answered softly. “The first time I remember Captain Smith being commander of one of our ships was when he was in command of one of our cargo boats called the Cufic, a great many years ago.” Images of great ocean liners danced through his head, each of them symbols of happier times and indicators of just how much had been entrusted to E,J., and for how long. Ismay shook his head sadly. “I cannot remember them all, sir. We have a record, in the office, of every ship he has commanded.”

  Smith narrowed his eyes, and Ismay could not decipher if it was out of precision in his next choice of words, or suspicion of what his answer would be.

  “Do you yourself know anything about the construction of vessels- I mean, technically?”

  “No, I could not say I do.”

  The Senator seemed to size up Ismay for a long moment before continuing. “In ordering this vessel, did you give Harland and Wolff any special instructions with reference to her safety?”

  “We were very anxious indeed to have a ship which would float with her two largest watertight compartments full of water. What we wanted to guard against was any steamer running into the ship and hitting her on a bulkhead, because if the ship ran into her broadside on and happened to hit her right on a bulkhead, that would open up two big compartments, and we were anxious to guard against the possibility of that happening. So, the Titanic was constructed in such a way that she would float with the two largest compartments full of water.”

  “You remember, I think, the statement of the wheelman, that the last thing he did before striking the iceberg was to turn his wheel as to avoid contact directly with the bow?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you recall that?”

  “I... I think he said he was told 'Hard aport,' and then 'Hard astarboard,' if I remember rightly.”

  “Suppose that had not been done, Mr. Ismay, and the ship had met this iceberg bows on- what would have been the effect, in your judgment?”

  Ismay felt a panel of senatorial eyes boring into him, as he momentarily struggled for a answer. Finally, he continued. “It is really impossible to say, he smiled nervously. “It- it is only a matter of opinion. I think that the ship would have crushed her bows in, and might not have sunk.”

  “She might not have sunk?”

  “She might not have sunk.” A slight groan of sadness was heard from the spectators in the Conference Room, but a nervous Ismay pressed on. “I think it would have taken a very brave man to have kept his ship going straight on an iceberg. Very brave. I think he should have endeavored to avoid it.”

  “A very brave man, indeed,” Smith replied. The senator seemed to momentarily drift into an odd sort of reverie, thoughtfully stroking his chin, and when he spoke, it seemed as if he was quoting a passage of literature. “'The stricken hull, the doomed, the beautiful, the Titanic...'”

  He paused as Ismay's eyes darted about nervously in wonder. Smith then quickly resumed his role as interrogator. “What I am getting at is this, Mr. Ismay: whether in the construction of this ship, which was intended for use in the North Atlantic, she was built with special reference to her resistance at the bow?”

  “No, sir. I think the only ships in which they do that are ships trading to the St. Lawrence,” Ismay replied, referring to the large river that connects the Great Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean. “I understand that on the forward end, those ships are very often fitted with double plates.”

  Smith finished jotting down the information, then sighed. “Mr. Ismay, there has been considerable confusion regarding the cost of the insurance for the Titanic. I will take the liberty of asking you about it, for purposes of this inquiry. Did you have anything to do with the insurance?” Smith then proceeded to divide his attention once again between interrogating Ismay, and taking copious notes.

  “No, very little. That is done in New York, that is dealt with and handled in New York.”

  There was a moment of silence as Smith carefully examined some of the papers that lay before him. The Senator then addressed Ismay directly. “There is a matter of great importance that must be addressed, Mr. Ismay, regarding an unusual bit of intelligence brought to our attention by some of those on board the Virginian, which was one of many ships in contact with the Titanic by means of wireless radio communication. I will ask you whether you know of any attempt being made to reinsure any part of the vessel on Monday, the 15th of April?”

  Anger flickered in Ismay's eyes and he responded in a controlled fury. “Absolutely none, sir, and I cannot imagine anybody connected with the International Mercantile Marine Company endeavoring to do such a dishonorable thing!” Ismay brought his clenched hands down on the table before him in frustration, and the Conference Hall's spectators responded with indignation at his outburst.

  Smith had to pound his gavel for a moment to restore order. Struggling to bring the proceedings back under his control, the Senator called out, “I do not want you to understand me to assert that it was attempted, Mr. Ismay...”

  “I know, sir, but it is such a horrible accusation to have been made!” Lady spectators in fashionable dresses chattered, reporters leaned forward as they intensified the rate at which they were taking down every word, and Senator Smith once again brought down his gavel with an authoritative bang.

  “Mr. Ismay...” Smith called through the din in the Conference Room, “Mr. Ismay. Yesterday we received what we considered to be at best nebulous intelligence that suggested the Virginian received a blurred wireless transmission from the Titanic about fifteen to twenty minutes prior to the ship's foundering on the morning of the 15th,” Smith explained, carefully. “Unfortunately the wireless operator failed to take this alleged communication down. But some members of the crew suggested- through what we strongly believe to be rumor and speculation only- that perhaps some reference had been made to contacting the ship's insurers. Through the course of this inquiry, however, we have determined it to be unlikely. We are only, as a matter of course, entering this report into the content of all testimony to be considered. I should hope that we are both clear in that regard.” Smith gazed at a smoldering Ismay intently. “Notwithstanding the implausible nature of this report,” the Senator continued, “if we are to rule out the possibility of its occurrence, we must ask you, as the highest-ranking representative of the White Star Line to survive the disaster, to confirm its incompatibility with your company's values. Therefore, Mr. Ismay, you would regard it as a very dishonorable thing to do?”

  “It would have been taking advantage of private knowledge which was in my possession, yes, sir.” Ismay settled back in his chair slightly, tempering his outrage while also deciding to once more voice his displeasure. “Yes, sir- I should so regard it.”

  “Was the knowledge of the sinking of the Titanic that was in your possession communicated by you to your company in Liverpool, or to your offices in New York?”

  Ismay's heart was still racing from the previous exchange, but he cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on the latest questi
on. “I sent a message on Monday morning, very shortly after I boarded the Carpathia. The captain came down to me and said, 'Don't you think, sir, you had better send a message to New York, telling them about this accident?' I said, 'Yes.' I wrote it out on a slip of paper, and I turned to him and said, 'Captain, do you think that is all I can tell them?' He said, 'Yes.' Then he took it away from the room.” Still stinging from the suggestion that the White Star Line had tried to reinsure the Titanic before making a formal announcement that the ship had sunk, Ismay reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a collection of slightly crumpled papers. “I have a copy here, sir, of every Marconi message which I sent away from the Carpathia. I had no communication with any other ship, and there is a record of every message which I received. This is the message I sent, which was received by Mr. Phillip Franklin- who is seated next to me right here- on the 17th of April, 1912. Mr. Franklin is the vice president of the company that owned our ship.” Ismay held the stack of messages out, expecting one of the Senate's pages to collect them.