Another mistake was the decision to maintain a speed of 22 knots, the fastest the ship had ever gone. This though may have been an error committed out of ignorance: if Captain Smith, having already altered course to the south, wasn’t aware of the full extent of the ice floe spreading across the Titanic’s course—and the evidence is that he wasn’t—then he wouldn’t have seen the necessity of reducing speed. To some degree, Bruce Ismay, with his obsession with bettering the Olympic’s time on her maiden voyage, may have contributed to this. Captain Smith, impending retirement or no, would have been less than human if he hadn’t been susceptible to the urge to carry out his employer’s wishes, and so was inclined to not reduce speed.
Of course, the speed the Titanic was making as she approached the iceberg had a direct effect on the time and distance it took her to respond to the movement of her rudder. No one will ever know for sure just how familiar Captain Smith was with the turning radius and response time of the Titanic, though there is little reason to believe that they would have differed significantly from those of the Olympic, which Smith had commanded for nearly a year. Smith had an outstanding reputation among professional seamen as an expert ship handler; but, the question persists as to whether or not Smith knew just how clumsy and heavy these new ships were. Yet asking the rhetorical question, “Had ships gotten too big for Captain Smith?” implies that there were other captains who had the ability to better handle ships the size of the Olympic and Titanic. In plain truth there weren’t. The two White Star sisters were the largest ships in the world, fully a third larger than the next largest ships, the Lusitania and Mauretania, and no one had any more experience with them than Captain Smith. The handling characteristics of the Olympic class ships were uncharted territory, and if Smith overestimated the maneuverability of those vessels, there was nobody with the credentials to gainsay him.
Simply put, the decisions Captain Smith made about navigation and shipboard procedures on the Titanic right up to the moment of the collision, while in hindsight frighteningly casual in some respects, were in fact singularly unremarkable when put in perspective: his actions were very much in line with the standard practices on board most Atlantic liners of the day. To expect him to radically depart from those practices—and it should be kept in mind that for the forty years he had been at sea those same practices had never gotten him involved in serious accident or emergency—would be to demand a foresight, even a prescience, that is beyond the ability of most mortals.
It is after the collision occurs that Captain Smith’s behavior and decision-making becomes far more questionable. For the first twenty or twenty-five minutes after the impact, the captain was very much the embodiment of command, instantly giving orders to ensure the safety of the ship, having the carpenter ascertain the damage, putting Ismay (who always seemed to be underfoot at the worst possible times) firmly in his place, conferring with Thomas Andrews about the effect the damage would have on the ship. But just about midnight, his powers of decision and command seemed to desert him. For the next two hours and twenty minutes, he would be only a shadow of his former self, isolating himself on the bridge, failing to pass on critical information to his officers and senior seamen, acting and reacting slowly to reports and rapidly changing circumstances, and giving half-hearted orders, some of which the crew would openly defy. Clearly something had happened ; the question is what?
The answer lies in what passed between Thomas Andrews and Captain Smith when they had finished their inspection and returned to Andrews’s cabin, A-36. The absolute certainty with which Andrews pronounced the Titanic’s doom must have been like a body blow to Smith, but worse was to come: when Andrews confirmed that the ship carried enough lifeboats to hold only half the people on board, it must have seemed like Smith’s worst nightmare had come true. The safety of the ship and every person on board her, regardless of how many regulations were complied with, no matter how many Bruce Ismays were aboard, were the sole responsibility of the ship’s captain, and now Captain Smith had failed that responsibility. All of Smith’s superb seamanship, his forty years at sea without a serious accident, his twenty-seven years of command without ever having lost a single life entrusted to his care, his unqualified confidence in the capabilities of modern shipbuilding, had all been swept away in the ten seconds it took for the iceberg to open up the Titanic’s starboard side.
