At last sailing day arrived, and from end to end the ship, which for days had been like a nest of bees, now resembled a hive about to swarm.
As “zero” hour drew near, so order could be seen arriving out of chaos. On the stroke of the hour the gangway was lowered, the whistle blew, ropes were let go, and the tugs took the strain.
She was away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
LEAVING SOUTHAMPTON
Before she cleared the dock we had a striking example of the power that lay in those engines and propellers.
The Oceanic and St. Paul (sic) were lying moored to the wharf alongside each other. They happened to be in a position where the Titanic had to make a slight turn, which necessitated coming astern on her port engine. The terrific suction set up in that shallow water simply dragged both these great liners away from the wharf. The St. Paul broke adrift altogether, and the Oceanic was dragged off until a sixty foot gangway dropped from the wharf into the water. It looked as if nothing could save the St. Paul crashing into the Titanic’s stern — in fact, it was only Captain Smith’s experience and resource that saved her. The Titanic, of course, dwarfed these two ships, and made them look like cross-channel boats, and the wash from her screws had a corresponding influence. Just as a collision seemed inevitable, Captain Smith gave the Titanic a touch ahead on her port engine, which simply washed the St. Paul away, and kept her clear until a couple of tugs, to our unbounded relief, got hold, and took her back alongside the wharf.
To the casual observer the whole incident would have been just a thrill — perhaps not much more even though there had been a collision. For us it would have been something much deeper. It is difficult to describe just exactly where that unity of feeling lies, between a ship and her crew, but it is surely there, in every ship that sails salt water. It is not always a feeling of affection either. A man can hate a ship worse than he can a human being, although he sails on her. Likewise a ship can hate her men, then she frequently becomes known as a “killer,” and in the days of sail, would regularly kill a man voyage after voyage.
The greatest care had to be taken whilst threading our way down the then comparatively shallow channel of Southampton Water and eventually out to Spithead. There was a general feeling of relief when at last we got her into her proper element, deep water.
We then went across to Cherbourg — a short run which barely warmed her up. Then a longer leg to Queenstown, and finally, the following day, we opened her up on the long run to New York.
Each day, as the voyage went on, everybody’s admiration of the ship increased; for the way she behaved, for the total absence of vibration, for her steadiness even with the ever-increasing speed, as she warmed up to her work.
As day followed day, officers and men settled down into the collar, and duty linked up with duty until the watches went by without pause or hitch. We were not out to make a record passage; in fact the White Star Line invariably run their ships at reduced speed for the first few voyages. It tells in the long run, for the engines of a ship are very little different from the engines of a good car, they must be run in. Take the case of the Oceanic. She steadily increased her speed from 19 1/2knots to 21 Ѕ when she was twelve years old. It has often been said that had not the Titanic been trying to make a passage, the catastrophe would never have occurred.
Nothing of the kind.
She was certainly making good speed that night of April 14th, but not her best — nothing compared with what she would have been capable, in say a couple of years’ time. The disaster was just due to a combination of circumstances that never occurred before and can never occur again. That may sound like a sweeping statement, yet it is a fact.
All during that fatal day the sea had been like glass — an unusual occurrence for that time of the year — not that that caused any great worry. Again, there had been an extremely mild winter in the Arctic, owing to which, ice from the ice cap and glaciers had broken away in phenomenal quantities, and official reports say that never before or since has there been known to be such quantities of icebergs, growler, field ice and float ice, stretching down with the Labrador current. In my fifteen years’ experience on the Atlantic I had certainly never seen anything like it — not even in the South Atlantic when, in the old days of sailing ships, we used to sometimes go down to 65є south.
These were just some contributory causes that combined and brought into existence, conditions of which the officers of the ship were to a great extent ignorant.
Wireless reports were coming in through the day from various ships, of ice being sighted in different positions. Nor was that anything unusual at this time of the year, and none of the reports indicated the extent of the ice seen. A report would read “iceberg (or icebergs) sighted in such and such a latitude and longitude.” Later on in the day we did get reports of ice sighted in larger quantities, and also two reports of field ice, but they were in positions that did not affect us. The one vital report that came through but which never reached the bridge, was received at 9-40 p.m. from the Mesaba stating “Ice report in Latitude 42N to 41-25N. Long. 49 to Long. 50-30 W. Saw much heavy pack ice, and great number large icebergs. Also field ice. Weather good, clear. Phillips, the wireless operator on watch who received the message was not to know the extreme urgency of the warning or hat we were at the time actually entering the area given by the Mesaba, and are literally packed with icebergs, field ice and growlers. He was very busy working wireless messages to and from Cape Race, also with his accounts. The junior operator, Bride, of course, knew noting about this vital warning, being off duty, and turned-in. Later, when standing with others on the upturned boat, Phillips explained when I said that I did not recollect any Mesaba report: “I just put the message under a paper weight at my elbow, just until I squared up what I was doing before sending it to the Bridge.” That delay proved fatal and was the main contributory cause to the loss of that magnificent ship and hundreds of lives. Had I as Officer of the Watch, or the Captain, become aware of the peril lying so close ahead and not instantly slowed down or stopped, we should have been guilty of culpable and criminal negligence.
For the last hour of my watch on that never-to-be-forgotten night I had taken up a stationary position on the bridge, where I had an unobstructed view right ahead, and perhaps a couple of points on either bow. That did not signify that I was expecting to see ice, but that there was the possibility of seeing ice, as there always is when crossing The Banks; ice may be sighted. In point of fact, under normal conditions, we should have probed to be well south of the usual ice limit; only in this case the ice limit had moved very many miles south, due solely to the immense amount of ice released in the Arctic.