Remote Viewing Sample Session - soundstrue.com · REMOTE VIEWING HOME STUDY WORKBOOK 2. PRE-EVENT...

17Remote Viewing Sample Session

REMOTE VIEWING HOME STUDY WORKBOOK

Written Feedback THE TITANIC DISASTER

Author’s note: Some or all of the written material presented in this feed-back document cites information, facts, and opinions from various source documents. A list of these sources is provided on the last page of this document. It is my intention to give full credit to all those who took the time to assemble this information, which has been used here to provide the Remote Viewer with a narrative text document to compare with their session data.

As with all Remote Viewing feedback and session analysis, every Remote Viewer should spend as much time as feasible to research and gather vary-ing interpretations, opinions, and perspectives on the target site and the events pertaining to it. In short, you should use this document as a foun-dational work, and you should continue your analysis to whatever depth you feel comfortable.

1. SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS TO VIEWERSThe broad concept of this target was for you to see an event in past time, and the specific intention of this target was for you to detect and decode the event data at the specific moment of “ice on steel” contact. Even though “ice on steel” contact was the specific focus of this target, remember that you have been instructed that in any given Remote Viewing session, the Viewer can gather “pre-event” data, “event” data, and “post-event” data. Your session will usually narrow to one of the time phases, but it is also possible for you to gather elements of all three. As such, I have written this feedback in a sort of historical documentary, a narrative if you will, giving you information on the pre-event history of the ship and many of the principal players and some passengers, as well as event and post-event data. You should read this feedback in its entirety and then compare your session results with the photographs and narrative data.


2. PRE-EVENT DATAAt the turn of the twentieth century, Great Britain’s ocean liners were pre-eminent. Since the earliest days of transatlantic travel, the Cunard and White Star shipping lines, the largest in the world, battled for the greater share of passenger business. By 1902, White Star had been purchased by J. Pierpont Morgan’s International Mercantile Marine Company (IMMC), whose dream was to monopolize North Atlantic shipping, eliminate com-petition, and standardize the cost of travel and freight.

Joseph Bruce Ismay, chairman and managing director of the White Star Line, was an intelligent businessman. The son of Thomas Ismay, the line’s founder, he negotiated White Star’s purchase by the IMMC. At the age of forty-one, he was head of one of the largest shipping organizations in the world. Ismay keenly observed the developments of his rival, Cunard, and at a dinner party in London at the home of shipbuilder Lord Pirrie, Ismay talked about a new class of liner, “one that was to be larger and finer than any the competition could offer.”

Considerable significance is usually given to this evening party where Titanic and her sister ship, Olympic, were planned; however, Olympic was never built. Development of these massive liners actually began in 1899 with the first ship, Oceanic, entering service in September and reflecting founder Thomas Ismay’s view that White Star ships would be the largest vessels, of moderate to great speed and fabulous comfort.

The reason for building these enormous floating palaces is easy to under-stand. Economy of size meant a steamship line operating two big ships would save more money than one operating three or even four smaller, older vessels. The White Star company profited in time and money, ben-efiting wages, turnaround time, cargo, and passenger receipts.

With White Star and other British lines in the hands of the American-owned IMMC, the British Mercantile Marine’s reputation and national pride were at stake. The Cunard Line was unable to build new ships with-out financial help, thus the British government awarded the company a $10 million low-interest loan repayable over twenty years, provided the company remained in British hands. The loan led to the construction of the Lusitania and the Mauretania, both technological triumphs of the Edwardian era when they entered service in 1907. The Lusitania would later set the stage for the United States’ entry into World War I, when on May 7, 1915, she was torpedoed and sunk by a German U-boat off the coast of the United States, taking 1,195 lives.

Without Cunard, the IMMC lost the ability to fix prices and eliminate competition; however, a price war broke out in the Morgan Combine of shipping lines, and by 1908 an emigrant could book passage to America for as little as ten dollars. The situation became so serious that talks were forced among the companies, forming the Atlantic Conference, which led to the situation Morgan had initially planned: price stability.

The price war cost the IMMC dearly; Ismay believed the solution to

WRITTEN FEEDBACK: THE TITANIC DISASTER

the threat of competitors, notably Cunard, was to build larger and finer ships. He decided to replace the older ones operating between Southampton and New York with a new class of ocean giants. The first, the Olympic, would begin a new era of luxury travel; Titanic was next, incorporating various improve-ments learned from the operation of her sister. A third sister, later named Britannic, would complete an incomparable trio.

