How to Survive the Titanic

by Frances Wilson

  In a voice scarcely above a whisper, he gave his name, his age (fifty on the 12th of December) and his occupation (shipowner and Managing Director of the White Star Line). Asked whether he was ‘officially designated to make the trial trip of the Titanic Ismay replied that he had been a voluntary passenger. ‘Will you kindly tell the committee,’ asked Smith, ‘the circumstances surrounding your voyage, and, as succinctly as possible, beginning with your going aboard the vessel at Liverpool, your place on the ship on the voyage, together with any circumstances you feel would be helpful to us in this inquiry?’

  Ismay did not immediately answer the question. Instead, he gave a pre-rehearsed statement, doubtless drafted by Franklin:

  In the first place, I would like to express my sincere grief at this deplorable catastrophe. I understand that you gentlemen have been appointed as a committee of the Senate to inquire into the circumstances. So far as we are concerned, we welcome it. We court the fullest inquiry. We have nothing to conceal; nothing to hide. The ship was built in Belfast. She was the latest thing in the art of shipbuilding; absolutely no money was spared in her construction. She was not built by contract. She was simply built on a commission.

  It was the wrong time to promote the qualities of the Titanic, but Ismay was not used to talking in any other way. She left Belfast, as far as I remember — I am not absolutely certain about these dates — I think it was on the 1st of April. She underwent her trials, which were entirely satisfactory. She then proceeded to Southampton; arriving there on Wednesday. Smith, who now understood that he had made an error in not knowing from which port the Titanic had left England, asked Ismay to describe the trials. I was not present, Ismay said, and instead he gave a breakdown of the ship’s progress on her first few days. She arrived at Southampton on Wednesday, the 3rd I think, and sailed on Wednesday the 10th. She left Southampton at 12 o’clock. She arrived in Cherbourg that evening, having run over at sixty-eight revolutions. We left Cherbourg and proceeded to Queenstown. We arrived there, I think, about midday on Thursday. We ran from Cherbourg to Queenstown at seventy revolutions. After embarking the mails and passengers, we proceeded at seventy revolutions. I am not absolutely clear what the first day’s run was, whether it was 465 or 484 miles. The second day the number of revolutions was increased. I think the number of revolutions on the second day was about seventy-two. I think we ran on the second day 519 miles. The third day the revolutions were increased to seventy-five, and I think we ran 546 or 549 miles. The weather during this time was absolutely fine, with the exception, I think, of about 10 minutes’ fog one evening. The ship sank, I am told, at 2.20. That, sir, is all I can tell you.

  Ismay paused, and then remembered that he did have more to say. He had omitted the most important point. I understand it has been stated that the ship was going at full speed. The ship never had been at full speed. The full speed of the ship is seventy-eight revolutions. She had not all her boilers on. None of the single-ended boilers were on. It was our intention, if we had fine weather, on Monday afternoon or Tuesday, to drive the ship at full speed. That, owing to the unfortunate catastrophe, never eventuated. Smith did not ask about the meeting in which the decision to drive the ship at full speed was made. What he understood from Ismay’s statement is that the Titanic was instructed to go steadily faster, and that although Ismay was only a voluntary passenger, it had also been his — our — intention to drive the ship at full speed the following week. Who, Smith wondered, controlled the ship: Mr Ismay or Captain Smith?

  Asked to describe his actions after the ‘impact or collision’, Ismay repeated the account he had given to reporters the night before of how he had been drifting off to sleep, had got out of bed, put on his coat over his pyjamas, and gone to the bridge where he was informed by Captain Smith that they had struck ice. Nothing more was said between the two men. Ismay then walked along the starboard side of the ship, and told one of the officers to begin preparing the boats. He assisted, the best I could in helping to load the women and children. I stood upon the deck practically until I left the ship in the starboard collapsible boat, which was the last boat to leave the ship, so far as I know. More than that I do not know. A murmur of surprise went round the room; according to a number of witnesses whose comments had appeared in newspaper reports, Ismay had left in the first boat. Smith questioned him about the position of his stateroom and then returned to the purpose of his presence on the Titanic. Was it to view the ship in action, or did he have business in New York? I had no business to bring me to New York at all. I simply came in the natural course of events, as one is apt to do, in the case of a new ship, to see how she works, and with the idea of seeing how we could improve on her for the next ship we are building. The irony of his answer cannot have been missed. It appeared that Ismay was the only person on the voyage who successfully achieved what he set out to do.3

