My Titanic Story (in commemeration of the 99th anniversary of the disaster)

I wrote this story in commemoration of the 99th anniversary of the Titanic disaster on the 15th April 1912. I am seeking feedback, so tell me what you think.

Mountains of the Sea …. By Jules G

Chapter 1: Setting the Stage
It was without fuss or fanfare that Friday the 15th of April 2011 came and went - a day just like any other. Perhaps we should mourn the passing of such days with greater vigour, lest they pass unnoticed never to return, as if they never happened. It was such a day 99 years ago on Sunday the 14th of April 1912 when my story begins - a day just like any other.

In the evening of that far off day on the Grand Banks, southeast of Newfoundland the weather was brisk, although, unusually calm and still for the time of year. The stillness was punctuated only by the far off hypnotic throb of great engines, softened almost into imagination by the distance. The subtle waft of distant music and laughter from the great ballroom floated by as if it was a melody from another world, mingling with the hushed, murmuring pleasantries of the few rugged up, hardy souls out for a stroll along the promenade deck.

Occasionally, a single snowflake would land and melt away as if it was never there and the cold evening air would muster itself into a sharp zephyr across the cheek and be gone. The Moonless sky was the deepest, darkest, blackest velvet; a cathedral dome, studded with stars that split the night like a myriad glistening jewels. The sea far below, slipped silently by like a lazy river of black oil.

The calmness and stillness of the evening had by this time, begun to surrender to the peaceful quiet and tranquillity of the night and the passengers had started to settle and retire for their nightly repose. The wind momentarily quickened but then it too succumbed to the all encompassing embrace of tranquillity and became a mere whisper once again. The sky and the sea struggled for supremacy, locked in mighty conflict as the evening drew on. It was indeed an evening just like any other. When day gives way to night without witness or report and a new day begins with such hope and anticipation for remembrance.

Chapter 2: Visitations
It was almost imperceptible at first, the merest vibration that was almost not there, like some diaphanous dream. Just as I was prepared to believe it was my imagination and let it slip from my mind it grew into a definite shudder and a long, low rumble like a distant train. I knew not from whence it came and as I struggled with my sleepy sensibilities clawing their way back to consciousness, I suddenly realised it was everywhere! The very fabric of this colossus, this ‘Ship of Dreams’ was convulsing as if in the throes of some dreadful malady. The calm of the night had been stabbed through the heart and the hitherto peaceful tranquillity of the evening gave way to a night of a different kind; a clamorous, discordant, insistent kind!

Awash in the harshness of wakefulness; I was surrounded by a completely new experience. There were bells ringing as if to announce impending doom or alarm, increasing the tension of the moment. Shouts and voices filled the air, even laughter. They were not subdued and far away as before but all around and close by.

I found myself side stepping, almost involuntarily, even absently, as I spilled onto the deck from the somnolent cocoon of my stateroom. I was trying to avoid what at first I thought were large hailstones or perhaps ice that had built up on the rigging and was now raining down in perilous fashion upon the deck. The next thing I saw was the cause of the sounds of thrill and laughter I had witnessed a few moments earlier. A group of young men were playing soccer on the wet foredeck with an impossibly sized piece of ice that was far too big to be a hailstone!

As I looked around, I saw large blocks of ice dotted here and there. Where had they come from? There was a broken lamp on the wall, a buckled railing and a smashed window! My heart began to race. What had happened?

I turned to face the starboard side of the ship, broadening my focus as my sleepiness finally dissipated, allowing my consciousness to rise to its full height. I surveyed the scene before me and my heart almost stopped! The night had gone! It had been replaced with a shimmering white cliff of ice; the length and breadth and height of which had completely blotted out the night. It filled everything with its surreal, forbidding omniscience. Its magnificence and grandeur was beyond belief; one of nature’s creations that one rarely thinks about, now filled my psyche with awe and humility. For a small moment silence returned like a lost child as I gazed dumb struck with wonder at this gigantic edifice.

Chapter 3: Revelations
By now, I had reached a position on the forecastle directly under the bridge, that was some 15 feet above me and in the still cold air I could hear the Captain as he came back on watch.

“What happened, Mr Murdoch?” demanded the Captain.

“Able seaman Fleet reported an iceberg dead ahead from the forward crows nest. I ordered full to port and engines full astern. I tried to starboard about but we were too close and we hit along the starboard side”, replied the first officer.

“Good God man, why didn’t we see it sooner?” shouted the Captain.

“It was hard to see in the darkness and in this calm, with no breaking water at the base”, stuttered the first officer.