The coveted prize for the fastest Atlantic crossing, the Blue Riband, held little appeal for White Star; what was important was that each ship would hold the title of “largest liner in the world.” Although slower than the Mauretania and the Lusitania, the “Olympic class” represented the future generation of ocean liners.

At the shipyards of Harland & Wolff in Belfast, Ireland, the new liners were protected with a double bottom in addition to sixteen watertight compart-ments formed by fifteen bulkheads running across the ship. It would be learned the hard way that a deficiency of those compartments was their not being closed off at the top, a major factor in the Titanic’s sinking. Watertight doors in the bulkheads could be closed instantly by an electric switch on the bridge. Should any two of the largest compartments become flooded, the liner could remain afloat indefinitely.

The system of divided compartments, the double bottoms, and the ships’ sheer size led the White Star Line and the ship-builders to boast that the Olympic and the Titanic were “unsinkable.” It is interesting to note that in the 1908 souvenir edition of The Shipbuilder, the Mauretania was advertised as “practically unsinkable,” owing to the watertight bulkhead doors being hydraulically controlled by the Stone-Lloyd System. As testimony to this belief, when the Mauretania was first commissioned, she carried only sixteen lifeboats—one third of the number needed to safely accommodate all of the passengers. However, the Titanic disaster is what people remember, and in the process of editing company literature in newspapers and other publications, the word “practically” was dropped, and the myth of the Titanic being unsinkable was born.

The new ships’ height and length was comparable to that of famous buildings. At 882 feet in length, they were longer than the height of New York’s mammoth skyscraper, the Woolworth Building, by 130. The float-ing palaces surpassed anything on the North Atlantic in size and luxury. Passenger entertainment and diversion were provided by a squash racquet court, a Turkish bath, a fully equipped gymnasium, a plunge (swimming)

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pool, a Parisian-style café, and libraries. There were four electric elevators, three in first class and one in second, and for the wealthiest passengers there were deluxe suites with a private promenade.

Only the privileged could take advantage of these luxurious accommo-dations, which cost as much as $4,350 for the six-day crossing in high season of summer. On-board meals were included in the ticket price; the first-class passengers’ dining room was outfitted in magnificent Jacobean style. For those who wanted to dine in an exclusive setting where meals cost extra and were served on fine china, silverplate, and glassware, the à la carte restaurant was decorated in Louis XVI motif with French walnut paneling and richly gilded carvings.

In a blaze of publicity, the Olympic successfully completed her maiden voyage to New York in June 1911. Ismay proudly wrote to Lord Pirrie, “Olympic is a marvel, and has given much unbounded satisfaction.” The owners and builders turned their attention to the liner Titanic, nearing completion at Belfast. When Titanic was completed, Ismay would realize the fulfillment of his dream.

On Wednesday, April 10, 1912, the four buff-colored funnels of the Royal & United States Mail Steamer Titanic glistened in the bright spring morning. Gathered along the quayside was a merry crowd of well-wishers bidding farewell to friends and relatives. Among those boarding was nine-year-old Frank Goldsmith from Strood, Kent, who was leaving England with his parents and some neighbors to live in Detroit, Michigan. People standing on the pier gazed in awe at the giant liner towering over them; she was the largest liner in the world—she was Titanic.

Mr. Ismay embarked at Southampton. This was only his third maiden voyage in one of his company’s ships, and naturally he was anxious to compare the Titanic’s performance with the Olympic’s the previous year. Also on board to check things out was Thomas Andrews, managing direc-tor of Harland & Wolff. Accompanying him were twenty members of the shipyard’s “guarantee group,” four of whom were apprentices.

None of the passengers or bystanders realized that the preparations for the Titanic’s maiden voyage had been laden with difficulties. A national coal strike left the new ship without enough coal for the voyage to New York. Other liners had the same problem but gave up their meager reserves for the Titanic. The laborious work of removing coal by hand from one ship into the Titanic’s bunkers was a dirty business, and it was necessary to clean the new liner from stem to stern before she sailed.

