Call Me Ismay (17 page)

Another matter was close to Senator Smith's heart- or, more accurately, his wallet. Within his billfold, for more than ten years, he had kept a small, yellowed newspaper clipping. It featured a darkly worded poem that had strangely moved him for some reason when he first read it. It made sinister mention of a ominous shipwreck:

Then she, the stricken hull,

The doomed, the beautiful,

Proudly to fate abased

Her brow, Titanic.

This is a historical fact.

The senator was not about to divulge either bit of information to anyone- not his colleagues, including Senator Newlands from Nevada, now seated at his right, and certainly not the press. However, it remained never far from his thoughts as he began the questioning.

Tapping a gavel, Senator Smith spoke loudly and clearly. “For the purpose of executing the command and direction of the Senate of the United States, the inquiry in which we contemplate will now begin.”

Surprising those present with no further prologue, the Midwesterner immediately started to grill the Englishman. “Mr. Ismay, for the purpose of simplifying this hearing, I will ask you a few preliminary questions. First, will the deponent please state your full name?”

“Joseph Bruce Ismay.”

“And your place of residence?”

“Liverpool.”

“And your age?”

“I shall be 50 on the 12th of December.”

Suddenly, from the far side of the room, two camera flash-lamps went off simultaneously, punching the room with an instant garish glare, and sending small clouds of smoke to the ceiling. A sergeant-at-arms, rattled but swift in his reaction, lunged at the two news photographers who had just insured that Ismay's nervous visage would now be flung across the country, and indeed the world.

“Get the photographers out of here!” Smith hollered, as the newsmen were noisily hustled out of the room. “
Immediately!
This inquiry is
not
for entertainment- and I will not tolerate any further attempt by anyone to disrupt its course!” Smith could be a formidable orator when the occasion called for it, and indeed he now quickly rose from his seat in righteous anger.

“This is an unfortunate catastrophe, a disaster that demands a proper understanding, and no gratuitous or meddlesome attempt to interrupt these proceedings will be allowed. I want this to be fully understood by everyone within the sound of my voice.”

Ismay bowed his head meekly, already uneasy in his role as the first witness to be questioned. For a moment he pondered whether the senator's convincingly stern tone could be what he should expect for the next hour or so.

“We will resume.” The senator retook his seat. “And your occupation?”

“Ship owner.”

“Are you an officer of the White Star Line?” Despite being seated only a few feet away, the senator did not make eye contact with Ismay, as he was busily taking down notes.

“I am.”

“In what capacity?”

“Managing Director.”

“Where did you board the ship?”

“At Southampton.”

“At what time?”

Ismay shifted in his chair, slightly rattled by the senator's rapid-fire style of questioning. “I... I think it was nine-thirty in the morning.”

“Of what day?”

“The 10th of April.”

“The port of destination was New York?”

“New York.”

Senator Smith at last put down his pencil, and addressed Ismay directly. “Will you kindly tell the Committee the circumstances surrounding your voyage, 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 felt the time had come to make a formal statement, and in a slightly halting voice, he began to verbalize the words that he had been rehearsing in his mind all morning.

“In the first place, I would like to express my sincere grief at this deplorable catastrophe,” he stated grimly. “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.”

There was a moment of silence as Ismay anticipated the senators would continue the conversation, but it slowly became clear that he was expected to resume talking. Tired, nauseous, unsure of what to say next in the wake of such dreadful events, Ismay proceeded almost as if to make small talk, terrified he might say something that would offend those in the room- realizing full well that perhaps some of the relatives of those who had died were in attendance.

“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.”

There was another quiet, unnerving moment as Ismay once again realized that he was unsure of what details he was expected to provide. His bloodshot eyes drifted down towards his reddened, stinging hands which been affected by a mild case of frostbite. For the most part he kept his hands, sore and occasionally shaky, folded in his lap.

“She left Belfast, as far as I remember- I am not absolutely clear about these dates- I think it was on the 1st of April,” Ismay croaked, frustrated at the lack of energy in his voice. “She underwent her sea trials, which were entirely satisfactory. She then proceeded to Southampton, arriving there on a Wednesday.” He paused, not exactly sure of what he should be expected to divulge next.

“The, uh... the accident took place on Sunday night. What the exact time was I do not know. I was in bed myself, asleep, when the accident happened. The ship sank, I am told, at 2:20 A.M.”

Darkness and stars danced through his memory, the smell of seawater and smoke still lingering in his nostrils. The sight of an empty deck, with no one left to rescue, hung like a deranged painting in the forepart of his mind.

Ismay leaned back a bit, shuddered slightly, drew in a sigh and resignedly shrugged his shoulders. “That, sir, I think is all I can tell you.”