“What’s our status now Mr Murdoch?” said the Captain, in a slightly more conciliatory tone.

“Mr Moody reports the engines at full stop, the watertight doors have been closed and the dampers are closed on the boilers. Mr Lightholler has recorded the incident in the log at 11.41 pm, Captain”.

“Thankyou Mr Murdoch”. The Captain by now, satisfied his first officer had done all he could have to avert disaster began to take charge of the situation.

“What’s our position Mr Lightholler?” barked the Captain.

“We are drifting north at about 12 knots after the starboard about manoeuvre, sir” he replied, almost standing to attention.

“Get our true position to the wireless officer and send it to Halifax, New York and Cape Cod. See if there are any other vessels in the area. Meanwhile summon the ships carpenter and Mr Andrews” retorted the Captain.

Mr Murdoch and Mr Lightholler glanced at each other with one of those looks that speak volumes; they were both glad that the Captain was back on deck and in charge.

I couldn’t believe my ears as the conversation went to and fro between the Captain and his first and second officer. We had struck an iceberg! Could this be real?

Chapter 4: Forebodings
A and B deck had a number of first class passengers milling about asking for stewards and demanding answers from what they considered to be their underlings. One thing was certain; the evening of an hour or so ago had gone. It had been stolen, usurped by all the commotion and confusion of the moment.

As I looked toward the stern along the starboard side of the ship, the iceberg was slipping away like a spectral wraith in some ghastly tale. The sky and sea were winning back the night in their eternal conflict as this frozen interloper was gradually swallowed up by the inky blackness.

For the first time tonight, I felt the night grow cold.

Mr Andrews, the ship’s builder, stepped onto the bridge ashen faced, closely followed by the ships carpenter who was also visibly shaken and as white as the ice still lying on the gymnasium roof, immediately to the starboard side of the bridge.

“Good evening gentlemen“, said the Captain with a stern face. He knew something was up.

Mr Andrews absently nodded ascension as he stepped forward with a bundle of charts and schematics under his arm and with an obvious aire of urgency, he cleared the chart room table and began to roll out blueprints of the ship. The two newcomers to the bridge had just completed a, ‘sounding of the ship’.

“The forward mail room is completely flooded!” Mr Andrews blurted out, stabbing at one of the drawings with his finger.

Before the Captain could respond, Mr Andrews began to speak again.

“Holds 2, 3 and 4 are breached below the waterline and are filling fast”, gesturing toward the drawing once more.

This time the Captain was able to speak.

“What about the pumps”?

“They will only buy us time and time only”, retorted Mr Andrews without looking up from his schematic.

“She’ll float with four holds flooded but not five. As she goes down by the head the water will spill over the bulkheads because they only go as far as C deck; back and back until she’s flooded right up to the forward engine room!”

“Then, what of the ship Mr Andrews?” the Captain said with alarm.

“She will founder, Captain.”

The Captain stared blankly unable to respond. The words ran him through like a finely crafted rapier.

Gathering his composure he calmly said, “How long have we got, Mr Andrews?”

Without hesitation Mr Andrews said, “An hour, two at the most.”

The Captain turned and gazed out of the window across the bow, pondering the situation. As he looked up he could see she was low in the water at the head already.

“How many souls aboard Mr Murdoch?” the Captain said as he suddenly spun around raising himself to his full height, his face a study of resolve and determination.

“2223 including the crew, sir”, came the reply.

“How many lifeboats are there, Mr Murdoch?”

“Enough for 1200, Captain”

The Captain turned to face Mr Andrews and the ship‘s carpenter.

“Thankyou gentlemen,” as if to say, I will take it from here.

After a short pause the Captain spoke again.

“Mr Lightholler, send a CQD and the new SOS to anyone who is listening and tell them our position and that we are going down by the head. Did we find any ships close by?”

“Yes sir” replied Mr Lightholler.

“There is a coaster four nautical miles off our port beam but we cannot raise her, she may have switched her wireless off for the night.”

“Any others Mr Lightholler?”

“The Carpathia is already steaming at full speed to our aid; she will be here in four hours.”

The Captain turned away; he did not want his men to see his fear.

“Four hours?” he bellowed.

“Man the lifeboats Mr Murdoch, women and children first and fire flares every fifteen minutes.”

Chapter 5: Abandonment
The phrase, ‘Women and children first’, was such an innocuous call, a throw away line without emotion or thought for the consequences. This alone was without doubt the most divisive act of the whole disaster. It led to more pain and suffering than any other aspect of this hideous conflagration. Women would not leave their men and men would not leave their women. Children would not leave their Fathers or Mothers. From the start, ‘Women and children first’, was the cause of much confusion, heightening the disaster tenfold. It created an absolute fear and mistrust of the very people that were prepared to sacrifice everything to help their fellow man. Eventually it gave way to a total loss of control and absolute anarchy.