Despite the extra work, shortly after noon the “all ashore” whis-tle sounded, and among goodbyes and bon voyages, gangplanks were removed; soon the sleek liner inched her way from the White Star Dock to begin her passage down Southampton Water across the Channel to Cher-bourg, with a planned stop at Queenstown before finally heading to the open sea.

As Titanic was getting underway, she passed the American liner SS New


York, moored at the quay; the smaller ship began straining at her lines, drawn by the invisible suction from the Titanic’s three mammoth pro-pellers, driven by a power plant capable of 55,000 horsepower. Abruptly, loud reports shattered the lighthearted mood. The three-inch steel hawsers securing the SS New York to her moorings snapped, recoiling through the air and landing within a few feet of startled onlookers. The New York ’s stern swung out toward the passing White Star liner.

Captain Edward J. Smith, Titanic’s captain, who was retiring after com-pletion of this voyage, immediately ordered the port propeller reversed. Crew members rigged collision mats, and an uneasy hush fell upon the spectators. The quick action of Captain Smith and the prompt attention of the tugboats prevented the Titanic’s maiden voyage from ending at South-ampton.

Captain Smith was a popular and well-liked commander among pas-sengers and crew; in fact, he was so admired he was nicknamed the “Mil-lionaire’s Captain” or “E.J.”

Other than a collision involving the Olympic with the HMS Hawke less than a year before, Smith had an unblemished record. However, because of the minor incident at Southampton, Titanic was now slightly behind schedule.

The liner finally appeared on the horizon, anchoring at about 6:30 p.m. off Grande Rade near Fort de l’Ouest in the outer harbor. A crowd of onlookers, assembled on the jetty, admired Titanic’s beautiful silhouette, her rows of sidelights glowing against the evening sky; she had not spent more than two hours in the French port.

The next morning, a first-class passenger, Henry Forbes Julian, wrote a letter to his wife. It was to be his last:

On Board RMS Titanic,

11th April 1912

We do not arrive at Queenstown until about noon, which gives me an opportunity of writing again. I had a good night and was very comfortable. The ship is so steady that it is almost the same as being on land. More than half the officers and stewards on board are familiar faces to me, as they are taken from the Adriatic and Oceanic. The two deck stewards remembered me quite well, and allotted me a chair in a select part of the deck. This is a brilliant morning and quite warm … I think if you could only have reached the ship safely you would have been all right, for there are practically no draughts. Revolving doors are much in use, which prevent any through currents of air. In the smoking-room there is a big fireplace, which makes it cozy. The other rooms also have fireplaces, but have imitation fires heated by electricity; they are poor things compared

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with the real article … The bands are unusually good … I will feel happy with the thought that you are taking care of yourself at Redholme.

On Thursday, April 11, the Titanic dropped anchor late morning off Queenstown, Ireland. The tenders Ireland and America brought more pas-sengers and picked up mail, and a few passengers got off the ship.

As Titanic weighed anchor for the last time and headed out into the Atlantic, the 2,200 passengers and crew prepared themselves for the jour-ney to New York. In terms of numbers on board, this was hardly a record sailing; Titanic could carry a maximum of 3,500. Many passengers pre-ferred to sail during the summer months, especially wealthy first-class pas-sengers who did not like to travel out of season.

On the North Atlantic, there were defined sea lanes, or tracks, which all passenger liners followed. The northern track, taken during the months of August to December, was approximately 200 miles shorter than the south-ern track, taken during the months of January to July.

The winter of 1911 to 1912 had been very mild in the Arctic; ice floes had drifted to the Gulf Stream much farther south than anyone could remember, and the number of icebergs was higher than normal. This was of no consideration to Titanic’s passengers as they watched the green hills of Ireland fade into the distance; in a few days the new liner would be entering the steamship lanes off the Grand Banks of Newfoundland.

Life for her first-class passengers was a wonderful experience. Like turn-ing the pages of the Illustrated London News or a similar American publi-cation emphasizing who’s who, the Titanic perfectly reflected Edwardian society in miniature. A number of prominent American and British celeb-rities added glamour and even a little scandal to the rarefied atmosphere: Mr. John J. Astor, attending with his new bride, Madeleine, was the great grandson of a wealthy North American fur trader. Through shrewd busi-ness dealings, Astor turned an inheritance into a fortune estimated at $87 million. By age forty-six, he had divorced his first wife and remarried, this time to an eighteen-year-old woman, younger than his son; the divorce and remarriage scandalized New York society. Then there was the infa-mous Benjamin Guggenheim, another millionaire on board. His family made their money in the mining and smelting business, but he preferred the life of a playboy and was traveling with his mistress.

