While the coaling was still underway, Capt. Maurice H. Clarke of the Board of Trade began the mandatory surveys of the ship. Distress rockets, flares, and other “fireworks” were examined and approved; lifeboats and floats were tested; charts and instruments were inspected. Second Officer Charles Lightoller recalled ruefully:The Board of Trade Surveyor, Captain Clarke, certainly lived up to his reputation of being the best cursed B.O.T. representative in the South of England at that time. Many small details, that another surveyor would have taken in his stride accepting the statement of the officer concerned, was not good enough for Clarke. He must see everything, and himself check every item that concerned the survey. He would not accept anyone’s word as sufficient—and got heartily cursed in consequence.
Captain Clarke passed the Titanic as being in compliance in all particulars with Board of Trade regulations.15
Chief among these were regulations concerning lifeboats, and though the idea that she was unsinkable had become so firmly entrenched in the public’s mind that it was believed that lifeboats were no longer necessary, the Titanic still had to comply. The Board of Trade had concocted a complicated formula for determining the lifeboat requirements of British registered vessels. Specifically this stated that any ship over 10,000 tons must carry sixteen lifeboats with a capacity of 5,500 cubic feet, that is, space for 550 people, plus enough rafts and floats to equal 75 percent of the capacity of the lifeboats. For the Titanic this worked out to a required capacity of 9,625 cubic feet, room for 962 persons. Actually, the Titanic’s lifeboat capacity exceeded the Board of Trade requirements, since the White Star Line had added four Englehardt collapsibles, wooden keels with folding canvas sides, to the ship’s complement of boats. Together with the required sixteen boats they gave the Titanic a capacity of 11,780 cubic feet, room for 1,178 people. Nobody at the time seemed to realize the discrepancy between the number of people the Titanic could carry—over 3,000—and the number of people she had lifeboats for. Unfortunately the regulations had been written for ships a quarter of the Titanic’s size and had never been revised. 16
When the ship was being built, Alexander Carlisle, one of the managing directors at Harland and Wolff, had pointed out that the new geared Welin davits the Titanic was being fitted with could each handle up to three lifeboats, giving the ship the potential to carry up to forty-eight boats. Carlisle himself recommended that the number of boats be doubled, but he didn’t press the point, so the suggestion was turned down by the White Star Line as being too expensive. Besides, the Titanic not only complied with the Board of Trade regulations, but by being “unsinkable,” she had made them obsolete. 17
Just how firmly this was believed Mrs. Albert Caldwell learned firsthand that morning when she was watching a group of deck hands carrying luggage aboard the Titanic. Impulsively, she stopped one of the men and asked him, “Is this ship really nonsinkable?”
“Yes, lady,” he replied, “God Himself couldn’t sink this ship.”18
These deckhands were under the supervision of the chief bosun, Alfred “Big Neck” Nichols, who seemed to be everywhere, watching everything. At the same time, the marine superintendent was making his rounds, inspecting hatches, winches, derricks, and fenders. The arrival of the Boat Train meant that sailing time was not far off, and the deck crew did everything they could to shepherd the latest arrivals into the ship.
