Soliloquism - Soliloquism

“He Was Not Likeable”: Alfred Nourney

Alfred Nourney was from Cologne, Germany. He was 20 years old when he embarked on Titanic at Cherbourg, France, in the evening of April 10, 1912.

Research published in recent years has suggested that Alfred was banished by to the United States by his mother, after he had gotten a local woman pregnant. Alfred, on the other hand, insisted that he had been in Paris with his mother and had annoyed her into purchasing a ticket on his behalf.

Whichever might be true, Alfred intended to launch a career "demonstrating motorcars" once he arrived stateside.

Alfred boarded the Titanic as a Second-class passenger. He called himself Baron von Drachstedt.

But he quickly determined that Second-class accommodations simply could not do for such a baron as himself.

Alfred therefore sought out the Purser's office, and requested an upgrade to a First-class ticket for a nominal fee.

And it worked, possibly due to his insistence on his supposed aristocratic status.

Exactly why Alfred rebranded himself as a baron is unknown.

He may have been trying to evade the scandal that might have followed him due to his liaison; or, perhaps he called himself a baron to accomplish exactly what he accomplished: better accommodations on the ship's illustrious miaden voyage.

Or maybe it was just to be more impressive to the elites he was so eager to meet.

If that latter-most was true, it was not successful: Alfred was hardly popular amongst his "peers" in First-class.

And with justifiable reason. Although Alfred was by all accounts delighted by his surroundings and social opportunities.

"I'm so happy being first class!" he wrote to his mother. "I already know some nice people! A Diamondking! Mister Astor, one of the wealthiest Americans, is on board! Thousand Kisses Alfred"

And yet, Helen Churchill Candee wrote thusly of her first interaction with him.

At my table in the dining room were six persons. ‘ Good morning,’ I greeted them with an inclusive bow. Four of them looked shy and scarcely acknowledged my effort at traveler’s courtesy. Poor things, I didn’t mean to hurt them. One only arose and made me a standing bow. It was my turn to be shy and I did not like it. The man was evidently of the world, his tall figure wore English tweeds, yet I could swear be was born and bred on the Continent. He had a certain sleekness that lessened the value of his good looks. He managed to slip his card to me after part of our fellows had left the table. The card held a German name and gave him the title of Baron. He spoke to me in perfect English with none of the accents that so often offend the ear. But he was not likeable, thereafter I avoided him.

While on board, Alfred entertained himself by sending out two Marconigrams, both on April 13th, and both at 12:20 p.m. The contents were similar, and hardly of substance.

On the evening of April 14th, Alfred had been playing bridge in the First-Class Smoking Lounge with Henry Blank and William Greenfield. They reportedly barely felt a shudder, but only saw the liquor sway in their glasses.

Alfred, supposedly by way of the captain's private staircase which he had discovered during a clandestine exploration of the vessel, eventually made his way to Lifeboat 7 on the starboard side. He boarded with neither difficulty nor resistance.

It was the first lifeboat to launch from Titanic.

Also in Lifeboat 7 were actress Dorothy Gibson, newlyweds Helen and Dickinson Bishop, and French aviator Pierre Marechal.

They did not much care for Alfred either.

And again, they were not without reason. Helen Bishop later described the distasteful and disruptive actions of "the baron" in an interview published less than a week later, on April 20, 1912.

He went to the Smoking Room, and lay down on top of a pile of blankets, monopolizing them for himself to be used as a bed. The blankets were intended for survivors as they were brought aboard, and Nourney refused to move when a woman asked for them.

The lady, disgusted, nearly spat out the words: 'To think of it: the like of you saved and women left to drown; shame on you.' She could scarcely restrain the urge to grab Nourney by the collar and toss him into the sea. She yanked away the top blanket underneath Nourney, causing him to roll on to the floor. People jeered him and, thoroughly shamed, he beat a hasty retreat from the room.

During the trip the crew of the Carpathia placed at the disposal of the extra passengers a large quantity of emigrant blankets… It was bitterly cold one night and there seemed to be an unusual dearth of blankets. My friend and I approached the count, whose name I never learned, and I asked him for some of the huge stack of blankets that he had appropriated.

"'You wouldn't have me give up my nice warm bed, would you?' pleaded the count. 'Yes, I would,' I answered. I couldn't get them until I called him a brute and demanded them. He then got up grumbling and under him were ten of the heavy blankets, while others were shivering about the deck. We took two of the blankets and as he settled down on the others I leaned over him and said. 'You were saved and women and children went down with the ship.' Some wanted to throw him overboard.

One of the real sufferers by the Titanic disaster is Baron Alfred von Drachstedt, 20 years of age, who hails from the sweet-scented city of Cologne. Escaping with his life, Alfred is mourning with a grief that refuses to be assuaged the loss of his entire wardrobe, and is of two minds as to suing for the value thereof, because he doubts the ability of American tailors and haberdashers to replace in proper style the things made in Germany which may now be in the midst of some predatory shark or whale cavorting around the banks of Newfoundland.

In order that the reader may fully appreciate the gloom which surrounds the youthful baron, wo append a list of the vanished glories with which he had equipped himself for an invasion of the United States. He puts their value at $2,320, but for ourselves we are fain to confess that this seems a beggarly price. However, here is the tally sheet, and those who are more conversant with glad rags than ourselves can figure the thing out for themselves: Ten suits of clothes, two tuxedoes, four overcoats, twenty white shirts, and twenty colored ones, twenty negligee shirts, fifteen night shirts, forty collars, fourteen suits of underwear, forty, pairs of hose, sixteen pairs of assorted shoes, one hundred and twenty scarfs, fifty handkerchiefs, six pairs of knickerbockers, two hunting suits, an aviation coat, ten pairs of gloves, two top hats, nine other headpieces, eight tennis trousers and coats, ten silk tennis shirts, with rings, cigarette cases, watches, match boxes, scarfpins, diamond studs, a sweet gold bracelet and ever so much more.

“I Did Not Think I Was Going to Live”: Thomas McCormack

Thomas traveled with his cousins, brothers John and Phillip Kiernan. John was returning to his home in the United States, and had persuaded his younger brother Phillip to come along to the new world.

