Call Me Ismay (18 page)

“Pardon me. Mr Ismay, there is a matter that I want to revisit. Were you outside on the deck, or on any deck, when the order was given to lower the lifeboats?”

“Yes, sir. I believe so, yes.”

“Will you tell us, if you can, how they were lowered?”

“They were... they were swung out, people were put into the boats from the deck and then they were simply lowered away down to the water.”

“Was there any order or supervision exercised by the officers of the ship in loading these lifeboats?”

“Yes, sir...” Ismay replied with a sustained reflection, for it was at this part of the story that he truly could not fully recall just what exactly he had experienced.

Senator Smith waited for Ismay to elaborate, then realized that he needed to prompt him. “I wish you would tell just what that was.”

“That I could not say. I could only speak from what I saw for myself.”

“That is all I wish you to do.”

“The boats that were lowered where I was were in charge of the officer, and were filled and lowered away.”

“They first put men into the boats for the purpose of controlling them?”

“We put in some of the ship's people.”

“Some
of the ship's people?” Smith seemed to pounce on his choice of words.

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“That I could not say.”

“About how many?”

“I could not say.” Ismay's reddened eyes seemed to gravitate to the edge of the table, avoiding Smith's line of sight.

“How many passengers were in the lifeboat in which you left the ship?”

“I should think about forty-five.”

“Four to five?”
Smith exclaimed, again incredulous.

“No, no, no, sir- forty-five.
Forty
-five is what I said.”

“Forty-five?” Smith seemed to narrow his eyes suspiciously, indicating that he believed Ismay's count to be a bit high.

“That is my recollection,” Ismay nodded.

“Was that its full capacity?”

“Practically.”

“How about the other two boats?”

“The other three, I should think, were fairly loaded up.”

“Fairly loaded up,” Smith repeated, the tone of his voice flat. “Was there any struggle or jostling?”

“I saw none...” Ismay twitched.

“Or any attempt by men to get into the boats?”

“I saw none...” Ismay cringed slightly once more, for his hazy memories seemed to include horrible sounds that indicated otherwise
.
Privately, he had himself wondered why so many of the lifeboats seemed to carry so few passengers. To his immense relief, the senator scribbled down a few notes, then proceeded with a different question.

“When you first went on to the deck, you were only partially clothed?”

“That is just about correct, sir.”

“How were you dressed? Were you completely dressed when you went into the lifeboat?”

“I believe I had a suit of pajamas on, a pair of slippers, a suit of clothes, and an overcoat.” Ismay, his sensitivities heightened, stiffened as he thought he heard a giggle or two at his description. A ripple of anger coursed through him, wishing his audience could have experienced the cold that had nearly turned his skin blue by the time he was pulled on board the
Carpathia
.

If there had in fact been laughter, Senator Smith did not acknowledge it. “How long were you on the ship after the collision occurred?”

Ismay lowered his head, blinking his tired eyes, frustrated that clarity of thought seemed impossible. He sighed heavily. “That is a very difficult question to answer, sir. Practically until the time- almost until she sank.”

“How long did it take to lower and load a lifeboat?”

Ismay shook his head. “I could not answer that.”

“Can you approximate it?”

“It... it is not possible for me to judge the time. I could not answer that.”

“Were you on the
Titanic
at least an hour after the collision?”

“Yes, sir,” he uttered, hoping the senator would move on to a different topic.

“Did you, during this time, see any of the passengers that you knew?”

“I really do not remember... I saw a great many passengers, but I do not think I paid very much attention to who they were.”

“What were the circumstances, Mr. Ismay, of your departure from the ship?”

Ismay answered darkly, his emotions becoming difficult to control. “In what way?”

“What were the circumstances of your departure from the ship?” Smith repeated, becoming agitated. “I ask merely that-”

“The boat was there,” Ismay interrupted. “There was a certain number of men in the boat, and I called out asking if there were any more women, and there was no response, and there were no passengers left on the deck.”

“There were no passengers on the deck?”