Mr. George Widener was accompanied by his wife and son. Widener was heir to a large fortune; his father, P.A.B. Widener, coincidentally was a director of the International Mercantile Marine Company, parent com-pany of the White Star Line. Also on board were Mr. and Mrs. Isidor Straus, owners of W.H. Macy’s department store. The upper-class passen-gers included Mr. Henry B. Harris, a Broadway producer, and his wife; Frank D. Millet, the American painter; and President William Howard Taft’s military aide, Major Archibald Butt, en route to Washington with a message from Pope Pius X.


Notable British passengers included the Countess of Rothes; William T. Stead, editor of the Review of Reviews; the metallurgist Henry Forbes Julian; and Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon and his wife, Lucile, a successful ladies’ fashion designer for London and New York society.

One important name was missing from pages of the White Star liner’s first-class passenger list: J. Pierpont Morgan had booked passage, but at the last moment canceled, claiming to have been unwell.

Sunday, April 14, dawned with the promise of another glorious day of bright sunshine, a calm sea, and mild weather. Most passengers were set-tled into their shipboard routine. Besides a bracing stroll on deck, there were plenty of distractions to keep passengers occupied in the ship’s splen-did interiors. After breakfast in the dining saloon, a Church of England service was held, presided over by Captain Smith.

Most passengers did not notice that the lifeboat drill that morning

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had been canceled. In 1912 there were no mandatory rules for lifeboat rehearsals or crew musters. The British Board of Trade’s regulations were outdated, failing to keep pace with the ever-increasing size of passen-ger liners. Lifeboat capacities were based on a liner’s gross tonnage; as it stood, the number of boats carried by Titanic exceeded the Board of Trade’s requirements, even though it was half the number needed for the passengers on board.

White Star, however, went some way toward exercising the lifeboat practice. In its publication Regulations for the Navigation of the Company’s Steamships, White Star stated: “The crews of each boat are to be mustered at their boat stations every Sunday at noon, the Chief Officers reporting a supply of water in each boat, and the Carpenter reporting the davits and screw lashings in working order. On each occasion on which the crew are so drilled it is to be entered in the ship’s Log Book, and reported home in the Commander’s letter.” No adequate explanation has ever been found why this important shipboard discipline was overlooked.

While passengers and crew were having lunch, wireless operators John George “Jack” Phillips and Harold Bride were busy catching up on a backlog of passenger messages. The previous evening, the wireless set had broken down, and not until early Sunday morning were the two men able to send or receive messages. Wireless telegraphy was fairly new, and many ships had none. Bride and Phillips worked for the Marconi Company, which installed the sets on ships as a franchise, encouraging people to use the new technology to send messages back to land, and the operators were paid per message. Until the miracle of wireless telegraphy, when a ship was at sea for weeks, there was virtually no communication until she landed.

At 1:40 p.m., the operators’ working routine was disturbed by an incom-ing message from the White Star liner Baltic: “Captain Smith, Titanic.

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Have had moderate variable winds and clear fine weather since leaving. Greek steamer Athinai reports passing icebergs and large quantities of field ice today in latitude 41 degrees 51' N., longitude 49 degrees 11' W. Wish you and Titanic all success. Commander.” This particular message was handed directly to Captain Smith, who, instead of posting it in the chart room, gave it to Bruce Ismay, who casually put it in his pocket. Later in the day, Smith asked for it back.

Captain Smith was very aware of the danger from ice. On Friday he had received ice warnings from the French Line vessel La Touraine, and on Saturday, Furness, Withy & Company’s steamer Rappahannock reported having passed through heavy field ice.

The Titanic steamed on and passed this area without spotting any ice, but messages from the Baltic and the Cunard liner Caronia indicated that ice would continue to pose a threat during the voyage. Smith altered course, steaming sixteen miles farther south before making the turn at the so-called “corner,” and headed due west toward the Nantucket Lightship.

From the German steamer Amerika, wireless operator Otto Reuter sent this message at 1:45 p.m.: “Amerika passed two large icebergs in 41 degrees 27' N., 50 degrees 8' W., on the 14th, April.”