Unexpectedly along with Thomas and the Kiernan boys were the Murphy sisters, Kate and Margaret. The girls were running away from home, defying their aging and widowed mother.

None in the party were more than 25 years old.

Thomas, John, and Phillip boarded the train to Queenstown on the morning on April 11, 1912.

Once seated, they were met with many other steerage passengers bound from their home of Co. Longford. Amongst these newfound compatriots were three siblings: Barney, Agnes, and Alice McCoy.

According to the recollections of the McCoy family, the new friends conversed amiably and even sang throughout the ride down to Queenstown.

Once the party disembarked the train, they boarded the tender ship America.

The America was one of a pair of tenders (the other being her sister Ireland) tasked with ferrying Queenstown passengers from the dock over to the Titanic. The passage took approximately thirty minutes.

On board the America, piper Eugene Daly played Erin's Lament as the tender gained distance from the shore.

The Titanic turned toward the open sea at about 2:30 p.m.

Thomas most likely stuck with Co. Longford group as they sought out their cabins in the seemingly endless corridors deep below. A hearty dinner would follow.

As is the case for many steerage passengers on Titanic, there is scant official documentation of how Thomas McCormack spent time on board.

But thanks to the aforementioned recollections of descendants of the McCoys, some casual memories persist: most of their evenings were apparently whiled away in the general room, or otherwise in the Third-Class Smoking Room.

Thomas was presumably a part of these gatherings, as one of the McCoy sisters reportedly came down with a bit of a crush on young Tom, and was frequently in his company.

Meanwhile, Kate Murphy had brought her violin on board. She thusly played with other musicians in the Third-class party that occurred in the evening hours of April 14th, the night of the iceberg strike.

Whether Thomas attended this party is not documented. But since Kate had played her violin that night and Katie Gilnagh, who had also befriended Thomas's group on the train, was also in attendance, it is reasonable to assume that Thomas may have at least made an appearance.

Tom's sister Catherine later claimed that her brother had to fight his way past crewmembers to make it up to the boat deck. Tom himself said, "When I was running up to the deck in the confusion that night, I did not think I was going to live."

Once up top, Thomas found himself navigating through "many excited persons" who were "crying and yelling." Then Thomas ran into Barney McCoy, one of the Co. Longford group he had made friends with while on the train to Queenstown.

Tom and Barney "were not long in finding out that the ship was sure to sink." The boys proceeded to secure and fasten their lifebelts. Tom may have assisted in seeing Barney's two sisters off in a lifeboat.

The boys had realized that the Titanic "was settling badly."

So they jumped overboard.

"I panicked and ran to the rail. I never stopped to look how far from the water I was. I just jumped over," Tom recounted. "It felt like a mile down to the ocean, and it was freezing water. All I had was my lifejacket."

Thomas surfaced and swam for a nearby lifeboat.

But he was attacked.

In a contemporary article published by the Tasmanian periodical Examiner, "He got his hands on the gunwale of a lifeboat, but members of the crew struck him on the head and tore his hands loose."

His experience was also officially documented during the British Inquiry into the Titanic disaster.

After being beaten severely by sailors with oars I managed to get into one of the life and boats [sic]... [Kate and Margaret Murphy] sat on me and tried to cover me up.

After a while one of the sailors saw my legs protruding, and seizing them asked me ' what in _____' I was doing in the boat. He dragged me out and tried to throw me into the water. I grabbed him by the throat and said if I went overboard I would take him with me. When he saw that he could not thro [sic] me over he finally desisted and I was allowed to remain.

Upon the arrival of the rescue ship Carpathia, Thomas McCormack disembarked to be picked up by his brother-in-law, Bernard Evers, who had traveled to New York City to bring Thomas home.

But amidst the confusion on the dock, in the dark cold and under the rain, the men missed each other entirely.

Bernard hunted all night and the following morning for Thomas. As fear mounted that perhaps Thomas's survival had been falsely reported, Bernard learned that Thomas had been transferred to Ellis Island so "his credentials could be inspected," since no one had claimed him.

“Enormous Icebergs Surrounding Us, White as Swans”: Mary Conover Lines

As an expatriate family, Mary Conover Lines and her mother Elizabeth were already familiar with transatlantic travel, although they did not do so very often.

But in April 1912, they were intent to travel to Dartmouth College in New Hampshire, to attend the graduation of Mary’s older brother Howard.

American by birth, Mary had lived abroad with her parents for several years while her father, Ernest, represented his employer, New York Life Insurance Company, as its medical director in Europe. The family resided in Paris, which is where Mary received her education.

Mary and her mother traveled on their own, ahead of Mr. Lines who was kept back by work. "My mother and I came on ahead," she said, "as my father could not take too long a time away from his work. Just for fun and excitement, my father got a state room for my mother and myself on the new Titanic."

So Mrs. Lines and Mary boarded Titanic on April 10, 1912, as First-class passengers in Southampton. Their accommodations were located on D-Deck.

Mary was 16 years old at the time; Elizabeth, 50.

Titanic was, as Mary described it, "a delightful ship... in its furnishings [and] decorations."

On the evening of the iceberg strike, Mary and Elizabeth had retired early because it was so cold. Mary said they took great solace in the electric heater installed in the room.

Then they heard "a big blow on the ship" followed by "the escaping steam" from a funnel making what Mary called "a fiendish noise."

Shortly thereafter, Mary stated that their unnamed steward stopped by and instructed them to remain in their cabin, insisting there was no danger. Mary said, "I always thought that he should have come back and told us the truth, rather than say that we should stay in our cabin, but I think, probably, by that time he was too busy doing something else."

Mary and her mother only left their cabin once they overheard their neighbor, Percival White, "shout[ing] to his son to run for the lifeboats."

Mary elaborated on this moment in her own retelling.

Our next-door neighbor came running down to his cabin--he and his son were very delightful people from Hawaii and belonged to one of the families who had settled there as early missionaries and then become [sic] interested in many different things in Ireland. This father, I think, was talking to his son--they were rushing around finding their lifebelts. I opened the door to ask what was going on and he said, "My goodness, are you still here? Get up on deck as fast as you can. The ship is sinking."