The first class passengers were still issuing orders, “Get this and fetch that.” They considered themselves to be lord and master and everyone else was there to do their bidding. Their selfishness did much to contribute to this disaster and caused a great loss of life.

A cacophony of noise and confusion ensued. People where running hither and thither; a clamorous din of emotional out pouring and even anger against the crew, already under immense stress. Mr Murdoch, dedicated to getting as many people as possible to safety, even at his own expense, was forced to fire his revolver into the air, to no avail. It was a rabble.

Chapter: 6 Reckonings
Some of the first class passengers had already been lowered to the comparative safety of the sea. Mr Andrews expressed an absolute horror at witnessing a lifeboat, built to carry 78 persons, pulling away with only 14 souls aboard! The privilege of class was the priority; even in the midst of this, the greatest of all calamities.

Fifteen boilers, each with upwards of 215 pounds of steam pressure had to be evacuated in the interests of, ‘safety’. If they became flooded with cold seawater an implosion would be imminent with even further loss of life. The noise was deafening, adding to this already fractious and debilitating scenario.

Edward J. Smith, the Captain, was a man of 62 years at the pinnacle of his career on his final voyage before retirement. He stood alone on the bridge surveying his ship with a growing sense of futility and hopelessness. He had by now, resigned himself to death and was waiting for the moment, powerless to do anything else. His mind kept flitting back to Stoke on Trent in England where he grew up as a boy. They were pleasant memories indeed; a respite from the stark reality that he now faced. Mr Ismay’s last words were still ringing in his ears.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we pulled into Manhattan a day early and gave them all a surprise, go out with a bang, eh E.J?”

His vanity had got the better of him and he had succumbed. A ship’s master careening through the Labrador ice fields at 21 knots, he should have known better. He ruminated regretfully on the ice warnings he had received earlier from Cape Race and the vessels Baltic, Antillian and Californian. His biggest regret was being sucked in by Mr Ismay and ordering the last boilers to be lit for more speed. What was he thinking?

Panic had set in. The noise and the cold just exacerbated the situation. There were women crying, children crying and even men crying. For most people on this fateful night, it was nothing less than their judgement before God or whatever other deity that gave them comfort. Some prayed for life, some for death and some for appeasement and forgiveness. The rich were rubbing shoulders with the poor, the trappings of wealth mean nothing when death is imminent and one can contemplate one’s own demise. They couldn’t buy their way out of this one. The poor were even more wretched and had very little assistance, mainly because they comprised the greater portion of the ship and logistics prevented it.

Most of the lifeboats had been launched by this time; all with a depleted compliment. The poor souls still left on the ship, well, they had to fend for themselves! The ship’s band played, “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” and they had played continuously since this dreadful onslaught began. To many they were the ship’s heroes, a source of comfort and inspiration in the face of overwhelming and catastrophic adversity.

Chapter 7: The Sinking
Six hundred yards from the ship, the occupants of lifeboat number 5 watched the unfolding spectacle in comparative safety. They could hear the cries and screams across the cold, still night air as if they were still there. They sat sullen and silent, absurdly bobbing up and down as if they were on a punt at a local regatta. They were safe but not one of them showed any sign of elation or relief. There were 21 in all on lifeboat number 5. All of superior station, all with superior lives.

As they watched and tried in vain to blot out the random obliteration of lives, the stern of this great ship reared up at 20 degrees and the propellers were 40 feet above the water; 20,000 tons hanging in the air! Then, with a blood curdling rending and groaning of tortured metal, the great ship broke in two. The stern section fell back, impacting the sea with such force her upper decks collapsed and funnel number 3 spilled into the sea as if it were made of tinsel. The cries and screams that ensued were the stuff of nightmares of the worst kind. The resulting disturbance of the hitherto calm water almost capsised the half empty lifeboats, almost as if by an act of retribution for such a wanton display of selfishness by those on board.

Just as the sea began to settle, the bow section of this great vessel started ejecting waterspouts and emitting very loud bangs. People were jumping into the sea along the entire length of this colossal ship. The cries for help were getting fewer now but those that remained were heart rending and beyond help. Most were expiring with hyperthermia in the almost freezing black water. An unimaginable and wickedly cruel finale.

