Titanic:

why she collided, why she sank, why she should never have sailed

Senan Molony

• Publisher: Mercier Press
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781781176382
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Irish History
• Index: History

Senan Molony caused a worldwide media flurry in 2017 by publicly revealing an uncontrolled coal bunker fire on the Titanic.Experts said the fire would have significantly weakened a linchpin bulkhead, the failure of which hastened the sinking. The Titanic might otherwise have lasted until daylight, with many more being saved by a flotilla of arriving ships. In Titanic: why she collided, why she sank, why she should never have sailed, Senan goes much further and outlines numerous theories about what led to the Titanic's sinking.Senan appeared on CNN, NBC, CBS and ABC, along with NPR (National Public Radio) in the US after his Channel 4 documentary Titanic: The New Evidence, on which this book is based, was aired.

1
Outward Bound in April

A Cautionary Tale

A stately ship stood dockside on an April day in England. Wisps of funnel-smoke were panting steadily in the crisp morning air and the transatlantic passenger vessel seemed as if she were already straining to start.

On the quayside all was busy with last-minute sailing preparations, not least among the arriving swarm of passengers. Many emigrants were set to board, buoyant themselves, optimistically bent on a fresh start in the New World. They included a significant component of Russians and Armenians, the majority of them Jews fleeing pogroms for the promised peace of the United States. Also embarking was a party of returning American cattlemen. The ship’s four masts stretched impressively above them, and she was a striking 461 feet long – quite a sight to eyes unaccustomed to the exceptional Cunarders Mauretania and Lusitania, to which there was as yet no equal. She was the steamship Cairnrona and the year was 1910.

On this trip the liner would carry 879 passengers, yet she only had 800 lifebelts. Thus, if any disaster should occur, some would have to go without (including all the crew). As well as this, the vessel carried just ten lifeboats, capable of accommodating 500 persons, and two smaller craft, sufficient to hold but a further thirty-two.1

On 6 April the Cairnrona slipped her moorings at the Surrey Commercial Dock in Rotherhithe, London, bound for Portland, Maine, after being inspected and cleared by the Board of Trade. The Cairn Line steamer was under the experienced captaincy of Charles Thomas Stooke, commanding a crew of no fewer than 116 hands. That made the entire complement on board just five short of 1,000 souls.

The Cairnrona proceeded to sea. Within a short time the ship began to be enveloped by the slow descending shades of night and was presently out of communication with the coast. Yet at 7,682 tons, she was of sufficient size and importance to warrant carrying a wireless set, one of a tiny minority of shipping to do so at the time. She negotiated the narrow straits of Dover in the early hours, sighting the lights of other steamers off her port side, towards the French coast. Soon she was fully into the heavily trafficked English Channel and the lookouts strained their eyes for potential hazards.

The ship’s chronometer limped into Thursday 7 April. At length, the lights of Folkestone were sighted on the starboard side, and next the small seaside settlement of Dungeness swam into view, leading on to the twinkle of battle-famed Hastings, until all eventually fell away into the ship’s wake. It was now that the rosy glow of a welcome dawn appeared on the port side of the ship, the deck fixtures growing in definition as darkness cleared, but still too early for the passengers to bestir themselves.

The officers noted with satisfaction the Eastbourne lighthouse to starboard, at the base of Beachy Head, its rhythmic two flashes every twenty seconds so familiar to them. Only eight years in existence, this edifice of Cornish granite was already proving its worth. By now some emigrants were up and active, enjoying the early seascape. Breakfast had begun at 5 a.m., and early risers were keen to escape the claustrophobia below decks.

Then, at precisely 6.15 a.m., a powerful explosion tore through the silence of the morning, blowing off a forward hatch and killing assistant steward Frederick Longhurst. It grievously maimed a strolling pair of third-class passengers and severely injured three further members of crew. A swathe of more minor injuries were inflicted, as the blast reverberated to the far-off chalk cliffs. Two further concussive blasts followed, the force of which smashed into the women’s quarters and blew over bunks, while sections of hatch timber struck several passengers.

Then, after a numbed pause, a tremendous wail arose. From the deck came a shout that a baby had been blown out of its mother’s arms and overboard. The shout was ignored, however, because panic had broken out throughout the ship. Emigrants ‘ran about the decks wringing their hands and hindering the officers of the ship in the efforts they were making for the safety of all’. One man was seen ‘rushing madly with his head ablaze’.2 A woman, whose clothes were on fire, begged to be thrown into the sea.

A stunned Captain Stooke burst from his quarters and took over from the officer of the watch as crew rushed to the aid of the wounded. Stooke soon received reports of structural damage, with smoke issuing in quantities from the hold. He heard one alarming dispatch that four passengers, afraid for their lives, had already jumped overboard.