After this exchange with Mr. White, Mary and her mother struggled to find and grab their lifevests because, according to Mary, they were out of reach on top of a cabinet.

The ladies then made their way up to the boat deck without getting properly dressed.

Mary and Elizabeth joined the other First-class passengers who were "congregating on the boat deck." The crew were distributing blankets from "two big barrels" as they stood, not moving much.

Eventually, Mary had the idea to go back down into their cabin and retrieve proper clothing for herself and her mother. She said that it was only on her way back down-deck, she said, that she realized there were quite so many flights of stairs.

On her descent, she encountered Second-class passengers on the stairs who were being directed "to the First-class boats" by an unidentified officer. "There was a slight moment of panic," she stated about the Second-class passengers, "wondering whether they were going to make it, but there was no real panic."

By the time Mary arrived on D Deck, she saw that most people had already fled the area. So she gave up the task of grabbing the clothing and headed back whence she had come.

Mary recalled that on the return journey, she found herself walking in line up the stairs behind John Jacob Astor and his young bride Madeleine.

Upon Mary's return to her mother in line on boat deck, the ladies were handed the afore-mentioned blankets and were "pushed into a boat."

Elizabeth later testified that an unnamed officer assisted her and her daughter in securing their lifebelts, and told them, "We're sending you out as a matter of precaution; we hope you will be back for breakfast."

Elizabeth and Mary Lines thereafter boarded Lifeboat 9, which was launched from the starboard side of Titanic by First Officer William McMaster Murdoch and Chief Purser Hugh McElroy.

On board with the Mary and Elizabeth were approximately 31 other passengers, including Leontine Aubart, the known mistress of Benjamin Guggenheim.

Mary later recounted that "it was a very dark night... I mean, there were stars, but you couldn't see anything." Furthermore, she insisted that there was no light in the lifeboat.

"The men who were manning the ship... were very unwilling to approach any nearer," she said, "because they said there would be terrific suction."

Upon Mary's return to her mother in line on boat deck, the ladies were handed the afore-mentioned blankets and were "pushed into a boat."

This was Lifeboat 9, which was launched from the starboard side of Titanic by First Officer William McMaster Murdoch and Chief Purser Hugh McElroy. On board with the Mary and Elizabeth were approximately 31 other passengers, including Leontine Aubart, the known mistress of Benjamin Guggenheim.

Mary later recounted that "it was a very dark night... I mean, there were stars, but you couldn't see anything." Furthermore, she insisted that there was no light in the lifeboat.

Fortunately, Mary had kept a penlight in her pocket. "it was the only thing that we had on the boat to find the oars and find the oar locks and get ourselves organized to try and row." Mary insisted that the sailors in the lifeboat refused to return to Titanic in any attempt to save others. "The men who were manning the ship... were very unwilling to approach any nearer, because they said there would be terrific suction."

Dawn eventually broke.

But their survival story is not typically what draws attention to Mary and Elizabeth Lines.

Instead, it is a conversation that the ladies happened to overhear, which was thereafter treated as one of catastrophic consequence.

In the afternoon hours of April 13th, Mary sat down with her mother for coffee in the First-class Reception Room, as they had made a habit of doing after luncheon.

After the ladies were seated, J. Bruce Ismay, chairman of the White Star Line, entered the room with Captain Smith.

The men were then seated at their usual corner table, mere feet from where Mrs. And Miss Lines were already situated.

Captain Smith and Mr. Ismay commenced a two-hour-long, apparently one-sided conversation.

And Mary and her mother bore witness to it.

In a sworn deposition taken in 1913, Mary’s mother asserted that she had witnessed Mr. Ismay pressuring Captain Smith to accelerate the Titanic by lighting the last boilers, so the ship could have a glorious earlier arrival in New York City.

41. Are you able to state from your recollection the words that you heard spoken between Mr. Ismay and Captain Smith on that occasion?

- We had had a very good run. At first I did not pay any attention to what they were saying, they were simply talking and I was occupied, and then my attention was arrested by hearing the day's run discussed, which I already knew had been a very good one in the preceeding (sic) twenty-four hours, and I heard Mr. Ismay - it was Mr. Ismay who did the talking - I heard him give the length of the run, and I heard him say "Well, we did better to-day than we did yesterday, we made a better run to-day than we did yesterday, we will make a better run to-morrow. Things are working smoothly, the machinery is bearing the test, the boilers are working well". They went on discussing it, and then I heard him make the statement: "We will beat the Olympic and get in to New York on Tuesday."

42. In your last statement, Mrs. Lines, were you giving the substance of the conversation or the exact words which were used?

- I heard "We will beat the Olympic and get in to New York on Tuesday" in those words.

43. If there were any particular words spoken that you can remember, I should be glad to hear them.

- Those words fixed themselves in my mind: "We will beat the Olympic and get in to New York on Tuesday."

44. Do I understand you to say that the other things that you stated were the general substance of what you heard and not the exact things or words used?

- No, I heard those statements.

Mrs. Lines continued by stating that she did not hear Captain Smith’s voice in this exchange, but only “saw him nod his head a few times.”

Mr. Ismay, however, was “very positive” and assertive tone. “One might almost say dictatorial,” Elizabeth testified. “He asked no questions… there was a great deal of repetition.... his voice sounded very emphatic."

Mrs. Lines went on to testify that the conversation ended unceremoniously.

"Come on, Captain," Ismay reportedly said as he rose from the table, "we will get somebody and go down to the squash courts."

“That Is Where They Die”: Paul Maugé

Paul, whose full name was Paul Achille Maurice Germain Maugé, was Parisian by birth, and an illegitimate child by contemporary mores.

As a member of the restaurant staff on Titanic, Paul would have been bunked on E-Deck; the only exception to this standard appears to have been Luigi Gatti, who was the restaurant's manager and overseer.

The a la carte restaurant, otherwise referred to as the Ritz, was an independent dining establishment available exclusively to First-class clientele.

The Ritz catered to those who felt compelled to further distinguish, or perhaps remove themselves, from their perceived lessers.

Mr. Gatti, the owner of two popular restaurants in London, also ran the a la carte restaurant on Titanic's elder sister, Olympic.

