Stephen A. Dymarcik II

by Titanic of the Dead

  On the New York there was shouting of orders, sailors running to and fro, paying out ropes and putting mats over the side where it seemed likely we should collide; the tug, which had a few moments before cast off from the bows of the Titanic, came up around our stern and passed to the quay side of the New York's stern, made fast to her and started to haul her back with all the force her engines were capable of; but it did not seem that the tug made much impression on the New York. Apart from the serious nature of the accident, it made an irresistibly comic picture to see the huge vessel drifting down the dock with a snorting tug at its heel; like a small boy dragging a diminutive puppy down the road, with its teeth locked on a piece of rope, its feet splayed out, its head and body shaking from side to side in the effort to get every ounce of its weight used to the best advantage. At first all appearance showed that the sterns of the two vessels would collide; but from the stern bridge of the Titanic an officer directing operations stopped us dead, the suction ceased, and the New York, with her tug trailing behind, moved obliquely down the dock, her stern gliding along the side of the Titanic, some few yards away. It gave an extraordinary impression of the absolute helplessness of a big liner in the absence of any motive power to guide her. Yet all excitement was not yet over; the New York turned her bows inward towards the quay, her stern swinging just clear of and passing in front of our bows, and moved slowly, head on for the Teutonic, lying moored to the side; mats were quickly got out and so deadened the force of the collision, which from where we were, seemed to be too slight to cause any damage. Another tug came up and took hold of the New York by the bows, and between the two of them, they dragged her round the corner of the quay, which just here came to an end on the side of the river.

  We now moved slowly ahead, and passed the Teutonic at a creeping pace, but notwithstanding this, the latter strained at her ropes so much, that she heeled over several degrees in her efforts to follow the Titanic. The crowd were pushed back, a group of gold-braided officials, probably the harbour-master and his staff, standing on the sea side of the moored ropes, jumped back over them as they drew up taut to a rigid line, and urged the crowd back still farther. Yet we were just clear, and as we slowly turned the corner into the river, I saw the Teutonic swing slowly back into her normal station, relieving the tension of the ropes, and the minds of all who witnessed the incident.

  Unpleasant as this incident was, it was interesting to all the passengers, leaning over the rails, to see the means adopted by the officers and crew of the various vessels to avoid collision, to see on the Titanic's docking-bridge (at the stern), an officer and seamen telephoning and ringing bells, hauling up and down little red and white flags, as the danger of collision was diminished. No one was more interested than a young American kinematograph photographer, who, with his wife, followed the whole scene with eager eyes, turning the handle of his camera with the most evident pleasure as he recorded the unexpected incident on his films. It was obviously quite a windfall for him to have been on board at such a time, but neither the film nor those who exposed it, reached the other side, and the record of the accident from the Titanic's deck has never been displayed on the screen.

  As we steamed down the river, the scene we had just witnessed was the topic of every conversation; the comparison with the Olympic-Hawke collision was drawn in every little group of passengers. It seemed to be generally agreed that this would confirm the suction theory, which was so successfully advanced by the cruiser Hawke in the law courts, but which many people scoffed at when the British Admiralty first suggested it as the explanation of the cruiser ramming the Olympic. Since this is an attempt to chronicle facts as they happened on board the Titanic, it must be recorded that there were, among the passengers and the crew, who I heard speak on the matter, the direst misgivings at the incident we had just witnessed. Sailors, by nature, are highly superstitious; few people are prone to follow their lead, or, indeed, the lead of any one who asserts a statement with an air of conviction and the opportunity of constant repetition; the sense of mystery that shrouds a prophetic utterance, particularly if it be an ominous one, apparently is the human mind, that will receive the impress of an evil prophecy, and few readily pay attention to the intuition God gave them. There are signs and patterns in this world that lay the ground work for what has yet to become. I believe in that, yet it was not always the case, I was a skeptic; but that was before Titanic. I wish in a later chapter to discuss the subject of intuition, in its reference to our life on board the Titanic, but will anticipate events here a little by relating a second “bad omen" which was hatched at Queenstown.