From that moment on, Smith would exhibit all the characteristics of someone suddenly overwhelmed by circumstances. What orders and instructions he would give would often be incomplete or impractical: after Smith had ordered the lifeboats uncovered, he had to be prodded by Second Officer Lightoller to have them swung out and begin loading the passengers; when he wanted to load the boats from the Promenade Deck, he completely forgot that the forward half of the deck was enclosed, making loading from there impossible; and his idea for filling the half empty boats from the gangways on D Deck made no sense at all.
He also failed to make it clear to his officers and senior seamen—the quartermasters, bosun’s mates, and able-bodied seamen—that the ship was in mortal danger, and so didn’t impart any real sense of urgency to them. One of the most remarkable aspects of the Titanic’s sinking is that very few people on board regarded the situation as serious for more than an hour after the collision—in fact it was nearly 1:15 before Fourth Officer Boxhall was told the ship was going to sink. While no doubt Smith wanted to avoid a panic among the passengers, and quite possibly the crew as well, not letting his officers know just how serious the emergency was may well have contributed to a false sense of security among them, which in turn caused them to allow a number of the boats to leave the ship less than half full.
It is almost certain that only Bruce Ismay, Thomas Andrews, and Captain Smith knew for sure that there were far too few lifeboats on the Titanic to hold all the people aboard her. Again, by not informing the officers of this discrepancy, Smith may have unwittingly caused an even greater loss of life, because so many of the lifeboats left the ship only partially filled. Certainly, the knowledge that the number of boats was inadequate was not something to be shared with the passengers, but it isn’t difficult to believe that the Titanic’s officers would have acted differently had they realized the truth. Nor did Smith give any instructions on how “Women and children first!” was to be interpreted. This led to Lightoller taking it to mean women and children only, while Murdoch was more flexible, allowing some married couples into the boats, and a few single men when there weren’t any women immediately nearby.
Finally, Captain Smith isolated himself on the bridge, leaving it only occasionally to walk a few yards aft to the wireless office, to inquire of Bride and Phillips if there were any ships coming to the Titanic’s aid. He never made his way down the Boat Deck to observe how the loading and launching of the lifeboats was proceeding, never bothered to ascertain if his orders were being carried out, never inquired as to whether all the passengers and crew had been roused and were accounted for.
What had happened to Captain Smith? Dr. Dorothy Mihalyfi a clinical psychologist from Boca Raton, Florida, who specializes in crisis counseling, reviewed Smith’s actions and behavior at the author’s request. In her opinion, Smith was in a state of mental shock, as she put it, “a temporary disfunctionality.” Smith had believed that the ship was unsinkable, had believed in his abilities as a ship’s captain, had believed that he had taken all the necessary precautions. Now the entire edifice around which his authority was built had come crashing down. Completely dumbfounded by the situation, he was in a blank state of immobility, a mental void similar to that of a boxer who has taken too many punches, and though he refuses to go down, can no longer defend himself or fight back. In such a case the referee would step in to stop the fight, but there was no referee on April 15, 1912.
Instead, Smith was confronted at every turn by the awful finality of what had occurred: every order he gave and every instruction he issued reminded him anew of the dreadful conclusion the night’s events must
lead to, and the knowledge inhibited his ability to make decisions. Dr. Mihalyfi observes that Smith’s awareness of the terrible loss of life that was imminent would have loomed up like a wall before him every time he was called upon to choose a course of action. As a consequence indecision was easier, and isolation on the bridge made it easier still. It was quite possible that Smith couldn’t bring himself to go out onto the Boat Deck and see the faces of so many people who were very shortly going to die.
It went deeper than that, as well. Dr. Mihalyfi points out that it is quite common for someone who has undergone a severe psychological trauma to enter a state where they become completely hopeless, resigning themselves to their fate. They develop a feeling that the circumstances are insurmountable, that nothing can affect the outcome of the situation, and that any further effort on the part of the afflicted individual is pointless. Apparently this too overtook Captain Smith,..as it seems he made little if any effort to reach any of the lifeboats after the Titanic sank. Indeed there can be few more perfect statements of hopelessness as when Smith told Phillips, “You look out for yourself. I release you. That’s the way of it at this kind of time....”