And with that success, Mr. Gatti unveiled its counterpart on Titanic; the latter, however, could seat more patrons--and therefore, mandated additional staff.

Paul Maugé's position as the Secretary to the Chef was a novel addition to the structuring of the Ritz. It is rumored, though not confirmed to date, that his pay exceeded that of even Second Officer Lightoller.

Essentially a kitchen clerk, Paul may have acted as a bookkeeper, dealing in fiscal matters; it has also been suggested that Paul functioned as the maitre d'hotel, a front-facing representative, or even heir apparent, to Luigi Gatti.

Paul himself, however, consistently described himself as a Secretary to the Chef, and he attested to being in said chef's company for the duration of the sinking.

The chef was named Pierre Rousseau.

Paul Maugé's movements throughout the voyage are undocumented, but it reasonable to assume he was simply carrying out his duties.

On the night of April 14, 1912, Paul stated that he was roused from sleep by his cabin-mate, an unnamed pastry chef, getting up from bed in response to the iceberg strike.

He claimed to have then heard an "alarm signal"--a ringing bell--that is believed to have been sounded in the watertight compartments. Paul, however, testified that the alarm existed to alert Third-class passengers.

Paul then went to "the front of the ship" on the "First-class passenger deck" to ascertain what was happening, where he insisted he saw the first lifeboat being lowered. On the way back down toward his cabin, he claimed to have witnessed Captain Smith on his return from the boiler rooms.

Paul, with his accommodations situated on E-Deck, also encountered flummoxed steerage passengers. "A lot of persons came from the front and went to the back," he said. "Some of them with luggage, some with children. Some showed us a piece of ice."

Sufficiently alert to danger now, Paul thusly determined to make his way to Chef Rousseau.

20125. What became of all the other persons who were employed in the restaurant; did they remain on the deck or did they go up with you?
- Well, I go down again, and I said to the chef, "There is some danger happening; we must get up." He lost his temper - he lost himself.

20126. He lost his presence of mind?
- Yes.

20127. Do you mean that he was agitated at what you told him?
- Yes.

20128. And lost his head - is that what you mean?
- Yes. I said to the other cooks to wait for us. After that we had been by the third class deck just at the back, and we have been trying to go on the second class passenger deck. Two or three stewards were there, and would not let us go. I was dressed and the chef was too. He was not in his working dress; he was just like me. I asked the stewards to pass. I said I was the secretary to the chef, and the stewards said, "Pass along, get away." So the other cooks were obliged to stay on the deck there; they could not go up. That is where they die.

Paul suspected that he and Chef Rousseau were permitted to pass by the stewards because they were not uniformed, but dressed in plainclothes.

"[The stewards] let me pass, Me and the chef, because I was dressed like a passenger," Paul said. "I think that was why they let me pass."

Once the pair of men reached the upper decks, they waited and watched for the other restaurant staff to appear up top.

But they never did.

Paul insisted that a small number of unidentified stewards kept them back. "I cannot say after that how they managed to try to pass," he said. "Anyway they could not pass because I stood on the second class passenger deck for half-an-hour."

After this half-hour has passed, Paul and Chef Rousseau ascended the boat deck.

Finding themselves on the starboard side, Paul and Pierre Rousseau looked on as some of the last boats were lowered, though the order of said boats is uncertain.

It was then that Paul realized an opportunity for salvation. "About six or ten persons were jumping in" a lifeboat from the top deck, and Paul spontaneously made his move to do the same.

"The second or third lifeboat was between two decks and I jumped directly from the top deck to this lifeboat," he explained. "It was going to the water, but it was between two decks when I jumped."

But Chef Rousseau would not follow.

20165. (The Commissioner.) How big a jump did you take? Just show us along this curtain?
- About half this, perhaps. (Pointing.)

20166. Down to where you are standing?
- Yes, to the lifeboat.

20167. (The Attorney-General.) He said about 10 feet. (To the witness.) You got into the boat, and eventually were saved?
- Yes, but before that I did ask the chef to jump many times, but the chef was too fat I must say - too big, you know. He could not jump.

20168. He was too stout, and, at any rate, he would not jump?
- No.

20169. You jumped. I suppose you saw it was very serious?
- Yes, and when I was in the lifeboat I shouted to him again in French. "Sautez."

20170. To jump down to you?
- Yes; he said something, but I could not hear because at the same moment a man said to me, "Shut up," or something like that.

Paul later claimed that, at that exact moment, a man on Titanic tried to remove him from his seat by catching him by the back of his coat as the lifeboat was lowered past--or perhaps was level with--a lower deck.

He did not see the chef again.

Pierre Rousseau perished in the sinking. His remains, if ever recovered, went unidentified.

Paul, having rescued himself in what is now presumed to have been Lifeboat 13, went on to testify at the British Inquiry on Day 19--although his testimony was apparently a bit befuddling due to a language barrier.

Of 69 restaurant employees on Titanic, Paul Maugé was one of only three who survived the disaster.

He went on to marry twice. He eventually moved with his second wife to Montreal, Canada, where he died in 1971 at the age of 83.

“For Presentation to Passengers, Executed on the Shortest Notice”: Food Storage on Titanic

Foodstuffs were supplied to Titanic in veritable tonnage.

In regard to produce: an established fruiterer of Southampton, called Oakley & Watling, was a regular supplier for the White Star Line. A contemporary advertisement boasts: "Every Description of Decorative Floral Work for Ships. --- Fancy Baskets & Bouquets of Choicest Flowers --- Also --- Ornamental Baskets of Assorted Fruit For Presentation to Passengers, Executed on the Shortest Notice."

Another supplier was Grey's, a Liverpudlian firm who had more recently opened a local branch.

These stocks were brought on board in logical but no less staggering numbers.

Potatoes 40 tons

Onions 3,500 lbs.

Tomatoes 3,500 lbs.

Fresh asparagus 800 bundles

Fresh green peas 2,500 lbs.

Lettuce 7,000 heads

Apples 36,000

Orange is 36,000

Lemons 16,000

Grapes 1,000 lbs.

Grapefruit 13,000

The varietals of a portion of this produce, such as the apples, is subject to speculation.

For instance, a preserved menu card from First-Class breakfast on April 11, 1912, offers a baked-apple dish. Baked apples were commonly made with russett apples; this may very well have been the case on Titanic.