  As one of the tenders containing passengers and mails neared the Titanic, some of those on board gazed up at the liner towering above them, and saw a stoker's head, black from his work in the stokehold below, peering out at them from the top of one of the enormous funnels, a dummy one for ventilation, that rose many feet above the highest deck. He had climbed up inside for a joke, but to some of those who saw him there, the sight was seed for the growth of an "omen," which bore fruit in an unknown dread of dangers to come. An American lady, may she rest in peace, had related to me shortly after leaving port with deep conviction and earnestness of manner, that she saw the man, and attributes the sinking of the Titanic largely to that. Further she quoted, she saw children cast out in the darkness, and a gnashing of teeth. Arrant foolishness, you may say! Yes, indeed, but not to those who believe in it; yet is it helpful to have such prophetic thoughts of danger and still do nothing? I found my way to my room adequately; the room had beautiful red wood panel walls with gold inlay, window dressings were silk, and the lights gold. This was a true steam driven wonder. I made my way from my room to the deck to have a look at the ocean. The crisp wind held the seagulls still.

  We dropped down Spithead, past the shores of the Isle of Wight, looking superbly beautiful in new spring foliage. We exchanged salutes with a White Star tug, lying-to waiting for one of their liners inward bound, and saw in the distance several warships, with attendant black destroyers guarding the entrance from the sea. In the calmest weather we made it to Cherbourg, just as it grew dusk, and left again about 8.30, after taking on board passengers and mail. We reached Queenstown on about noon on Thursday, after a most enjoyable passage across the Channel, although the wind was almost too cold to allow sitting out on deck on Thursday morning.

  The coast of Ireland looked very beautiful as we approached Queenstown Harbour, the brilliant morning sun showing the green hillsides and picking out groups of dwellings, dotted here and there, above the rugged grey cliffs that fringed the coast. We took on board our pilot, ran slowly towards the harbour with the sounding-line dropping all the time, and came to a stop well out to sea, with our screws churning up the bottom, and turning the sea all brown with sand from below. It had seemed to me that the ship stopped rather suddenly, and in my ignorance of the depth of the harbour entrance, that perhaps the sounding-line had revealed a smaller depth than was thought safe for the great size of the Titanic. This seemed to be confirmed by the sight of sand churned up from the bottom, but this is a mere supposition. Passengers and mail were put on board from two tenders, and nothing could have given us a better idea of the enormous length and bulk of the Titanic, than to stand as far astern as possible and look over the side from the top deck, forwards and downwards to where the tenders rolled at her bows, the merest cockleshells beside the majestic vessel, that rose deck after deck above them. Truly she was a magnificent boat! There was something so graceful in her movement, as she rode up and down on the slight swell in the harbour, a slow, stately dip and recover, only noticeable by watching her bows in comparison with some landmark on the coast in the near distance; the two little tenders tossing up and down like corks beside her, illustrated vividly the advance made in comfort of motion from the time of the small steamer.

  Presently the work of transfer was ended, the tenders cast off, and at 1.30 P.M., with the screws churning up the sea bottom again, the Titanic turned s
lowly through a quarter-circle until her nose pointed down along the Irish coast, and then steamed rapidly away from Queenstown. In our wake soared and screamed hundreds of gulls, which had quarreled and fought over the remnants of lunch pouring out of the waste pipes as we lay-to in the harbor entrance, and now they followed us in the expectation of further spoil. I watched them for a long time and was astonished at the ease with which they soared and kept up with the ship, with hardly a motion of their wings; picking out a particular gull, I would keep him under observation for minutes at a time, and see no motion of his wings downwards or upwards to aid his flight. He would tilt all of a piece to one side or another, as the gusts of wind caught him: rigidly unbendable, as an aeroplane tilts sideways in a puff of wind, yet with graceful ease he kept pace with the Titanic forging through the water at twenty knots, and as the wind met him, he would rise upwards and obliquely forwards, and come down slantingly again, his wings curved in a beautiful arch, his tail feathers outspread as a fan. It was plain that he possessed a secret we are only just beginning to learn, the utilizing of air-currents, which he can glide at will with the expenditure of the minimum amount of energy, or of using them as a ship does when it sails within one or two points of a head wind. Aviators, of course, are imitating the gull, and soon perhaps we may see an aeroplane or a glider dipping gracefully up and down in the face of an opposing wind, and all the time forging ahead across the Atlantic Ocean. The gulls were still behind us when night fell, and still they screamed and dipped down into the broad wake of foam which we left behind; but in the morning they were gone, perhaps they had seen in the night a steamer bound for their Queenstown home, and had escorted her back.