For First and Second Classes the first stop was the Purser’s Office. The duties of a purser on any large passenger vessel were much like those of the manager of a large hotel ashore and required many of the same talents: a good head for business; tact, charm, and diplomacy for dealing with temperamental passengers; and the ability to delegate authority without relinquishing responsibility among subordinates. All these qualities the Titanic’s purser had in abundance. Hugh McElroy was a tall, well-built man, who had become so popular among frequent travelers on the North Atlantic—that some passengers made a point of traveling on ships he was assigned to. His table in the First Class Dining Saloon was often as popular as that of the captain, for McElroy was one of those rare individuals who seemed to know everybody and everything, from the latest shipboard gossip to the current stock market tips. The very soul of discretion, he was often the confidant of passenger and crewman alike. As the passengers quickly passed through his office to have their tickets processed, he managed to have a smile or a kind word for each of them. 19
The procedures for Third Class were somewhat different. At the head of each Third Class gangway was posted a team of surgeons under the direction of the Titanic’s Chief Surgeon, Dr. F. W N. O‘Loughlin. Like Purser McElroy, O’Loughlin was an Irish Catholic, and the two men had served together for many years, beginning on the Oceanic, then the Baltic, the Adriatic, the Olympic, and now the Titanic. The purpose of the surgeons Dr. O’Loughlin posted at the gangways was to conduct a quick but thorough examination of every steerage passenger attempting to board. Every immigrant was checked for signs of trachoma, a highly infectious and potentially blinding disease of the eye. By folding back the upper eyelid of each Third Class passenger boarding, the doctors could quickly spot the white scar tissue that invariably indicated presence of the disease. Anyone showing such signs was instantly and summarily turned back—American immigration laws forbade admission of anyone with trachoma into the country. (One other requirement of American law was that locked barricades be set up between steerage and the other passengers—originally intended to prevent the spread of disease, like the out-of-date lifeboat regulations this provision had never been modified, and as in every other particular the Titanic complied fully.)20
Once admitted by the surgeons, the steerage passengers were handled as expeditiously as possible. R. A. Fletcher left a description of the process in his book Travelling Palaces:Once on board ... it is astonishing how quickly the stewards direct the passengers to their quarters. No sooner are the passengers past the medical men at the head of the gangway, than they are taken care of. “Single men this way, please,” a steward reiterated incessantly. “Ticket number so-and-so, thank you. Straight along the passage. You will find a steward a little further on who will direct you.”
That steward is probably standing near the head of a staircase. “Go down the stairs and turn to the left. Here, you sir, you to the right. You all together? All from the same town, eh? Yes, to the right. I’ll see you again by and by.” And so on, directing them to their quarters where other stewards are in attendance to see that each man is shown to his cabin and berth with as little delay as possible. The tickets are numbered to correspond with the numbers of the berths, and thanks to this arrangement and the careful direction of the stewards, the early arrivals are soon back on deck watching the other passengers arrive.21
Noon was rapidly approaching when the Trinity House pilot, George Bowyer, came aboard and had the pilot’s flag hoisted at the foremast. Bowyer had been the pilot at Southampton Harbour for nearly forty years, the latest of a long line of Bowyers who had been harbor pilots at Southampton since the time of the Napoleonic Wars. The ship’s whistle gave a series of short sharp blasts, a warning for the visitors, friends of passengers, and assorted vendors and reporters to begin making their way ashore. One by one the gangways were pulled away as the harbor tugs began moving into position. Just as the last gangway was being lowered, a half dozen stokers, who had slipped ashore earlier to pay one last visit to a nearby pub, came rushing up, trying to get back aboard. The Titanic’s master-at-arms barred the way, turning them back, and the stokers missed the boat, so to speak 22
At noon exactly, one long, deep-throated blast from the Titanic’s whistles signaled the nearby tugs to stand by. “Make fast the tugs!” George Bowyer’s booming voice rang out across the bridge. There was a jangle of ringing bells as the brass engine room telegraph rang down to signal “Slow Ahead,” and the water at the stern of the ship began to churn as the three great screws began to turn.
Pilot Bowyer quickly checked to make sure that all the ship’s of
ficers were properly stationed: Chief Officer Wilde in the fo’c’s’le (forecastle) head in charge of moorings, with Second Officer Lightoller assisting him as well as seeing to the forward spring lines; First Officer Murdoch aft at the auxiliary bridge on the poop deck, in charge of the moorings there, assisted by Third Officer Pitman; standing beside Murdoch was Fourth Officer Boxhall, who would be passing the telegraph orders down to the engine room, while at the same time recording all movements in the log; Fifth Officer Lowe was on the bridge with Pilot Bowyer, manning the telephones; Sixth Officer Moody was supervising the removal of the last gangway. As soon as that gangway was clear, Bowyer began to call out a rapid series of orders: “Let go the stern ropes! ... Let go your head rope! ... Let go your after spring! ... Tow her off aft! ... Let go your for’ard spring!” The tugs began to pull the ship away from the side of the dock, and the passengers and crowd watching on the quay let out a cheer as a gap began to open up between the Titanic and the side of the quay. Bowyer called for the after tug to let go, and the huge liner slowly moved forward into the River Test.