Otherwise, it is reasonable to assume that, in the absence of global fruit trade and year-long cultivation methods of today, that the varietals on board would have been subject to the season in the United Kingdom. That produce, in turn, might have been swapped out for what was readily available in America for the return trip.

The extensive refrigeration network that housed this gargantuan horde of produce occupied lower decks, as well as orlop. It boasted individuated cold chambers for all varieties of the foodstuffs onboard.

Separate cold chambers, whose temperatures could be independently regulated, maintained the likes of mineral water; dairy products such as butter, milk, and cheese; beef; poultry, fish, game, and bacon; champagne stores; and assorted vegetables and fruit. Cold chambers were also assigned exclusively to fresh-cut flowers.

Additionally, cold larders were installed throughout Titanic in various bars and pantries, to permit for ice-making.

The engineering of this refrigeration system--while a complex matter, the mechanics of which are better left to a more capable writer--essentially made use of a brine circulation system to keep contents evenly cool.

Along with the afore-stated produce, Titanic also brought with it 2,200 lbs. of coffee.

So there was, naturally, also a "Coffee Man": a 35-year-old named Johannes Vogelin-Dubach, who worked as waitstaff in the Ritz, which was the a la carte restaurant available exclusively to First-Class passengers.

The Assistant Coffee Man was a 24-year-old friend of Johannes's named Gerald Grosclaude, with whom he shared a home address in Southampton.

There is little evidence as to how coffee was served on board, though it was presumably drip-style. Fancier options may have been available to the First-Class.

In the Ritz Restaurant, it would not have been atypical for coffee to have been served in tandem with liqueurs. This practice was common enough that coffee was often served only three-quarters full, in order to accommodate the so-called "cordials" that would be poured directly into the cup.

Then there was the Ice Cream Room. This insulated and refrigerated space contained 1,750 quarts of fine ice cream, possibly contained in metal canisters.

The Ice Cream Room, found down on G Deck, would have been visited primarily by the Titanic's sole "Ice Man," who oversaw frozen confections for the clientele of the Ritz Restaurant.

This singular role belonged Adolf Mattmann, a 20-year-old from Switzerland who had previously apprenticed as a pastry chef and worked in confection at an illustrious hotel in Lucerne. He had only moved to England in the autumn of 1911, when he worked as a patissier on Titanic's elder sister, the R.M.S. Olympic.

When Adolf signed onto Titanic, he did so with marked intention.

Adolf wrote to his parents, "I want to make at least two crossings working in pastry aboard the Titanic because after that I will be able to get almost any pastry chef job in any of the best hotels in London."

Neither Adolf, nor the Coffee Men Johannes and Gerard, survived the sinking.

Because the refrigerated holds were aft and deep within the vessel, the whole of the complex is assumed to have been obliterated by the stern's implosion as Titanic sank.

“There Will Be a Tragedy, But You Will Be Saved”: Delia McDermott

Delia McDermott was a farmer's daughter.

One of four living children, Delia (whose first name was actually Bridget) was born in Addergoole, Co. Mayo, Ireland, in March of 1881.

Delia had planned to visit her cousin, Maria, who had emigrated to St. Louis, Missouri. Emigration via passenger ships had incentivized a thriving network of local businesses who purveyed in tickets for such trips. According to the BBC, "Ticket agents went door to door, shops of every kind sold tickets and even schoolteachers supplemented their income selling passage on the White Star Line" around Ireland.

Delia McDermott turned to Thomas Durcan, one of the ticket brokers (then called a "shipping agent"), and purchased a steerage ticket for the maiden voyage of Titanic.

At age 31, Delia McDermott was at last emigrating to America.

Some days prior to her scheduled departure, Delia made her way into the town of Crossmina to buy herself some proper garments for her journey.

Somewhere along the way, she had been assured that all the fancy ladies in America wore fine hats.

It was certainly a splurge. Whether with her own funds or, as some retellings have it, with the help of her mother, Delia left Crawley's shop in Crossmina with a very fancy hat.

It was her pride and joy. Reflecting on the matter, Delia's daughter is reported to have said, "Hats being what they were in those days, it was no doubt a huge expenditure for her family and it was a going-away gift."

But according to family lore, Delia's joy was snuffed out that very evening before she departed for Queenstown, when a stranger greeted her with foreboding.

Delia McDermott’s niece… tells the story of a strange and chilling encounter between her aunt and a mysterious man in black in Lahardane village the evening before she left for Cobh [Queenstown].

"She was in Lahardane with friends when suddenly a hand tapped her on the shoulder," [her niece] explained.

"She turned around and there was a little man there whom she thought was a traveler. My aunt went to give the man a few pennies and he told her he knew she was going on a long journey."

"There will be a tragedy, but you will be saved,” the little man said before disappearing.

When Delia mentioned the little man to her friends, they said they hadn’t seen anybody…

However unnerved she may have been, the next day Delia McDermott set out for the port of Queenstown in spite of the stranger's augury.

At Queenstown, Delia met up with the others in her party who had also purchased tickets via ticket agent Thomas Durcan; there were fourteen of them in all, including herself.

The group would thereafter be called The Addergoole Fourteen.

There is no record of how the Addergoole Fourteen might have spent that final night ashore before embarking on Titanic on April 11th.

On the night of the iceberg strike, Delia and her cabin-mates were already in their beds. They reportedly felt nothing of the crash.

A steward then came to their cabin and insisted that the ladies rise, get dressed, and get up topside to the boat deck; he also reassured them that there was no danger. Delia reportedly remembered that unidentified officers and/or crew had kept passengers at bay, informing them that preparations were not yet ready.

Yet--somehow--Delia was an early arrival to the lifeboats. She readily took her seat.

And then promptly forfeited it.

Because, once seated in the lifeboat, Delia realized in a panic that she had left what might have been her most precious possession--her prized hat--behind in her cabin.

So she jumped from the lifeboat back onto boat deck, and made her way down into steerage, where cabins had begun flooding. All in order to salvage the hat.

Having done so, Delia then had to find her way back up top.

And quite miraculously, she did.