  All afternoon we steamed along the coast of Ireland, with grey cliffs guarding the shores, and hills rising behind gaunt and barren; as dusk fell, the coast rounded away from us to the northwest, and the last we saw of Europe was the Irish mountains, dim and faint in the dropping darkness. With the thought that we had seen the last of land until we set foot on the shores of America, I retired to the library to write letters, little knowing that many things would happen to us all; many experiences, sudden, vivid and impressive to be encountered, many perils to be faced, and many good and true people, for whom we will have to mourn, before we see land again.

  From the time of leaving Queenstown, on Thursday to Sunday morning, the sea was calm, that very few were absent from meals: the wind westerly and southwesterly, "fresh" as the daily chart described it, but often rather cold, generally too cold to sit out on deck to read or write, so that many of us spent a good part of the time in the library. I wrote a large number of letters and posted them, day by day in the box outside the library door; they did not reach their final destinations…

  Each morning the sun rose behind us, in a sky of circular clouds, stretching round the horizon in long, narrow streaks, and rising tier upon tier above the sky-line, red and pink and fading from pink to white, as the sun rose higher in the sky. It was a beautiful sight to one who had not crossed the ocean before, or indeed been out of sight of the shores of England, to stand on the top deck and watch the swell of the sea extending outwards from the ship, in an unbroken circle until it met the skyline with its hint of infinity. Behind the wake of the vessel, white with foam where, my thoughts suggested, the propeller blades had cut up the long Atlantic rollers and with them made a level white road, bounded on either side by blue-green waves, that would presently sweep away the white road, though as yet it stretched back to the horizon and dipped over the edge of the world, back to Ireland and the gulls, while along it the morning sun glittered and sparkled. Each night the sun sank right in our eyes, along the sea, making an undulating glittering pathway, a golden track charted on the surface of the ocean. Our ship followed unswervingly, until the sun dipped below the edge of the horizon, and the pathway ran ahead of us faster than we could steam, and slipped over the edge of the skyline, as if the sun had been a

  golden ball and had wound up its thread of gold too quickly for us to follow.

  From the noon of Thursday, to noon Friday, we ran 386 miles, and Friday to Saturday, 519 miles.At the midday meal, conversations about the Titanic’s speed were common sport for us passengers. We would take great pride in the afternoon metrics, as if we, ourselves had something to do with it. Saturday to Sunday we traveled 546 miles. The second day's run of 519 miles was, the purser told us, a disappointment, and we should not dock until Wednesday morning instead of Tuesday night, as we had expected; however, on Sunday we were glad to see a longer run had been made, and it was thought we should make it to New York, on Tuesday night. The purser remarked, "They are not pushing her this trip and don't intend to make any fast running. I don't suppose we shall do more than 546 now; it is not a bad day's run for the first trip." This too, was at lunch, and I remember the conversation then turned to the young girl whom had fallen ill. "It's merely a bilious fever," the young girl's mother replied, "she'll be up and around in no time."