  Had he, Smith asked, ‘consulted with the Captain about the movement of the ship?’ Never, Ismay replied. Did the Captain consult with Ismay about the movement of the ship? Never, he repeated, and then demurred. Perhaps I am wrong in saying that. I should like to say this: I do not know that it was quite a matter of consulting him about it or his consulting me about it, but what we had arranged to do was that we would not attempt to arrive in New York at the lightship before 5 o’clock on Wednesday morning. Ismay needed to put paid to the suggestion that he had been pressurising the Captain to make a record crossing by insisting that there was nothing to be gained by docking in New York any earlier than planned; it would be inconvenient to the passengers who were expecting to be picked up on Wednesday morning to arrive instead on Tuesday night and that kind of nuisance would not reflect well on the White Star Line. In which case, asked Smith, why were the ship’s revolutions increased during the journey? Because, replied Ismay, the Titanic being a new ship, we were gradually working her up. When you bring out a new ship you naturally do not start her running at full speed until you get everything working smoothly and satisfactorily down below. Ismay said he had nothing to do with the ‘movement of the ship’, but he continued to refer to himself and the Captain as we; they were a team.

  Did Ismay know of the ship’s proximity to icebergs? No, sir, I did not. I know ice had been reported. Had he been on the ‘so-called northern route before?’ We were on the southern route, sir. You were not on the extreme northern route? We were on the extreme southern route for westbound ships.[2] Made to look a fool, Smith determined to embarrass Ismay. ‘What was the longitude and latitude of this ship? Do you know?’ Preferring to appear ignorant, Ismay replied that he had no knowledge of such things because he was not a sailor. The audience duly registered that the Managing Director of the White Star Line did not have so much as a schoolboy’s grasp of navigation. Did Ismay know they were near icebergs at all on Saturday? On Saturday? No sir. Did he know anything about a wireless message from the Amerika warning of ice? No, sir. Was he aware of their proximity to ice on Sunday? On Sunday? I did not know on Sunday. I knew that we would be in the ice region that night sometime. That you would be or you were? That we would be in the region on Sunday night. Did he have any consultation with the Captain on the matter? Absolutely none… it was absolutely out of my province. I am not a navigator. I was simply a passenger on board the ship. Did he know how the wireless service worked on the ship? No, he did not. Did he ever see the wireless operator? No, he did not. Was he on the deck when the order was given to lower the lifeboats? Yes, he heard the Captain give the order. Did he see any of the boats lowered? Yes, three. Were the boats on various decks? No, only on the sun deck. On the sun deck? Yes, what we call the sun deck or the boat deck. They were on the boat deck? That would be the upper deck of all? The upper deck of all, yes. Was there any order or supervision to the lowering of the boats? Yes. What was it? That I could not say. The boats were simply filled and lowered away. Did they first put in some men for the purpose of controlling them? We put in some of the ship’s people. Some of the ship’s people? Yes. How many? That
I could not say. About how many? I could not say. How many men were in the boat in which Ismay had left the ship? Four. Besides yourself? I thought you meant the crew. I did mean the crew. There were four of the crew. What position did these men occupy? Ismay did not know. How did it happen that women were first put aboard these lifeboats? The natural order, said Ismay, would be women and children first. Was that the order? Oh yes. That was followed? Yes. So far as you observed? Yes. Were all the women and children accommodated in these lifeboats? I could not tell you, sir. How many passengers were in the lifeboat in which you left the ship? About forty-five. Forty-five? Yes. Is that its full capacity? Practically, yes. Was there any struggle around the boats? I saw none.