It is important to note that Dr. Mihalyfi’s observations do not imply that Captain Smith went mad or was mentally deranged (note that Dr. Mihalyfi is a psychologist, not a psychiatrist), nor are they intended to impute an undeserved portion of the blame for the Titanic’s disaster to Captain Smith. Instead they make it clear that Smith was confronted with a situation that he wasn’t prepared by emotion, experience, or training to handle. That Captain Smith was overwhelmed by circumstances is something for which he should be pitied, but never condemned. It is highly doubtful that any of us could have done any better 1
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE STORY OF THE TITANIC IS IN MANY WAYS A MODERN EPIC, AND IT SEEMED at times that the research needed to retell it correctly would have to be of epic proportions—and it very nearly was. While not exactly a cast of thousands, there were scores of people, at dozens of institutions of every description, in five countries scattered across two continents who made some kind of genuine, material contribution to this work. I would like to thank them all, and in particular single out those persons and institutions whose assistance were particularly significant.
As any writer will readily acknowledge, good librarians and archivists are the people who make a writer’s work possible. Consequently, I want to acknowledge my debt to the staffs of the following libraries, museums, and archives:
The U.S. Library of Congress, where not only are the complete transcripts of the U.S. Senate investigation to be found, but also hundreds of Titanic-related references. In all my visits the staff was always a model of courtesy; the staff at the Van Zoeren (now the Van Wylen) Library at Hope College in Holland, Michigan, as well as the librarians and student assistants at the Grand Valley State University libraries in Allendale, Michigan, who all those years ago so willingly aided me in locating old, out-of-print books and obscure periodicals through the Michigan University Library System; the Public Library of Grand Rapids, Michigan, and in particular the library’s city historian, Gordon Olsen, who labored diligently to help me in my researches about Senator William Alden Smith, as did Jeannie Larsen of the Archive Section of the Grand Rapids Public Museum, as well as providing information about several of the Titanic’s survivors who either hailed from southern Michigan or later settled there; the Orange County Library System, Orange County, Florida, and especially Miss Candace Critchfield, of the Orlando branch’s Genealogy Department, who bent her considerable familiarity with immigration records, steamship manifests, and the like to the task of showing me how sharply the reality of immigration into the United States in the first decade of this century differed from the popular images created by latter day sensation-mongers masquerading as journalists.
A number of museums deserve particular mention, among them the Mariners’ Museum of Newport News, Virginia, which possesses an outstanding collection of photographs of the Titanic and her contemporaries; the National Maritime Museum in Philadelphia, which holds most of the handful of artifacts that were recovered from the area of the Atlantic immediately after the Titanic went down; and the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic in Halifax, Nova Scotia, with its own collection of artifacts and archives. Most importantly, these museums are staffed by men and women who know ships and the sea, and so can give insights and perspectives on a subject that might otherwise escape an ordinary historian. Halifax in particular has never left its seafaring roots behind it, and the city and its people have treated the memory of the Titanic with great respect.
The Ulster Folk and Transport Museum of Belfast, Northern Ireland, possesses one of the finest collections of photographs of the Titanic in the world. In addition, the staff have a unique knowledge of the men who designed and built her, of their times and their world, and as a result can make those lives very, very real to a researcher like myself I will always be grateful to them, especially Mr. Michael McCaughan, curator of maritime history, for the help they gave me.
The city of Southampton has never entirely forgotten the grief caused by the terrible death toll among the crew, most of whom called that ancient seaport home. As a result, the Southampton City Museums have always had a special interest in the Titanic and especially her crew. Because of this, the Museums, administered by the Southampton Heritage Centre, are a veritable treasure trove of information and photographs that make it possible to reconstruct the lives of the Titanic’s crewmen, as well as of the dark, grieving days that followed the sinking. My particular thanks go to the Museums’ staff, and especially to Donald Hyslop, the community history manager of the Centre.