Previous messages had been promptly delivered to the bridge, but this one never got there. The Titanic’s wireless unexpectedly went dead, and Phillips, busy troubleshooting, shoved aside probably the most critical ice warning. By early evening, Phillips finally got the wireless set operating.

Approaching the iceberg danger zone, Titanic remained on course, her powerful quadruple-expansion engines and single low-pressure turbine driving the liner smoothly through the water at a moderate 22.5 knots. The temperature was falling fast, and by 8:55 p.m. it was only one degree above freezing. Second Officer Charles Lightoller sent word to the ship’s carpenter, John Hutchinson, to see that the fresh water supply did not freeze. Soon afterward, Captain Smith entered the bridge and discussed the conditions with Lightoller.

They noted the lack of wind and the unruffled sea. Up in the crow’s nest, lookouts Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee had been told to keep a “sharp eye peeled” for small ice and growlers.

The night was crystal clear; there was no moon, and the sky was filled with stars. The sea looked as smooth as plate glass, paradoxically a dis-advantage for the lookouts. Without waves breaking around an iceberg’s base, leaving a wake, it would be hard to spot an iceberg without reflective moonlight, especially if a berg were showing its dark side.

Having assured himself that all was well, Captain Smith retired for the night with the instruction “If in the slightest degree doubtful, let me know.” Lightoller continued to peer into the darkness. Out beyond the ship’s bow lay an inky, black expanse of water.

Phillips, the senior operator, was interrupted by a message from the Atlantic Transport Line steamer Mesaba. The message read: “Ice report. In


latitude 42 north to 41 degrees 25' north, longitude 49 west to longitude 50 degrees 3' west. Saw much heavy pack ice and great number large ice-bergs, also field ice. Weather good, clear.”

Phillips replied: “Received, thanks.” Mesaba’s wireless operator waited to hear that the message had been relayed to the captain and sent two words: “Stand by.” Instead, Phillips continued sending the backlog of passenger messages to Cape Race. This was yet another ice warning that was never delivered to the bridge.

At ten o’clock, First Officer William Murdoch relieved Lightoller. The two men chatted brief ly about the falling temperature, now down to thirty-two degrees, and the emphatic reminder to the lookouts to be on their toes for any signs of icebergs. Lightoller then went below, leaving Murdoch to the darkness and freezing night air.

3. EVENT DATABy 11:30 p.m., most passengers had gone to bed, but a few night owls were gathered around a card table in the first-class smoking room. In the main dining saloon, stewards preparing for Monday’s breakfast carefully arranged gleaming silverplate and fine china edged in twenty-two-karat gold on immac-ulate damask linen. As her passengers slept or relaxed, the Titanic, her side-lights brilliantly illuminating the ambient darkness, forged steadily ahead, speed unabated, a white wave of foam curling around her bow. The clock on the first-class grand staircase, decorated with a carved panel of two classical figures representing Honor and Glory crowning Time, showed 11:40 p.m.

A few moments later, Fleet, in the crow’s nest, began to make out what was at first, a small, irregular black object directly in their path. “There is ice ahead,” he said to Lee, the other lookout, as he instinctively rang the crow’s nest bell three times, indicating to the bridge that something lay directly ahead.

Sixth Officer James Moody answered the telephone, “What did you see?” “Iceberg, right ahead!” shouted Fleet. Without emotion in his voice, Moody said, “Thank you,” replaced the receiver, and called loudly to Murdoch, “Ice-berg, right ahead.” By now the First Officer had already seen the iceberg and rushed to the engine room telegraph, moving the handles to “Stop,” then “Full Speed Astern,” and immediately ordered “Hard a Starboard.” Moody, stand-ing behind the helmsman, Quartermaster Robert Hitchens, replied, “Hard a starboard. The helm is hard over, sir.”

The 46,000-ton liner took a long time, gradually responding to her helm, and began to turn to port. Murdoch intended to order “hard a port” to bring the stern away from the iceberg, but it was too late; she struck. The iceberg glided by, breaking iron rivet heads fastening the steel shell plates, which caused massive leakage below the waterline. Tons of ice fell onto the forecastle and well-deck. Murdoch closed the electric switch that controlled the water-tight doors. Deep inside, the ship’s alarm bells rang as the massive watertight doors sealed each of the liner’s sixteen compartments.