  There was palpable astonishment in the room. Many of the spectators were holding their copies of the New York Times which that day carried an interview with Abraham Hyman, who had shared Ismay’s boat. Hyman described the loading of Collapsible C as taking place amongst ‘so much confusion that nobody knew what was going on… some of the people were too excited to understand what was said to them and they crowded forward and then some of the officers came and pushed them back, crying out for women to come first, and some of them said they would shoot any man who tried to get into the boats’.

  Smith continued: you helped put some of the women in the boats yourself? I put a great many in. Did you see the first lifeboat lowered? That I could not answer, sir. I saw the first lifeboat lowered on the starboard side. What was going on on the port side I have no knowledge of. Did the first lifeboat contain the necessary number of men? As to that I have no knowledge. Is it true the women in the second lifeboat were obliged to row that boat from 10.30 at night until 7.30 in the morning? The accident, Ismay said, did not take place until 11 o’clock, but as to the women doing the rowing, of that I have no knowledge. You have no knowledge of that? Absolutely none, sir. So far as your observation went, would you say that was not so? I would not say either yes or no; but I did not see it. How long were you on the ship after the collision occurred? That is a very difficult question to answer, sir. Practically until the time — almost until she sank. What were the circumstances of your departure from the ship? In what way? Did the last boat that you went on leave the ship from some point near where you were? I was immediately opposite the lifeboat when she left. Immediately opposite? Yes. What were the circumstances of your departure from the ship? Smith repeated, I merely ask that– The boat was there, Ismay interrupted. There was a certain number of men in the boat, and the officer called out asking if there were any more women, and there was no response, and there were no passengers left on the deck. Smith was confused; 1,500 people were left on the ship but there were no passengers left on the deck? No sir; and as the boat was in the act of being lowered away, I got into it. At the time that the Titanic was sinking? She was sinking. Did you see any of the men passengers on that ship with life preservers on? Nearly all the passengers had life preservers on. All that you saw? All that I saw had life preservers on. All of them that you saw? Yes, as far as I can remember. Naturally, you would remember that if you saw it? When you entered the lifeboat yourself, you say there were no passengers on that part of the ship? None. Did you see any struggle among the men to get into these boats? No. Was there any attempt, as the boat was being lowered past the other decks, to have you take on more passengers? None, sir. There were no passengers there to take on.

  The East Room listened spellbound as Ismay described leaving behind him an empty ship.

  Smith then asked about the damage to the Titanic, about the course taken by Ismay’s lifeboat, about the length of time he had been on the open sea, about the number and type of boats, about how he climbed on board the Carpathia. He asked how many of the crew were saved, how the ship sank, whether she was broken in two, whether there was an explosion, whether there was much confusion on board as she went down, and how far he was from the Titanic when she took her final dive: I did not look to see, Ismay replied; and I do not know how far we were away. I was sitting with my back to the ship. I was rowing all the time I was in the boat. We were pulling away.

  At this point, General Uhler looked bothered and scribbled a note which he passed to Smith. Ismay pointed out that had the Titanic not received her Board of Trade passenger certificate she would not be allowed to travel, adding that for all he knew she was carrying more than the recommended number of lifeboats and that lifeboats are built not for the number of passengers but to have a certain cubic capacity. Alexander Carlisle, who had been the Chief Designer of the Titanic but was now no longer employed by Harland & Wolff, would tell the British press that the final decision for the number of lifeboats had been made by Ismay; that the ship’s davits were able to hold forty-eight boats but that Ismay had insisted on carrying the Board of Trade requirement of sixteen along with four collapsibles.

  Ismay then denied having anything to do with the selection of men who accompanied him in the lifeboat and repeated, to the astonishment of the committee, that his ship was unsinkable, that she was specially constructed to float with any two compartments full of water. I think I am right in saying that there are very few ships — perhaps I had better not say that, but I will continue now that I have begun it — I believe there are very few ships today of which the same can be said. While the press were noting this down, Ismay provided them with another headline: If this ship had hit the iceberg stem on, in all human probability she would have been here today. A gasp went round the room. This was a surprisingly informed conclusion from a man who claimed to have no technical knowledge. The blame for the disaster, Ismay was implying, lay in the instructions given from the bridge. Had Ismay been in the position of Chief Officer Murdoch, who was no longer living, he would not have ordered Quartermaster Hichens, the man at the wheel, to go ‘hard-a-starboard’. He would have taken a risk and continued forward.