“No, sir, and as the boat was in the act of being lowered away, I got into it.” Ismay heard his words hanging in the air, again so... ordinary.

“At that time the
Titanic
was sinking?”

“She was sinking.”

“Mr. Ismay, what can you say about the sinking and disappearance of the ship? Can you describe the manner in which she went down?”

“I did not see her go down.”

“You did not see her go down?”

“No, sir.”

“How far were you from the ship?”

Ismay pulled at his moustache with a shaky hand and appeared ill at ease before continuing. “I- I do not know how far we were away. I was sitting with my back to the ship. I, um, was rowing all the time I was in the boat. We were pulling away.”

“You were rowing?”

“Yes, I did not wish to see her go down.” The smashing rumble that came across the water that night, the multitude of screams from women and babies, remained all too distinct in his hearing.

“You did not care to see her go down?”

Ismay's eyes brimmed with tears. “No. I am glad I did not.”

“When did you last see her?”

“I really could not say. It might have been 10 minutes after we left her. It is impossible for me to give any judgment of the time. I could not do it.”

“Was there much apparent confusion on board when you saw her last?”

“I did not look to see, sir!” Ismay virtually pleaded. “My back was turned to her. I looked around once only, to see her red light- her green light, rather.” The recollection was difficult for Ismay; so few clear images for him to describe, and so much unbearable noise.

Senator Newlands, who had been completely silent through the entire testimony, suddenly dropped a question on Ismay. “How did the ship strike the iceberg?”

“From information I have received,” Ismay spoke carefully, “I think she struck the iceberg a glancing blow between the end of the forecastle and the captain's bridge, just aft of the foremast, sir.”

“When you went to the bridge after this collision, was there any ice on the decks?” Newlands queried.

“I personally saw no ice at all, and no icebergs at all until daylight Monday morning.”

“Do you know whether any people were injured or killed from ice that came to the decks?”

“I do not, sir. I heard ice had been found on the decks, but it is only hearsay.”

Just as quickly as he began, Senator Newlands indicated that he was finished. “Nothing further.”

Senator Smith glanced at Newlands, then resumed. “I think I asked you, but in case it appears that I have not, I will ask you again- were all of the women and children saved?”

Ismay's voice went to its lowest volume yet. “I am afraid not, sir.”

“What proportion were saved?”

“I have no idea. I have not asked.” His eyes, darted up and down the table before him, agitated. “Since the accident I have made very few inquiries of any sort.”

A few quiet moments elapsed, interrupted only by the occasional cough or shuffling of feet from those in attendance. Smith and Newlands animatedly consulted each other in private conversation- gesticulating excitedly with their hands while keeping their words limited to indistinguishable whispers. At last, Smith returned his attention to Ismay.

“As the head of the White Star Line, Mr. Ismay, you have indicated your willingness to supply the committee with any data or information that may be necessary regarding the construction and equipment of this vessel?”

“Any information or any data the committee may wish is absolutely at their disposal,” he nodded.

“And you have indicated your willingness to meet our full committee?”

“At any time you wish, sir.” Ismay felt of modicum of relief, sensing that the questioning was at last drawing to a close.

“And I suppose this includes the surviving officers?”

“Certainly, sir. Anybody that you wish is absolutely at your disposal.”

“What are your own immediate plans?”

Ismay grimaced but remained polite. “I understand that depends on you.”

Smith addressed him in a tone that was clear and professional. “I thank you, on behalf of my associates and myself, 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.”

“I am entirely at your disposal at any time, sir.”

Smith brought down his gavel. Reporters literally and figuratively sharpened their pencils, ready to characterize the surviving businessman- based merely on a few negative reactions from the crowd in attendance- as selfish, irresponsible, evasive. Ismay drew in a breath, then winced as he realized for the first time that morning that sunlight had been streaming into the East Room of the Waldorf-Astoria through a filter of elegant, laced curtains. To his eyes, it was so agonizingly bright, so white, and yet on every wall and face there were traces of ghosts of darkness.