4. POST-EVENT DATAWalter Belford was Titanic’s night chief baker. “We were working on the fifth deck amidships baking for the next day. There was a shudder all through the ship about 11:40 p.m., the provisions came tumbling down, and the oven doors came open.”

Captain Smith rushed onto the bridge; “What have we struck?” he asked.

“An iceberg, sir,” replied Murdoch. Then the first officer explained what he had done.

After receiving an initial report that no damage was found, Smith ordered the carpenter to go down and sound the ship. When he returned, he had the bad news that Titanic was taking on water. Soon, passengers began noticing the lack of vibration from the engines and worried about the impact from the collision.

J. Bruce Ismay, in his suite on B-deck, was awakened by scraping noises. He quickly put on a coat over his pajamas, made his way to the bridge, and asked Smith, “Do you think the ship is seriously damaged?”

Smith replied, “I am afraid she is.” Thomas Andrews had gone below to give his assessment of the damage

to Smith. In less than ten seconds, Titanic’s first six watertight compart-ments had been opened to the sea by the iceberg. The first five—the fore-peak, number one, two, and three holds, and boiler room number six—were flooding uncontrollably. The flooding in boiler room number five was controlled by the engine room pumps, but the sheer weight of the water in the first five compartments drew the liner’s bow down, pulling her head lower and lower.

A critical design flaw in Titanic was that the watertight compartments did not reach high enough, which allowed water to flow from one com-partment into another like liquid flowing in an ice cube tray. That Titanic would founder was a mathematical certainty. The only question was when. Andrews estimated another hour.

At first there was an understandable reluctance from some passengers in first and second class when stewards ordered them to put on their life-jackets and go up on deck. To leave the warmth and safety of their state-rooms at midnight when all was quiet and nothing seemingly alarming happening did not make sense. In third class, it was a different story. A complicating factor was that U.S. immigration regulations required gates on emigrant ships (Titanic was officially listed as an emigrant ship) to sepa-rate steerage (third class) from higher classes. Stewards had difficulty with language, and, perhaps fearing a stampede for the lifeboats, some stewards kept passengers below until they received word for them to be allowed on deck.

On the bridge, shortly after midnight, Smith issued the order for the lifeboats to be uncovered and swung out. At approximately 12:10 a.m., he entered the wireless room for the second time since the collision. The first


time, he had informed Phillips and Bride that Titanic had struck an ice-berg; this time he told the two men to prepare to send out a distress signal. Phillips asked, “What call should I send?”

The regulation international call for help was “CQD.” “Just that,” replied Smith.

One of the ships to answer Titanic’s call of distress was the Cunard liner Carpathia, on her way to the Mediterranean. Her commander, Captain Arthur Rostron, turned his ship around at once and steamed as fast as he could toward Titanic’s last reported position. Carpathia compared to Titanic was a small ship capable of a modest 17.5 knots at top speed; it would take her over four hours to reach the sinking ship.

Problems on the boat deck mounted as the officers and crew, unfamiliar with the workings of the boats, tried to persuade reluctant passengers to leave the apparent safety of Titanic.

Whatever the first- and second-class passengers thought about their security or comfort, the officers knew the ship would founder; and unfor-tunately, they failed in their duty to load each boat to its stated capacity. This failure contributed to 500 or more unnecessary deaths.

Most of the third-class passengers never had the opportunity to decide to get into a lifeboat, because by the time they were allowed on deck, most of the boats had gone. When third-class passenger Gus Cohen reached the boat deck, he could not get into a boat; later he jumped in the water, was picked up, and his life spared.

When it was time to say goodbye and separate the men from the women and children, Frank Goldsmith, Sr., leaned over and squeezed his son’s shoulder. “So long, Franky,” his father said, “see you later.”

Some explanation regarding the number of passengers in each boat was offered at the British inquiry. The surviving officers believed a fully loaded boat would buckle under the strain of lowering; however, this was proven incorrect when some of the boats were tested. Another explanation was that Captain Smith intended to load the partially filled boats with passengers from one of the gangway doors in the side of the ship; this never happened.

