“Were you in conference with Captain Edward James Smith during this journey from Southampton?”
Ismay felt his chin quiver as he realized that his proximity to Captain Smith was once again going to be the subject of interrogation. He came across as slightly too eager to clarify. “I was never in the captain's room the whole voyage over, sir, and the captain was never in my room. I never had any conversation with the captain except casual conversation on the deck.”
“No conversation with the captain,” Smith repeated, and he held eye contact with Ismay before responding with another question. “Were you on the bridge at any time?”
“I was never on the bridge until after the accident.”
“How long after the accident?”
Ismay had been berating himself in private for not being able to provide a more coherent timeline under questioning. However, this was one of a few events from that night he could recall all too clearly. He delivered his answer with careful understatement, trying not to let emotion overtake him. “I should think it might have been ten minutes.”
Smith paused, seeming to compose himself for a moment. His tone then took on a quiet solemnity. “Had you known Captain Smith for some time?”
“Yes, I had known him a great many years.” Ismay coughed, trying to slow the momentum of the sadness welling up within him.
“On what ships of your line had he been captain?”
“I think he had been commander of a great many of them,” Ismay answered softly. “The first time I remember Captain Smith being commander of one of our ships was when he was in command of one of our cargo boats called the Cufic , a great many years ago.” Images of great ocean liners danced through his head, each of them symbols of happier times and indicators of just how much had been entrusted to E,J., and for how long. Ismay shook his head sadly. “I cannot remember them all, sir. We have a record, in the office, of every ship he has commanded.”
Smith narrowed his eyes, and Ismay could not decipher if it was out of precision in his next choice of words, or suspicion of what his answer would be.
“Do you yourself know anything about the construction of vessels- I mean, technically?”
“No, I could not say I do.”
The Senator seemed to size up Ismay for a long moment before continuing. “In ordering this vessel, did you give Harland and Wolff any special instructions with reference to her safety?”
“We were very anxious indeed to have a ship which would float with her two largest watertight compartments full of water. What we wanted to guard against was any steamer running into the ship and hitting her on a bulkhead, because if the ship ran into her broadside on and happened to hit her right on a bulkhead, that would open up two big compartments, and we were anxious to guard against the possibility of that happening. So, the Titanic was constructed in such a way that she would float with the two largest compartments full of water.”
“You remember, I think, the statement of the wheelman, that the last thing he did before striking the iceberg was to turn his wheel as to avoid contact directly with the bow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you recall that?”
“I... I think he said he was told 'Hard aport,' and then 'Hard astarboard,' if I remember rightly.”
“Suppose that had not been done, Mr. Ismay, and the ship had met this iceberg bows on- what would have been the effect, in your judgment?”
Ismay felt a panel of senatorial eyes boring into him, as he momentarily struggled for a answer. Finally, he continued. “It is really impossible to say, he smiled nervously. “It- it is only a matter of opinion. I think that the ship would have crushed her bows in, and might not have sunk.”
“She might not have sunk?”
“She might not have sunk.” A slight groan of sadness was heard from the spectators in the
Ismay felt his chin quiver as he realized that his proximity to Captain Smith was once again going to be the subject of interrogation. He came across as slightly too eager to clarify. “I was never in the captain's room the whole voyage over, sir, and the captain was never in my room. I never had any conversation with the captain except casual conversation on the deck.”
“No conversation with the captain,” Smith repeated, and he held eye contact with Ismay before responding with another question. “Were you on the bridge at any time?”
“I was never on the bridge until after the accident.”
“How long after the accident?”
Ismay had been berating himself in private for not being able to provide a more coherent timeline under questioning. However, this was one of a few events from that night he could recall all too clearly. He delivered his answer with careful understatement, trying not to let emotion overtake him. “I should think it might have been ten minutes.”
Smith paused, seeming to compose himself for a moment. His tone then took on a quiet solemnity. “Had you known Captain Smith for some time?”
“Yes, I had known him a great many years.” Ismay coughed, trying to slow the momentum of the sadness welling up within him.
“On what ships of your line had he been captain?”
“I think he had been commander of a great many of them,” Ismay answered softly. “The first time I remember Captain Smith being commander of one of our ships was when he was in command of one of our cargo boats called the Cufic , a great many years ago.” Images of great ocean liners danced through his head, each of them symbols of happier times and indicators of just how much had been entrusted to E,J., and for how long. Ismay shook his head sadly. “I cannot remember them all, sir. We have a record, in the office, of every ship he has commanded.”
Smith narrowed his eyes, and Ismay could not decipher if it was out of precision in his next choice of words, or suspicion of what his answer would be.
“Do you yourself know anything about the construction of vessels- I mean, technically?”
“No, I could not say I do.”
The Senator seemed to size up Ismay for a long moment before continuing. “In ordering this vessel, did you give Harland and Wolff any special instructions with reference to her safety?”
“We were very anxious indeed to have a ship which would float with her two largest watertight compartments full of water. What we wanted to guard against was any steamer running into the ship and hitting her on a bulkhead, because if the ship ran into her broadside on and happened to hit her right on a bulkhead, that would open up two big compartments, and we were anxious to guard against the possibility of that happening. So, the Titanic was constructed in such a way that she would float with the two largest compartments full of water.”
“You remember, I think, the statement of the wheelman, that the last thing he did before striking the iceberg was to turn his wheel as to avoid contact directly with the bow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you recall that?”
“I... I think he said he was told 'Hard aport,' and then 'Hard astarboard,' if I remember rightly.”
“Suppose that had not been done, Mr. Ismay, and the ship had met this iceberg bows on- what would have been the effect, in your judgment?”
Ismay felt a panel of senatorial eyes boring into him, as he momentarily struggled for a answer. Finally, he continued. “It is really impossible to say, he smiled nervously. “It- it is only a matter of opinion. I think that the ship would have crushed her bows in, and might not have sunk.”
“She might not have sunk?”
“She might not have sunk.” A slight groan of sadness was heard from the spectators in the
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