With the aid of two men named John Rourke and Pat Canavan, both of the Addergoole Fourteen, Delia and other steerage girls were saved. The group was shepherded to the upper decks via a ladder that Pat and John had discovered while exploring the ship in the days prior.

Back on the boat deck, Delia McDermott somehow found her way to another lifeboat. According to Delia's niece, "[Saving her hat] was perhaps a foolish thing to do, but luckily she managed to get a place in another boat. She had to jump 15 feet from a rope ladder onto the lifeboat. At this stage the Titanic was sideways. It was going down."

The lifeboat that saved Delia McDermott, while not conclusively identified, is often speculated to have been Lifeboat 13.

Delia went on to successfully settle in the United States. She married a man from Co. Galway, Ireland, who had emigrated around 1915, and the new family made their home in New Jersey.

One of the saddest sights ever witnessed in the West of Ireland was the waking of the five young girls and one young man from a village near Lahardane, who went down with the ill-fated Titanic. They were all from the same village, and when the first news of the appalling catastrophe reached their friends the whole community was plunged into unutterable grief. They cherished for a time the remote hope that they were saved, but when the dread news of their terrible fate arrived, a feeling of excruciating anguish took place.

For two days and two nights wakes were held. The photograph of each victim was placed on the bed on which they had slept before leaving home and kindred. The beds were covered with snow white quilts and numbers of candles were lighted around.

The wailing and moaning of people was very distressing and would almost draw a tear from a stone…

The loss was profound, even financially.

Most Addergoole families had no means to reimburse the funds they might have borrowed to facilitate the emigration on Titanic, where they had invested all their hopes. Many could not afford to spend further money to attempt another family member's emigration.

"The delicate chain of emigration," writes BBC News, "was broken."

There was little, if any, financial reprieve. Thomas Durcan and a Mrs. Walsh worked desperately for remediation to help the bereft families, lobbying the White Star Line and even the Lord Mayor of London. There appears to be no record of their success in these matters.

As for Delia McDermott, she reportedly rarely spoke of Titanic other than to admit she had gone back for her hat. Her children were forbidden from asking her anything about it.

And, refusing to ever cross the ocean again, she never returned to Ireland.

She died in 1959.

“Genial, Polished, and With a Courtly Air”: Thomas Francis Myles

Thomas was Irish-born and an adventurer from the start. He reportedly began working for the White Star Line after his exit from St. Colman’s College in Cork.

His employment took him afar to India via a freighter--conveniently skippered by a cousin--where he experienced both Bombay and Calcutta. Sometime later, Thomas also sailed up the length of the Mississippi River.

Eventually, Thomas arrived in the city of Boston, Massachusetts, supposedly with nothing but a single pound to his name. He settled there, marrying a few years later to a woman named Mary, the American daughter of Irish parents.

Thomas became a naturalized American citizen in 1878.

Ever since, Thomas been a resident of Massachusetts, and a rather prosperous one at that.

Via the gradual acquisition of land and at least ten properties, Thomas had built his fortune. By 1890, he had constructed a proud and splendid mansion called “Idlewild” in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and he was reported to have been planning to build another.

According to the Hudson Observer, the Myles family became "regarded as one of the most influential and respected in Cambridge."

Time passed. And then, in late 1911, Thomas was summoned back to Ireland by a death in the family.

So Thomas returned to his home country, to sell off a portion of the family estate. He is reported to have been accompanied by his daughter Gertrude.

Thomas also went home to oversee the custody and safekeeping of his younger brother James, who was now Thomas's last surviving relative in Ireland. James, noted as a tailor by trade, was reported to have struggled with learning disabilities, and was unable to write or read.

In packing for the journey home, Thomas made sure to stock up on comforts from his homeland: 50 lbs of Irish creamery butter, to be specific, as well as ten lbs of tea.

Thomas was initially America-bound on another White Star liner, but the coal strike had interfered.

He therefore transferred his passage to the Carpathia. Unfortunately, it was at capacity and could not accommodate additional passengers.

And so, Thomas booked Second-class passage on Titanic.

Close beside me – so near that I cannot avoid hearing scraps of their conversation – are two American ladies, both dressed in white, young, probably friends only: one has been to India and is returning by way of England, the other is a school-teacher in America, a graceful girl with a distinguished air heightened by a pair of pince-nez. Engaged in conversation with them is a gentleman whom I subsequently identified from a photograph as a well-known resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts, genial, polished, and with a courtly air towards the two young ladies, whom he has known but a few hours; from time to time as they talk, a child acquaintance breaks in on their conversation and insists on their taking notice of a large doll clasp in her arms...

Thomas Francis Myles died when Titanic sank.

His body, if ever recovered, was not identified.

In the immediate aftermath of the sinking, Thomas's family was vocal in their hopes that he had survived. But they were swiftly proven wrong.

In Jersey City, New Jersey, Thomas's son, Frederick, suffered a violent and public mental breakdown in the days following the disaster. Contemporary reporting describe him as "crazed with grief from brooding over the untimely death of his father" leading him to "a tear along Grove Street" resulting in arrest.

Frederick was thereafter found by police to be exhibiting symptoms of "delirium tremens," or alcohol withdrawal, and was detained. His brother, Leo, came down from Cambridge to collect him.

Three weeks after the disaster, an unnamed survivor reportedly visited the bereft Myles family to inform them that they had witnessed Thomas sit in--and then abruptly exit--a lifeboat, insisting on 'women and children first.'

He was also supposedly seen on deck, leading a group of passengers in a recitation of the Rosary. This particular report has led some to believe that the witness was mistaken, and had actually witnessed Fr. Thomas Byles in his heroic final moments.

Another survivor also elected to visit the Myles, this time with a more concrete account: Lawrence Beesley, who had previously noted Thomas Myles during their shared time in the Second-class library.

There is another side to this record of how the news came through, and a sad one, indeed… The name of an American gentleman – the same who sat near me in the library on Sunday afternoon, and whom I identified later from my photograph – was consistently reported in the list as saved and aboard the Carpathia: his son journey to New York to meet him, rejoicing at his deliverance, and never found him there. When I met his family some days later and was able to give them some details of his life aboard ship, it seemed almost cruel to tell them…

“Oh, Let the Train Go By”: The Fortunately Unfortunate Slade Brothers

On April 6th, the Slade trio successfully signed onto Titanic’s maiden voyage as firemen. All three brothers listed their address as 21 Chantry Road in Southampton, where they lived with their mother.