The first boat, with a capacity for sixty-five, was lowered with twenty-seven passengers and crew. Between 12:45 and 2:05 a.m., the officers and boat crew managed to launch eighteen of Titanic’s twenty lifeboats. Although the officers and crew followed the unwritten rule of the sea of “women and children first,” in reality, as Titanic sank, a male passenger on the starboard side of the boat deck was five times more likely to be allowed entry to a boat than one on the port side. This may be explained by certain officers interpreting the “women and children first” order as “women and children only.”

As the ship sank lower, any thought of protocol was forgotten in the panic to launch the two remaining lifeboats, Collapsibles A and B.

Mr. Walter Belford said one of his most vivid recollections was the sight of Captain Smith standing resolutely on the bridge as the bow and front


portion of the ship went down. He quoted Smith as he addressed a group of remaining crewmen after the last boats were gone, “Well, boys, I’ve done the best I can for you. Now it’s in your own hands. Do the best you can to save yourselves.”

By 2:10 a.m., Titanic’s stern had risen out of the water to an upright angle. Lights still blazing, there was pandemonium below decks, where inanimate objects came to life; crockery, furniture, and whatever else not fastened crashed toward the bow. In the engine spaces, the massive boilers tore loose from their foundations and crashed through the bulkheads.

For the hundreds of terrified passengers clinging to the stern, the noise must have been unimaginable. Finally, under the incredible forces the hull was being subjected to, it gave way and split in two just forward of the fourth funnel. The bow section quickly sank; the stern settled back for a few moments before it rose again vertically for the final time. The stern remained motionless against the starlit sky for a few moments before it began descending two miles to the ocean floor. As the Atlantic closed over the words on her stern—Titanic Liverpool—hundreds of passengers strug-gled in the icy waters.

“We went over to the side straight away. I jumped overboard from the well deck about thirty feet above the water,” said Belford, who was wearing his white baker’s uniform and a lifejacket with a quart of whiskey stuck in his belt.

A crewman in lifeboat number three declared, “She’s gone lads, row like hell or we’ll get the devil of a swell.” In number four, a crewman, closer to the sinking, cried out, “Pull for your lives or you’ll be sucked under.”

Somewhere in the darkness, close to where Titanic went down, hundreds of people struggled—including the Mallets and Joseph Laroche from France, Henry Forbes Julian of Torquay, England, and Milton Long of Springfield, Massachusetts—fighting for their lives amongst the mass of floating debris. Death came quickly for some, pulled under or crushed as the ship sank; others drowned, but most succumbed to the elements, the water was so cold.

The lucky ones, huddled in lifeboats, listened to the awful sound of family and friends crying out in vain. Little Frank Goldsmith had his head tucked tightly against his mother’s breast. He described the sounds of those dying years later in his autobiography, Echoes in the Night. While Goldsmith was later living near Tiger Stadium in Detroit, whenever a home run was hit, the crowd’s moaning sound brought back those awful memories. He lost his friend, Alfred Rush, who had turned sixteen that day and wore long pants for the first time. Alfred elected to stay behind “with the men.” Mr. Goldsmith was with another Strood friend, Thomas Theobold, who handed his wedding ring to Mrs. Goldsmith as she stepped in the lifeboat, to give to his wife in case he did not see her again.

In number six, the majority wanted to return to pick up survivors. Quar-termaster Hitchens, Titanic’s helmsman, overruled everyone, graphically


describing how the people in the water would capsize their boat. It is difficult to imagine how cold it was for those floating in the water.

Walter Belford was rescued from the bone-chilling water: “I kept taking a sip of whiskey from time to time to keep warm. There were a couple of shots left when I was rescued.”

Of the eighteen boats successfully launched, only two returned to the scene. Boat number four was the first to return, with four crewmen and thirty-six women on board, including Madeleine Astor. Her husband’s body was later recovered and brought to New York on the same train as the body of twenty-nine-year-old Milton Long, retrieved by the cable ship MacKay-Bennett, one of the vessels chartered in Halifax by the White Star Line. Long was the only son of Judge and Mrs. Charles Long and is interred in the Springfield, Massachusetts, cemetery.

The women pulled five crewmen from the water; one steward remained conscious, but two others died. When number four rejoined a small flo-tilla of boats tied together, Fifth Officer Lowe decided to transfer survivors from number fourteen until it was sufficiently empty to make a rescue attempt. The crewmen could hardly row, and the sea was littered with the dead, who were held upright by their cork lifejackets. One of the crewmen turned over several; most had died from hypothermia within minutes of entering the water.