Admittedly the great days of British shipbuilding have passed in Belfast, but Harland and Wolff still construct some of the finest ships in the world. Even today, though, the firm is immensely proud of the three sisters, Olympic, Titanic, and Britannic, and there are many at the yard who still maintain that the finest ship to ever leave their ways was the Titanic. It was more than ten years ago that Mr. Tommy McCluskey showed me the concrete apron that was all that remained of Slips No. 2 and 3 where the three ships were built, and guided me around the shipyard that, while it has changed tremendously, is still recognizable as the yard in the photographs from 1912.
The British Public Records Office is the repository of the transcript of the Board of Trade inquiry into the loss of the Titanic. It runs to something over 2,000 pages, and the transcript is, for the most part, an exercise in rather turgid “legalese,” but there were moments when my modern “American English” was not up to the demands of a 1912 lawyer’s “English English” and the members of the staff of the PRO were always willing to help out “the fellow from the colonies.”
Simply put, the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, England, has no equal anywhere in the world for the breadth and depth of its resources or the accumulated knowledge of ships and the sea. Of particular help to me were comments and observations on the text made by Dr. Stephen Deucher, the exhibitions director. Dr. Deucher was responsible for setting up the now-famous “Wreck of the Titanic” Exhibition, which ran for a year, from October 1994 to October 1995, displaying to the public for the first time many of the artifacts recovered and preserved from the Titanic in the late 1980s.
In each of these institutions I conducted some major or at least significant portion of my research and in each I was always received with consummate professionalism and courtesy. Over the course of several years and many visits, the faces and names would often change, so that now I can only dimly recall some them, but to each and every one, I extend my genuine and sincere gratitude.
A special mention is deserved of certain individuals whose contributions to this work were so unique or so specific that they merit singling out: Mr. Walter Lord gave graciously of his time as well as his resources to help me gain a better perspective of all that happened the night of April 14-15, 1912; his spirit of cooperation and openness deserves to be emulate
d by more historians. Alistair Lang, of East Kilbride, Scotland, lent his engineering training and experience so that I could better understand the stresses the Titanic’s hull underwent as she was sinking and as she broke up. James Krogan, naval architect and president of James S. Krogan & Co. of Miami, Florida, took the time to explain the finer points of the Titanic’s design and construction. David Norris, a private investigator and amateur radio enthusiast from Burton, Michigan, was kind enough to recount to me the story of how he uncovered the fate of Harold Bride, and was also willing to share his knowledge of the early days of shipboard wireless. Matthew McLean, a retired bosun of the British Merchant Marine who now lives in Hollywood, Florida, offered advice that helped me avoid technical errors, and provided insight into the life of a British merchant seaman that was invaluable. Harold Butler, of Swartz Creek, Michigan, a former Able-Bodied Seaman in the American Merchant Marine (and, incidentally, my father) provided advice on nautical usage, terminology, and equipment. Dr. Dorothy Mihalyfi, a clinical psychologist with a practice in Boca Raton, Florida, provided invaluable insights into the motives and mentalities of several of the individuals involved with the loss of the Titanic. J. Reginald Bunting, of Lyme Regis, in Dorsetshire, England, formerly of the London Times Educational Supplement, read this book while it was still in manuscript form, and offered his insights, comments, and criticisms about its content and readability. Linda Miller at the Grand Rapids Press, successor to the Herald once owned by Senator Smith, provided leads, which often added fascinating bits of detail to the story. Jon Webb and Lisa Fuller-Webb gave moral and sometimes material support that allowed this work to be completed. Jon Eaton made comments, criticisms, and observations that helped me develop ideas to improve this book’s immediacy and integrity—and also saved me from a monumental blunder that would have had terribly embarrassing consequences for me. And lastly, but never in the least, my wife Eleanor put up with years of frustration and aggravation while this book was being written and marketed, but never gave up and never stopped believing in either it or me, even though there were times, I’m sure, when she felt that she was the last widow of the Titanic.
Unsinkable: The Full Story of the RMS Titanic Page 37