Unbelieving glances were quickly exchanged throughout the room, and Ismay thought he even heard a few derisive hisses scattered amongst the crowd. Curious spectators expecting some sort of thrilling tale had been disappointed, while relatives expecting some insight into such a senseless disaster were left wanting. He felt helpless, assuming that the scope of the disaster would explain itself, knowing full well his words sounded so.... ordinary.

Senator Smith, however, had absolutely no intention of letting the matter lie. “Will you please describe what you did after the impact or collision?”

“I presume the impact awakened me.” The lingering pulse of what had been a substantial rumble and tearing was such that he was not fully sure if he had dreamed of hearing the actual noise.

“I- I lay in bed for a moment or two afterwards, not realizing, probably, what had happened... eventually I got up and walked along the passageway and met one of the stewards, and said, 'What has happened?' He said, 'I do not know, sir'. I think... I think I went back onto the bridge... I went up to ask Captain Smith what had happened, he told me we had struck an iceberg, and I believe that I asked him whether he thought the matter was serious, and he said yes, he- he thought that it was. I heard the order given to get the boats out... I walked along to the starboard side of the ship, where I met one of the officers. I told him to get the boats out -”

“What officer?” Smith interjected.

“That I could not remember, sir. I assisted, as best I could, getting the boats out and putting the women and children into the boats... I stood upon that deck practically until I left the ship in the starboard collapsible which is the last boat to leave the ship, so far as I know.” He paused, then quickly finished his thoughts on the matter. “More than that I do not know.”

Senator Smith impatiently tapped his pencil on the desk that separated them. “Mr. Ismay, in what part of the ship were your quarters?”

“My quarters were on B deck, just aft of the main companionway.”

“I wish you would describe just where that was,” Smith flatly replied.

“The sun deck is the upper deck of all. Then we have what we call the A deck which is the next deck, and then the B deck.”

“The second passenger deck?”

“We carry very few passengers on the A deck.”

“What was the number of that room?”

“B-52 is the room I had.”

“You had the suite?”

“I had the suite- I was sleeping in that room, as a matter of fact.” Ismay quickly grimaced, hoping that his choice of words wasn't becoming too jocular.

“Was the inspector or builder on board?”

Ismay felt his stomach lurch. “There was a representative of the builders on board.”

“Who was he?”

“Mr. Thomas Andrews,” he replied, solemnly.

“In what capacity was he?”

An image of Andrews, the intelligent, elegant Irishman who been at his side practically since the moment of the
Titanic's
birth, flashed through his mind: a man so helpful, constructive and engaging every step of the way, confident in his opinions and abilities. A man who appeared practically hypnotized that fateful night, unable to communicate with clarity and certainty. For a moment, Ismay fought through the exhausted fog of his mind, searching for a final memory of Andrews- and he believed that he had last seen him, staggering and uncertain, headed for the deck below.

Ismay quickly drew in a breath, apologetically refocusing his attention. “I am sorry, I do not quite follow you.”

“What was the occasion of his coming to make this trial trip?”

“As a representative of the builders, to see that everything was working satisfactorily and also to see how he might be able to improve the ship.”

“Was he a man of large experience?”

“Yes,” Ismay replied quietly.

“Had he had part in the construction of this ship himself?”

“Yes.”

“Was he among the survivors?”

“Unfortunately, no.” A sad murmur rumbled through the room.

The senator unfolded his next question with great deliberation.

“Did you... prior to the collision, did you have occasion to consult with Captain E.J. Smith about the movement of the ship?”

“Never.”

“Did he consult you about it?”

“Never.” Ismay paused, realizing that his memories of E.J.- and nearly everything else- from that Sunday the 14th were frustratingly vague. He hesitated, uncomfortable, then offered a fragment of information, in hopes of addressing what he knew was a potentially sensitive issue. “Perhaps... perhaps I am wrong in saying that. I believe...” He struggled to provide the correct answer. “I should like to say this- I
believe
it was arranged before we left Queenstown- I do not know that it was quite a matter of consulting him about it, of his consulting me about it, but we would not attempt to arrive in New York before 5 o'clock on Wednesday morning.”

Senator Smith rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. The break in the interrogation allowed Ismay to retreat within himself, if only temporarily. While rubbing his own sore hands together, feeling the eyes of senators and journalists and what seemed like an endless multitude of hostile Americans boring into him, he remembered the comforts of home, of his wife- and it all seemed to be removed by a lifetime of misery that in fact had only lasted a bit more than seventy-two hours. He took note of the golden ring on his little finger that bore the motto of his family crest, BE MINDFUL. He marveled, in a guilt-ridden fashion, at the fact that he hadn't managed to lose the keepsake in the violence of the disaster, and he couldn't help but be struck at the stark contrast between its glittering beauty and his rough, dry, aching skin. A sudden cough from Senator Smith pulled him out of his reverie.