The Titanic was scheduled to depart Southampton at noon on April 10th.

The Slade boys were expected to muster alongside their fellow sign-ons at 8:00 a.m. And they did so.

Names were taken down, and orders were issued. The crew were instructed to stand by until the ship departed. Most of the men, including the Slades, elected to return to shore to while away the time.

A fellow fireman named John Podesta, who according to his sign-on record was a neighbor of the Slade family on Chantry Road, also chose to go ashore.

John continued, stating that he and his “watch-mate” William left the Newcastle around 11:15 a.m., bound for the docks.

But they shortly thereafter decided they had more than enough time to sneak in one more round at The Grapes, a public house on Oxford Street.

There, John and William ran into the Slade brothers, perhaps alongside three or four other wayward firemen—among them a boy with the surname Penney, who reportedly boarded with the Slade family and for whom Titanic was his first-ever ship.

According to John Podesta, the group of six or so finally exited The Grapes at only ten minutes to noon to make their harried way to the Titanic.

But then fate rode in.

Sixth Officer James Moody oversaw that particular gangway.

After Podesta and Nutbean had presumably barreled their way on board, Officer Moody had withdrawn the gangway, only to briefly drop it back into place to allow a delivery boy to disembark the Titanic.

And as Officer Moody ordered the gangway pulled back for the second time, the disordered Slades ran up.

Still on the dock with bags hung ready from their shoulders, the boys shouted their appeals up the ship's side. They demanded to be let on board.

But Officer Moody would not give in.

The errant Slades had been already substituted by other able firemen who had been standing by on the dock, who no doubt had been waiting for just such an opportunity to arise.

Soon after noon the whistles blew for friends to go ashore, the gangways were withdrawn, and the Titanic moved slowly down the dock, to the accompaniment of last messages and shouted, farewell of those on the quay… Two unexpected dramatic incidents supplied to thrill of excitement and interest to the departure from dock. The first of these occurred just before the last gangway was withdrawn:– a knot of stokers ran along the quay, with their kit, slung over their shoulders in bundles, and made for the gangway with the evident intention of joining the ship...

But a petty officer guarding the shore end of the gangway firmly refused to allow them on board; they argued, gesticulated, apparently attempting to explain the reasons why they were late, but he remained obdurate and waved them back with a determined hand, the gangway was dragged back amid their protests, putting a summary ending to their determined efforts to join the Titanic. Those stokers must be thankful men to-day that some circumstance, whether their own lack of punctuality or some unforeseen delay over which they had no control, prevented their being in time to run up that last gangway!

Tom, Bertram, Alfred, and their friend Penney were unceremoniously left behind by the Titanic.

Because the Slade boys had successfully mustered on Titanic that morning only to no-show at zero hour, they were marked as "deserted". So was Penney.

And so were other firemen and trimmers by the names of B. Brewer, Frank Holden, and J. Shaw, who perhaps due to their shared status as deserters, are sometimes claimed to have also been part of the fated group at The Grapes that day.

John Podesta and William Nutbean were lucky to have beaten the clock on April 10th, and luckier still only days later: they both survived the sinking of the Titanic.

The firemen brought on the replace the Slade trio, however, did not.

Mrs. Slade is reported to have been interviewed by the Southampton Times & Hampshire Express about her sons' most fortunate mishap in an article published on April 20, 1912.

"What a good job they missed their ship!" she supposedly exclaimed. "I have thanked God ever since."

Beesley, Lawrence. "The Loss of the S.S. Titanic." Houghton Mifflin Company, 1912. Rpt. by Mariner Books, 2000.

Babler, Gunter. "Guide to the Crew of the Titanic: The Structure of Working Aboard the Legendary Liner." The History Press, Gloucestershire, UK. 2017.

https://www.thegrapessouthampton.co.uk/history

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/slade-brothers-the-real-story.html

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-survivor/john-alexander-podesta.html

https://www.titanicofficers.com/titanic_08_moody_03.html

https://amp.cnn.com/cnn/travel/southampton-gateway-to-the-world-titanic-legacy

“Knots of Sailors Who Stand Idly About”: Recruitment Day

By April 6th, the United Kingdom national coal strike had already been ongoing for 37 days. It had summarily devastated Southampton’s maritime workforce, forcing hundreds of ship workers into unemployment.

"Daily the ranks of unemployed are swelled," reported the Southern Daily Echo, "to join the knots of sailors who stand idly about."

Smoke no longer climbed from chimneys as households, in spite of the wet English chill, rationed what little coal they had left. Families were led into destitution, causing many to apply for aid and relief funds.

A contemporary newspaper report described one waiting line on Bargate Street as a "mournful queue of the workless" that had sadly become a "daily spectacle... many of the women had little tiny tots in their arms, and if some were too tired, worn and helpless to talk to each other, they hugged the sunny side of the road... [because] warm petticoats had been pawned days ago to provide food."

The periodical Southern Daily Echo reported on March 21, 1912, that

It must be emphasized that the Titanic and her peers did not come prepackaged with staff.

All manners of crew were employed on a contract-by-voyage basis, and they were recruited or otherwise picked up at various ports prior to departure--and even on the day of, according to some reports.

On the morning of April 6, 1912, Titanic had been berthed in Southampton for less than three days, having arrived on Wednesday, April 3rd, just shy of midnight. She had since been docked in Berth 44.

The coal strike had not prevented any and all persons in Southampton from obtaining work. But of those who had been restricted and without work for the duration of the strike, many were some of the poorest in the community.

Never the less, because the White Star Line had insisted on keeping its vessels on schedule regardless of the strike, some more fortunate men had been able to “sign on” to Titanic in the previous days: some, able seamen who left for Belfast back in late March, in order to board Titanic for her delivery voyage to Southampton; some, the likes of stewards and shopkeepers with prior experience.

By April 6th, cargo had begun to arrive at the White Star dock. And with the strike having ended that very morning, masses of heretofore unemployed men also gathered.