  Mrs. Brown had taken a special interest in the girl, since we first left dock. The young girl's name was Ms. Erica J. Conklin. Ms. Conklin had become extremely concerned about the welfare of a young lady, whom had been struck by the rope when we first departed. Mrs. Brown, a friend of the Conklin family, lavished Ms. Conklin with sweet smelling perfumes, hair ribbons, and cosmetics, in an attempt to lift the young girl spirits. It seemed to be working, until Erica, fell ill. On Friday, she looked alabaster white. I recall her asking to be excused several times before her mother could hear her faint voice. The poor dear was absent on Saturday and again on Sunday, as she was being treated in her first-class cabin. On this day, the ship’s Doctor, one of several, returned to our table.

  “Her symptoms are quite strange and I fear this is more than a fever,” he said. He sat for a moment, pondering it seemed, then continued. “The furnace that radiates from her brow, will likely burn her up from within. Her capillaries crimson, yet her eyes gaze aimlessly. The weakened condition is shocking, so quickly she fell with sickness. The tongue is swollen purple, and her vomit is black, like tar.” Her mother excused herself as politely as one could, as she went to aid her poor daughter. Dr. William O'Loughlin apologized for his remarks; he didn't realize the mother was at the table. The conversation then returned to pleasant topics like wine, cigars, and the cut of a new jacket. That is the human way, to ignore unpleasantness and ignore reality; we simply hate to accept things. Horrible things like uncertainty. The acceptance of uncertainty is like oil to water, for man and woman alike. As unsettling as Dr. Laughlin's words were, I learned to accept uncertainty a long time ago. As a lad, I was taught that all our days are numbered.

  My older brother Christopher expired, while eating a Sunday’s dinner; he was all but the age of 16. One moment he was alive enjoying London broil, the next, he was no more. He simply choked; nothing more, nothing less. I find it quite odd, that so much time is devoted to escaping this fact; the certainty of deaths approach. It is not only foolish, but it tasks the mind to fancy such folly. King Solomon said such pursuits are like chasing the wind. It is much simpler to accept it and move on. It really is quite a liberating feeling.

  Allow me for a moment to return to the motion of the Titanic, it was interesting to stand on the boat-deck, as I frequently did, in the between lifeboats 13 and 15 (two boats I have every reason to remember, for the first carried me in safety to the Carpathians, and it seemed likely at one time that the other would come down on our heads as we sat in 13 trying to get away from the rising water, desperate survivors, and the ones who rose again.). Watching the general motion of the ship through the waves, resolve itself into two motions, one to be observed by contrasting the docking bridge, from which the log-line trailed away behind in the foaming wake, with the horizon, and observing the long, slow heave as we rode up and down. It was while watching the side roll that I became aware, while looking down from the boat deck to the steerage quarters, of how the third class passengers were enjoying every minute of the time; a mo
st uproarious skipping game of the mixed-double type was the great favourite, while "in and out and roundabout" went a Scotchman with his bagpipes, playing something that Gilbert says "faintly resembled an air."

  Standing aloof from all of them, on the raised stern deck above the "playing field," was a man of about twenty to twenty-four years of age, well-dressed, always gloved and nicely groomed, and obviously quite out of place among his fellow-passengers; he never looked happy all the time. I watched him, and classified him at hazard, as the man who had been a failure in some way at home and had received the proverbial shilling, plus third-class fare, to America; he did not look resolute enough or happy enough to be working out his own problem. Another interesting man was travelling steerage, but had placed his wife in a second class cabin; he would climb the stairs leading from the steerage to the second deck and talk affectionately with his wife across the low gate which separated them. I saw him again shortly after the collision, but he was clouded and blank. His wife motioned for him to speak with her. It seemed he was a stranger, not only to his wife, but he looked like a stranger to man. He wandered away and disappeared into the crowd as his wife pleaded with him to come back. Whether they ever saw each other on that Sunday night is very doubtful; he would not at first be allowed on the second-class deck, and if he were, the chances of seeing his wife in the darkness and the crowd would be very small indeed. Of all those playing so happily on the steerage deck, I did not recognize many afterwards, in the Carpathians.