An hour after Titanic sank, Lowe found four alive, two passengers and two crewmen, but one died later that night. The writer William T. Stead, the painter Frank D. Millet, and Major Archibald Butt died; their bodies were never recovered.

In lifeboat number two, Fourth Officer Boxhall burned green flares taken from the wheelhouse to attract the attention of a rescue ship; his last was seen by those on board Carpathia. Captain Rostron ordered rockets to be fired in reply, and at 4 a.m. the Cunard liner arrived at the estimated position given by the Titanic’s wireless operator.

Large numbers of icebergs were all around the ship as the crew began to pick up survivors from boats scattered over several miles of ocean. Rostron reported that there was very little wreckage when he got near to the scene of the disaster: a few steamer chairs, cork lifejackets, and only one body. Titanic’s boats were hauled up and stowed on deck. The rescue operation had taken four hours, and as the Carpathia briefly searched the area for more survivors, two memorial services were held. The first, a short prayer for the 705 who had been rescued; the second, a funeral service for those who had died.

In the minutes and hours that followed the sinking, the seabed became littered with thousands of objects—china from the à la carte restaurant, tiles from the floor of the gymnasium, a woman’s high-button shoe, a giant boiler from the engine room—and lying in this field of devastation was the broken and shattered hull of Titanic, in two huge pieces.

Over 1,500 lives were lost—frozen or drowned in the frigid North


Atlantic. The statistics are appalling enough to read, let alone to contem-plate the reality of such a magnificent ship sinking on her maiden voyage. Of the 1,324 passengers and 899 crew on board at the time of the colli-sion, only 705 survived the disaster. Approximately 320 bodies were recov-ered, now buried in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

5. BACKGROUNDNautical Terms of Reference

Aft—Toward the back of the ship Bow—The front of the ship Bridge—The forward command center of the shipBulkhead—A large vertical partition separating sections of the shipCollapsible—A lifeboat with canvas sidesCrow’s nest—A lookout platform on the ship’s mast Davits—Cranes that lower lifeboats Debris field—The area on the seabed surrounding the wreck Forward—Toward the front of the ship Hold—A storage area for cargo and baggageHull—The outer skin of the ship Maiden voyage—A vessel’s first voyage Port—The left side of the ship looking toward the bow Rivets—Steel bolts that hold the hull plates together Starboard—The right side of the vessel looking toward the bow Stern—The rear of the vesselSubmersible—A small vessel that can dive to the ocean floor

Quick Facts• It cost $7.5 million to build the Titanic in 1912, and the ship carried a

$5 million insurance policy. It would cost approximately $400 million to build that ship today.

• While serving on the Titanic, Chief Officer Henry T. Wilde wrote to his sister, “I still don’t like this ship. I have a queer feeling about it.”

• A first-class ticket for a parlor suite cost $4,350, which is roughly $50,000 in today’s dollars.

• Adhering to the rule of the sea—women and children first—a man listed as “passenger Hoffman” handed his two young sons over to strangers to ensure their survival. He perished. The man was actually Michel Navra-til, who had kidnapped his sons during divorce proceedings. The children were eventually reunited with their mother in New York when she read of their plight in a newspaper that had dubbed them “the Titanic Orphans.”

• Only one first-class child perished, Loraine Allison, age two, from Canada. • The ship was as long as four city blocks and as wide as a four-lane highway.

REMOTE VIEWING HOME STUDY WORKBOOKREMOTE VIEWING HOME STUDY WORKBOOK

Chronology Maiden voyage begins April 10, 1912 Sinking occurs April 14-15, 1912 Passengers/crew saved 705 Passengers/crew lost 1,523 Rescue ship Carpathia Children on board 114 Children lost 54Dogs on board 5

SourcesKamuda, Edward S. “Titanic Past and Present.” The Titanic Historical

Society. 18 Feb. 2004, http://www.titanichistoricalsociety.org/articles/titanicpastandpresent1.asp.

The Official Titanic Website, http://www.titanic.com.Titanic, DVD, directed by James Cameron (1997; Hollywood, Callifornia:

Paramount Studio, 1999).“Titanic Life Vest Preserves History,” Indiana Star, May 13, 2004.“Titanic Salvage Firm Asks Court for Title to Artifacts,” The Associated

Press, February 16, 2004.

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