Herschel Schenef, a Russian, recalled how he fled onto deck from his steerage berth. He could see thick black smoke billowing from the vicinity of the engine room and heard a crackling sound. Next came ‘a terrible rush for the gangway’. Soon he saw sailors brandishing boathooks ‘in order to keep back the crowds of excited passengers [from the lifeboats]’.3

By this time the wireless operator was transmitting the CQD (‘Come quickly, danger’) signal, requesting urgent help and giving the ship’s position. The message was picked up at Dover and two tugs were promptly dispatched. The Liverpool steamer Kanawha was already in view, and within a few minutes was turning to the stricken ship’s assistance, while a wireless response came flashing in from the unseen Swedish steamer Upland.

Captain Stooke ordered life rings thrown and a lifeboat lowered for those already in the sea, directing further that all boats be uncovered and prepared for launch. As the boats were cleared and swung out, the master ordered they be loaded and, in the age-old tradition of the sea, intoned: ‘Women and children first.’

Despite this injunction in favour of those considered weak and helpless, ‘several men endeavoured to thrust them aside, but were prevented by the crew,’ said The Times. The British sailor noble once more. Emigrant Schenef saw one of his fellow Russians attack a crewman, with others joining in. ‘There was a general fight. Women also engaged in the struggle.’4

English passenger William Forster, emigrating with his wife and three children, saw things sternly. ‘There was no justification for the way they acted,’ he said of foreigners in the fray. ‘They would not listen to reason and to see them fighting with the women and children to try and get into the boats was enough to make one’s blood boil. I gave the crew what little help I could in beating back these men, and we succeeded in getting the women and children away first. The crew acted splendidly; but for their pluck there might have been much loss of life.’5

The panic gradually subsided. With order somewhat restored, the lifeboats were launched and those who had earlier gone overboard were hauled in from the sea, all still alive, if exhausted. They now steered for the Kanawha, ever closer at hand, whose men were opening gangway doors in the ship’s hull and deploying ropes and ladders.

Back on the wounded vessel, a crewman’s hand had been mutilated by the explosion and it was already lying in a bucket, severed by the swift chop of Dr Heron, the Cairnrona’s surgeon. Nearby, a Polish woman lay paralysed on a stretcher, victim of a suspected spinal fracture. Outside in the doctor’s corridor was a piteous line of groaning burn victims, two screaming children already treated and bandaged, and several crew also needing assistance.

Hoses had been playing on the angry blaze in the bunker, and now the steamer Upland and a trawler named King Fisher were on the scene. The transshipment of passengers got underway in a more or less organised manner over a matter of hours with the sea mercifully calm. Luckily the Cairnrona stayed afloat. Eventually these passengers were all brought ashore, the most severely injured being landed first and rushed to hospital. The crippled ship staggered back to Dover, arriving late that same night. Over 100 of her passengers would refuse ever to go to sea again.

An official inquiry was convened. It determined that the explosions, three in total, were ‘probably’ caused by hot embers in a coal bunker, having drifted there when fires were drawn from furnaces after completion of the last voyage. This finding seems highly unlikely, however, as somehow those embers would have had to sustain themselves until tons of fresh bunker coal came hurtling down on top of them in preparation for the next trip. It was also found there had been no inspection of the starboard bunker prior to departure, and its condition was not known to the master or c...

Table of contents

• Prologue
• 1 Outward Bound in April
• 2 The Price of Unrest
• 3 Crossing the Line
• 4 An Old Man’s Memory
• 5 The Last Word
• 6 Officialdom
• 7 Exodus
• 8 Men of Affairs
• 9 Passing Muster
• 10 Drilling Down
• 11 Short on Fuel
• 12 Away at Last
• 13 The News Leaks Out
• 14 Arrival in Ireland
• 15 Consultation at Queenstown
• 16 Undertaking the Atlantic
• 17 The Blue Concourse
• 18 The Myth of ‘Exceptional Strength’
• 19 Interference by Ismay
• 20 Gauging Speed, Time and Distance
• 21 The Sinful Sabbath
• 22 Forewarnings of Fate
• 23 Conversations and Contradictions
• 24 To the Edge of the Field
• 25 Was Impact Inevitable?
• 26 Presentation of Ice
• 27 Horror on the High Seas
• 28 Communication Issues
• 29 The Long Lead-in to Loss
• 30 Individual Effects
• 31 Dilley and ‘An Officer’ Describe
• 32 What Happened Below?
• 33 Enabling the Flood
• 34 Götterdämmerung
• 35 Crisis Management
• 36 Inquiry and Non-Enquiry
• 37 Thomas Whiteley
• 38 It Happened Before (and Again)
• 39 Summary Decisions
• Epilogue
• Appendix 1 They Couldn’t Stand the Heat
• Appendix 2 A Silent Majority
• Endnotes
• Bibliography
• About The Author
• Photo Section