For a moment, she just lay there in the water, anthropomorphised and surreal, almost exhausted, almost spent, almost serene, as if she was mustering her last gigantic gasp like a wounded beast. All at once, the bow section began to slide beneath the surface of the sea in a froth and tumult of boiling water. Hatch covers were catapulted through the air and explosions could be heard across the dark, still night as bulkheads collapsed under the increasing pressure of trapped air. Then, like a denizen of the deep the stern reared up yet again as the bow pulled her under, finally severing the stern at the keel. She bobbed up and down like some hellish fishing float for what seemed like an eternity.

She finally went down vertically like an Olympic diver, almost without a sound or splash. It was heartbreaking, terrifying and majestic, all at the same time.

The time was 2.23am on Monday the 15th of April 1912.

There were hundreds and hundreds of people in the water. Men, women, children, rich, poor, passengers and crew all flapping and splashing like a multitude of fish caught at the surface by a huge net cast from some ghostly trawler. A truly dreadful sight.

Chapter 8: The Actual Rescue
By the time the Carpathia arrived at around 4.00am, only six people had been plucked from the water out of 1517 that went in. An absolutely diabolical indictment of man’s selfishness. A silent, watery field of floating corpses their only monument.

Only lifeboat number 14 manned by 5th Officer Godfrey Lowe made any attempt to look for survivors. There was a widespread fear by the majority of lifeboatment and their charge of being swamped, which made 5th officer Lowe's attempt to find survivors even more remarkable and heroic. He pulled six from the water of which, one died. He took an inflatable in tow with only four aboard, all of whom subsequently died.

Captain Rostron of the Carpathia made all haste, doubling his watch and stokers, putting his own vessel and crew at risk of a similar rendezvous with an iceberg. Despite this recklessness, he was officially hailed a hero by the subsequent enquiry. The Carpathia was 53 miles away on first hearing the distress signal and there were vessels far closer. The Californian, just to name one, was 20 miles away with her engines stopped. It took her 3 hours to build up full steam. She reached the scene at 8.00am, four hours after the Carpathia and was the only vessel to systematically search for survivors and pull the corpses from the water.

The other vessels were Mount Temple at 49 miles away, an unknown schooner at 13 miles away and the Parisian which was close by at an undetermined distance; she had her wireless switched off for the night. Two other vessels, Virginian and Baltic were 170 and 200 miles away respectively.

There were numerous suicides among the 706 survivors in the ensuing years, for many it was easier to die than to live. Some seeking deliverance from loss, some from guilt, all were seeking release of one kind or another.

The rest is, as they say, history and a new day. A day, just like any other; lest we forget.

Jules
Parkwood
Western Australia
April 2011

Where is she now? The final resting place of the RMS Titanic

She lies in 2 sections 600ft (200meters) apart on a deep alpine slope known as the Laurentian Fan, 450miles (725kms) south east of Halifax, Nova Scotia, at a depth of 12700ft (3900 meters). Her bow faces north, buried in 55 feet of glutinous ooze, where she rammed into the bottom all those years ago. Ignoring the ravages of time, the bow section is relatively intact with the fore mast laying across the bridge. The stern section however, lies in ruins crushed by the enormous pressure. The stern section was full of air because it sank so quickly, thus preventing the internal and external pressures from equalising. The huge reciprocating steam engines are spilled out onto the sea floor like the intestines of a disembowelled beast.

These are the facts, the imagination may lend a more vivid picture. If by some miracle we could fly to her side and move around her devastation; what would that be like?

It would be very cold and dark; pitch black in fact with a total and absolute absents of light. You would be unable to see anything, no matter how close without some form of artificial light. Would it be quiet? Most of the time yes, deathly silent in fact. You would hear your own blood rushing through your ears in this deep, dark, cold and forbidding place. There would however be the occasional sound of tortured metal as the ruin of this great ship succumbs further to time and decay.

Most of the superstructure has gone, collapsed onto the sea floor. The starboard side of the bow section has completely collapsed and lies spread eagled on the sea bed like the flaps of a dissected corpse. The crows nest, the scene of able seaman Frederck Fleet's urgent cry, "iceberg dead ahead!", has fallen into the forward hold and the great fore mast lays broken across the deck.

In what is left of the bridge, atop the ship, stand the helm and telegraph, still set on 'Full Stop'. They stand like silent sentinels untouched by sea or time; because of their phosfor bronze construction, they are as pristine as the day they were first crafted. The wooden wheel, once turned so hard to port, so many years ago, has long since gone, rich pickings for the lavender worms and gelatinous clouds of anaerobic bacteria, which slowly devour the wreck, piece by piece.