  ‘If she hit the iceberg head on,’ Smith repeated slowly, ‘in all probability she would be here now?’

  I say, confirmed Ismay, in all human probability she would have been afloat today.

  Smith paused and then opened and read the note passed to him by General Uhler. ‘I understood you to say a little while ago that you were rowing with your back to the ship. If you were rowing and going away from the ship, you would naturally be facing the ship would you not?’

  Ismay winced at the suggestion that he had taken the place of a woman and not even rowed with the men. No. In these boats some row facing the bow of the boat and some facing the stern. I was seated with my back to the man who was steering, so that I was facing away from the ship. Uhler, who knew this was not how you rowed, let the issue go. Smith also put the question of Ismay’s conduct in the lifeboat aside for the moment but returned to it that afternoon, when he would ask Lightoller whether Ismay’s claim about rowing with his back to the ship was possible. The loyal Second Officer confirmed that it was.

  Ismay was now asked to describe his actions on the evening of Sunday 14 April. At what time did you dine? With whom? Did the Captain dine with you? Did you see any ice? Do you know what proportion of women and children were saved? (I have no idea. I have not asked. Since the accident I have made very few inquiries of any sort.) Did you interfere with the wireless communication when you were on board the Carpathia? (I was never out of my room from the time I got on board the Carpathia until the ship docked here last night.)

  Ismay, who had presumably not slept the night before, had been on the stand for three hours. ‘I thank you,’ said Senator Smith, satisfied that his witness was concealing something, ‘for responding so readily this morning, and for your statements; and I am going to ask you to hold yourself subject to our wishes during the balance of the day.’ The newsmen rushed out to file their stories and the audience bent their heads together to confer. Ismay sat down, relieved that the ordeal was over. He would now be able to return home and put this whole business behind him.

  The next day a reporter for the New York Times described Ismay as appearing ‘cool and
debonair’, fielding Smith’s questions with ‘a smile upon his face’. The New York Tribune noted that he ‘suffered somewhat from an unfortunate mannerism, a somewhat supercilious expression and rather too much evidence of amusement at the “land-lubberly” errors of the committee’. Another paper described him as close to ‘a complete breakdown’. In Washington, Senator McCumber of North Dakota complained that ‘Yesterday, one of the survivors from the lost ship was tried, convicted and executed in the Senate of the United States. I wish to register my protest against this action, and against the condemnation or denunciation of any of the survivors or surviving officers and seamen.’ Senator Newlands meanwhile received a letter from an eminent Boston historian who insisted that ‘Ismay is responsible for the lack of lifeboats, he is responsible for the Captain who was so reckless, for the lack of discipline of the crew, for the sailing directions given to the Captain which probably caused his recklessness’, while J. Pierpont Morgan, on holiday in France, received a wire from his son: ‘Newspapers, which are unspeakably bad, and Congress which is worse, seem to have made up their mind… Ismay is to blame for the whole thing.’4

  With his scatter-gun style of interrogation, William Alden Smith was authoring the official version of the story of the Titanic, a narrative which would unfold over eighteen days, and fill 1,100 pages of testimony provided by eighty-three witnesses. Ismay, who had thought — as he later said in a statement to the press — that he was needed at the stand simply ‘to ascertain the cause of the sinking of the Titanic with a view to determining whether additional legislation was required to prevent the recurrence of such a disaster’, believed he had furnished the inquiry with the information they required. But Smith showed little interest in Ismay’s authority, and the crowds who pressed themselves into the Waldorf-Astoria had not come to discover the cause of the wreck or to consider how to prevent such a disaster in the future. They were here to see the state of one man’s soul, to observe a man face to face with the horror of his own limitations. ‘I did not suppose’, Ismay complained, that ‘the question of my personal conduct was the subject of the inquiry.’