In the First Class Dining Saloon the ship’s orchestra played an air from the musical “The Chocolate Soldier,” while Pilot Bowyer gradually worked the ship up to a speed of six knots as she moved down the channel. The immense bulk of the liner displaced an incredible volume of water in the narrow channel, creating a powerful suction in her wake. As she approached the entrance to the channel, the Titanic drew abreast of the small American liner New York, which was moored side by side to the White Star’s Oceanic. Both ships had been immobilized by the coal strike, and neither had steam up. As the Titanic passed, the suction of her wake drew the two smaller vessels away from the dock where they were tied up. The strain on the six lines mooring the New York to the Oceanic grew too great, and with a series of loud cracks they parted in rapid succession as the New York was pulled helplessly toward the Titanic. For a moment a nasty collision seemed inevitable as the stern of the New York swung to within three or four feet of the bigger liner’s hull.
Quick thinking on the part of Captain Gale of the tug Vulcan and prompt action on the Titanic’s bridge by Captain Smith averted an accident. The Vulcan quickly passed a line to the stern of the New York, and, throwing its engines full astern, managed to slow the wayward liner and drag her away from the Titanic. At the same time, Captain Smith ordered “Half Astern” on the engines, the sudden wash thrown up along the Titanic’s side by the huge propellers providing the extra thrust needed to push the New York away. As soon as she was clear Smith brought the Titanic’s engines to a halt. The danger wasn’t over yet, for the New York, still without power, was now drifting down the narrow space between the motionless Titanic and the Oceanic. Other tugs rushed to aid the struggling Vulcan, and in a little less than forty-five minutes the New York was being nudged safely back alongside the Oceanic. (Later, a barge that had sunk in that same channel was found to have been dragged neary a half mile underwater by the suction of the Titanic’s wake.)
None of the three ships was damaged, but during the time it took to get the New York securely moored, and before the Titanic resumed her passage down the channel, Captain Smith ordered a quick inspection of the ship. Some of the passengers were disturbed by the incident. Renee Harris, wife of the American theatrical producer, suddenly found a stranger standing at her side, asking, “Do you love life?”
“Yes, I love it.”
“That was a bad omen. Get off this ship at Cherbourg, if we get that far. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Mrs. Harris just laughed, believing, like so many others, in the unsinkability of the Titanic, but later she would recall that she never saw the man on board again.23
Finally the Titanic was clear of the docks and steaming down the Southampton Water at half speed. Soon she came up to Calshot Spit, where she slowed to make the difficult turn to starboard into the Thorn Channel. A few minutes later came the sharp right-angled turn to port around the West Bramble buoy, leading into the deep-water channel that flowed past the Cowes Roads, Spithead, and the Nab. As the Titanic passed the Royal Yacht Squadron at West Cowes, passengers and crew noticed crowds lining the promenade to catch a glimpse of the beautiful new White Star liner, while sitting out in the Solent roads in a small open boat, a local pharmacist and amateur maritime photographer named Frank Beken waited patiently for the great ship to pass. Camera at the ready, he was to take some of the most memorable photographs of the Titanic ever made. Captain Smith.recognized the young man from previous encounters in the Solent Roads, and he knew Beken’s work, so with a smile gave four blasts on the Titanic’s whistle in a salute. It was a moment that Beken would never forget.24
Sweeping past Spithead, the Titanic dipped her colors to the squadron of destroyers anchored there, then steamed past Ryde, past the Lloyd’s lightship, past Selsey Bill, and on to the Nab lightship. At the lightship the Titanic stopped to drop Pilot Bowyer, then turned toward the English Channel and the open sea.25
CHAPTER 3
Maiden Voyage
When you shall pass through the waters... they shall not overwhelm you.
—Isaiah 43:2
THE SHIP’S ORCHESTRA WAS PLAYING IN THE FIRST CLASS DINING SALOON AS the ship’s bugler sounded the call for luncheon. The fresh April winds had kicked up a mild chop in the Channel, but the Titanic never felt it. Already the passengers were commenting on how smooth the ship’s engines were—scarcely any vibration could be felt, a tribute to the care and attention to detail the Harland and Wolff engineers had lavished on them. Off to starboard lay the Isle of Wight, its landmarks easily visible in the bright sunshine. In short order Culver Cliff, Sandown Bay, Shanklin Cline, and eventually St. Catherine’s Bay and its high chalk cliffs were left behind as the Titanic ran down the Channel, making for her first port of call, Cherbourg.