The White Star Dock, accessible via Dock Gate 4, was reportedly mobbed.

The White Star Line’s office on Canute Road, only a brief walk away, was likewise managing an enormous crowd.

Union halls, particularly those belonging go the British Seafarers Union and the National Sailors and Firemens Union, were thronged with hundreds more workers hoping to land a gig on Titanic.

The process to sign on to a vessel was a chaotic one.

For those with prior seagoing experience, this mandated certificates of discharge and satisfactory performance on previous vessels. Regulars from similar vessels, or even a sister ship such as Olympic, of course orbited and were favored. It was a further attestation of one's competency and character to have previously served.

"The clerks seemed to sense my discomfiture and courteously gave me instructions where to go in order to obtain a health certificate from the company’s doctor, a necessity before I would be allowed to sign… as I came out, I found the escort thoughtfully sent by the clerk in charge of our "Articles" to conduct me back to the Board of Trade… When the shipping master appeared, there was a surge of anxious faces, each group of men clustering around the representative of the company they hoped to get taken on by. Then, employers could choose their men… Each discharge book – a seaman’s passport – was examined, and many questions asked. When the final sorting was done, and the rejected one stood aside to make room for their more fortunate, brethren, the shipping master called for silence, in order to read aloud the "Articles of Agreement."

“For Those Few Minutes, the Ship Was Alive Again”: Adolphe Saalfeld

Adolphe, who was 47 years old, was bound for America on a pleasure trip: he planned to see Niagara Falls, and visit both Montreal and Chicago.

He also traveled with the intention to promote his perfumes as a wholesale distributor to potential clientele, or perhaps establish a brand-new stateside outlet for his perfumes.

He boarded the Titanic in Southampton on April 10, 1912, as a First-class passenger. Adolphe would occupy a cabin on C Deck.

With him, he carried leather satchels, which altogether contained over 60 small vials of perfume oils.

Before officially embarking, Adolphe had taken a tour of the ship with his nephew and fellow chemist, Paul Danby. Paul wrote back to his wife in awe of Titanic’s luxuries, describing it as “wonderfully appointed.”

Adolphe wrote a letter to his own wife, Gertrude, on the same day. In this and subsequent letters, he calls her “Wifey.”

Both Adolphe and Paul took pride in believing that they had written the very first letters on board Titanic.

Adolphe would write a second letter to his beloved Gertrude later in the evening.

"Dear Wifey,

...It is not nice to travel alone and leave you behind. I think you will have to come next time... I have a small table for two to myself. I had a very good dinner and to finish had two cigars in the smoke room and shall now go to bed as I am tired...

So far, apart from occasional remarks I have not spoken to anyone. I want to keep quiet and have a thorough rest. As I do not know whether I will be up in time for the mail at Queenstown, I am posting this letter tonight. A kiss for you and love to all from your loving husband."

To date, it has not been proven which lifeboat saved Adolphe Saalfeld on the night Titanic sank. But it is often reported to have been Lifeboat No. 3.

This boat, along with all the other odd-numbered vessels, was launched from the starboard side by First Officer William Murdoch—who, in spite of the Captain’s decree—permitted men to board lifeboats once women and children were scant about.

Adolphe seems to have taken to a lifeboat early in the sinking. He left all of his belongings behind--including the satchels that carried his perfume samples.

"...saw boats being lowered and noticed general reluctance people going into them. Then I saw a few men and women go into a boat and I followed and when lowered pushed off, and rowed some distance fearing suction in case Titanic sinking -- All expected to go back after damage patched up, but as we drifted away gradually, saw Titanic sink lower and lower and finally lights on her went out, and others in my boat said that they saw her disappear. Our boat was then nearly 2 miles away but pitiful cries could be plainly heard."

After the sinking, Adolphe’s plans for his new American parfumerie do not appear to have been fruitful; it is likely that they were entirely undermined. As an affluent male survivor of the Titanic disaster, Adolphe was reported ostracized from society.

He returned to England and his beloved Wifey, Gertrude.

Family members later claimed that Adolphe’s experiences on Titanic robbed him of sound sleep for the rest of his life.

He reportedly took the calling upon his chauffeur, a man known as Patch, to drive him about the emptied streets into the wee hours of the morning, until he could at last doze off.

Adolphe Saalfeld passed away in 1926 at the age of 61.

But his was a story unfinished, even with his death.

In 2000, a leather satchel was recovered from the Titanic's wreck site. Crumbling but whole after nearly nine decades on the seafloor, the bag still bore Adolphe's name.

His perfume samples were still contained within. A few vials had broken open, but most were found to be intact.

Historian, artifact curator, and Titanic expert Bill Sauder described the moment that Adolphe Saalfeld's satchel was opened to the world above, for the first time since 1912.

"The one thing I'll remember about Titanic artifacts until the day I die is when the Saalfeld perfume vials came up.

When you recover things from the Titanic: it's wet; it's rusty, and it's rotten. And the smell that comes off of it is perfectly alien, perfectly fetid; you know it's a kind of death you have never experienced.

And so the lab is kind of unpleasant. And then all of a sudden somebody opens up this satchel--this leather satchel--and out comes the fragrance of heaven... It's all these flowers and fruity flavors, and it's delicious. It's the most wonderful thing you've ever had.

It was just a complete overwhelming experience. It was like, all of a sudden the fragrance of heaven, you know, kind of moves through the room. So instead of being surrounded by all of these dead things, um... for those few minutes, the ship was alive again."

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Author: Soliloquism

“He Was Not Likeable”: Alfred Nourney

"he Was Not Likeable": Alfred Nourney

“I Did Not Think I Was Going to Live”: Thomas McCormack

"I Did Not Think I Was Going to Live": Thomas McCormack

“Enormous Icebergs Surrounding Us, White as Swans”: Mary Conover Lines

"Enormous Icebergs Surrounding Us, White as Swans": Mary Conover Lines

“That Is Where They Die”: Paul Maugé

"That Is Where They Die": Paul Maugé

“For Presentation to Passengers, Executed on the Shortest Notice”: Food Storage on Titanic

"For Presentation to Passengers, Executed on the Shortest Notice": Food Storage on Titanic