Though he was almost an hour behind schedule as a result of the incident with the New York, Captain Smith decided that it might be a good time to familiarize himself a little better with how the new ship handled. Whether he had always planned on this, or if it was a response to the near-accident in Southampton will never be known, but that afternoon Smith had the Titanic put through several S-turns and other maneuvers to get a feel for her. After an hour or so of these exercises he ordered the ship back on her course for Cherbourg, expecting to arrive there in the early evening.1
While the passengers were settling in, Thomas Andrews and his assistants were moving about the ship, beginning the slow process of locating the inevitable problems, faults, and breakdowns that always plague new ships. In the case of the Titanic it appeared that these would be far fewer than usual—the experience gained with the Olympic and incorporated into the Titanic had been invaluable. There were a few niggling details that most men wouldn’t have noticed or bothered with, but Andrews was a perfectionist. Before long he decided that the color of the pebble dashing on the private promenade decks was too dark; he thought the coathooks in the staterooms used too many screws; and he discovered trouble with the hot press in the First Class galley. Aside from such details, the Titanic promised to be, as Bruce Ismay had said about the Olympic, “a marvel.”2
Likewise the crew were going about the business of establishing a shipboard routine. Down on D Deck the masseuse, Maud Slocombe, was busy collecting the odd beer bottle or half-eaten sandwich left behind in the Turkish Bath by the shipyard workers. George Symons, one of the ship’s lookouts, approached Second Officer Charles Lightoller, with a more serious concern.
“Yes, Symons, what is it?”
“Sir, we have no lookout glasses in the crow’s nest.”
“All right, I’ll look into it directly.” Lightoller quickly made inquiries as to the whereabouts of the missing binoculars, but was unable to bring Symons good news. The glasses could not be found. When Symons told this to his fellow lookouts, there was considerable consternation: the White Star Line hired men specifically for the post of lookout, rather than simply rotating deck hands to lookout po
sitions, and to these men binoculars were necessary for their job. Several of the Titanic’s lookouts had sailed on the Olympic, where the glasses were stored in a special locker in the crow’s nest, and the omission on the new ship didn’t sit well with them.
Actually, the binoculars were aboard, but nobody knew it at the time. There had been a last-minute reshuffling of the officers aboard the Titanic, and the officer responsible for the glasses was no longer on board. What had happened was this: William M. Murdoch had been assigned as chief officer, but his limited experience with big ships concerned Captain Smith, who asked for Henry Wilde, his chief officer aboard the Olympic. Murdoch was bumped down to first officer, which meant that Lightoller, originally the first officer was moved down to second officer. The man Lightoller replaced, David Blair, was left behind in Southampton. For some reason, Blair had ordered the binoculars removed from the crow’s nest and shut up in a locker in his cabin. The shuffling about of the senior officers’ assignments was done at almost the last minute, Wilde arriving just hours before sailing time, and in the confusion Blair either forgot to tell anyone where the glasses were, or else whoever he told forgot about them. In any case the binoculars were not where they were supposed to be, and nobody had any idea where they were.3
The sun sank low on the horizon, bathing the approaching chalk cliffs of the French coast in a reddish glow. Soon a lighthouse perched at the end of a long breakwater appeared, marking the entrance to Cherbourg Roads. Dropping anchor in the Roads, just off the Cap de la Hogue, the Titanic was met by the tenders Nomadic and Traffic. A late-afternoon squall sprang up, kicking up a swell strong enough to cause the two tenders to bounce rather alarmingly up and down as they the drew alongside the Titanic, striking the side of the ship occasionally. Edith Russell, who was boarding the ship at Cherbourg, wondered with more than just idle curiosity if the passengers and their luggage would be transferred safely. Nevertheless, the passengers, baggage, and mail were taken aboard without incident, and by 9:00 P.M. the Titanic had turned around and left Cherbourg behind, shaping a course for Queenstown.
Unsinkable: The Full Story of the RMS Titanic Page 7
