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“My God, Don’t Ask Me Too Much”: Daniel and Mary Marvin

“My God, Don’t Ask Me Too Much”: Daniel Warner Marvin & Mary Farquharson Marvin

Mary Farquharson was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1894. She emigrated to New York with her parents when she was 9 years old.

Mary’s mother Jessie and her Aunt Margaret established a successful modiste business, Farquharson & Wheelock. So successful, in fact, that the Scottish atelier would go on to produce a gown worn by Cornelia Vanderbilt and others displayed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

A portrait of Mary, originally published in the Butler Citizen (Pennsylvania) in 1914. Courtesy of Encyclopedia Titanica as provided by Gavin Bell.

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Daniel Warner Marvin, by contrast, was New York born-and-raised. His daddy Henry was the co-founder of the famed American Mutoscope and Biograph Company. It was the premier motion picture company at the time, founded in part by William Kennedy Dickson, a scientist who had only just left the employ of Thomas Edison, and which innoculated the founders against Edison's notorious litigious approach.

We don't know how Daniel and Mary met. What we do know is that when they fell in love, Daniel was only 18, and Mary was still in school at 17. They wed in a civil ceremony on January 8, 1912, without their parents' knowledge.

Young Mary found herself pregnant almost immediately thereafter. Once found out, Daniel and Mary had a staged do-over wedding in her parents' home on March 12, 1912, which was filmed. It's reported that this ceremony was the first wedding ever "cinematographed".

Mary's wedding gown was designed, of course, by Farquharson & Wheelock, and Mary was featured in Vogue.

Still from Daniel & Mary's "cinematographed" wedding, filmed on March 12, 1912.

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Daniel and Mary elected to honeymoon in Europe, departing on the Mauretania. And in a twist of cruel, even maniacal fate, they were set to return to New York on the Carpathia--the very ship that rescued Titanic survivors--but were persuaded by Captain Smith, a friend of the family, to take the trip on Titanic with him.

Before they departed, Daniel's father gave him a hand-crank camera.

The young Marvins took to suite D-30. It's reported that they were fairly private during the voyage, and spent a significant amount of time filming around the ship.

After the collision at 11:40 p.m., a steward knocked on the couple's door around 12:25 a.m. He advised that lifeboats were being loaded as a precaution.

Mary dressed in a life-vest and a fur coat, and Daniel led her up to the boat deck. Mary was sent off in Lifeboat 10, which contained a number of very young children, including Titanic's youngest and last-to-die survivor: Millvina Dean, who was only two months old.

We know of Mary and Daniel's last exchange thanks to Mary herself.

"My God, don’t ask me too much," she said [when being asked after by a reporter]. "Tell me, have you any news from Dan? He grabbed me in his arms and knocked down men to get me into the boat. As I was put in the boat he cried: 'It’s all right, little girl; you go ahead, I will stay a while. I’ll put on a life preserver and jump off and follow your boat.' As our boat shoved off he threw a kiss at me, and that is the last I saw of him."

As reported in the New York Times dated April 19, 1912. © Citation: Holman, Hannah. "Titanic Voices: 63 Survivors Tell Their Extraordinary Stories," 2011.

It's been reported that when Mary realized that Daniel was not among the saved, she fainted.

Daniel's body, if recovered, was never identified.

Titanic survivors on board the rescue ship Carpathia. Courtesy of Library of Congress.

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Mary gave birth to Daniel's daughter in October of 1912. On Christmas Day of 1913, Mary married her late husband's best man, Horace de Camp. Together, they had two children, and Horace adopted Daniel's daughter.

Mary spent the remainder of her life in the Adirondacks.

Mary's first daughter disclosed that tensions between Mary's family and the grieving Marvin family were heightened in the wake of Daniel's loss. Specifically, she said that Mary was determined to keep the Marvins from ever learning too much about their son's final days on Titanic. I doubt we'll ever know why.

Mary was reportedly reticent to talk about Titanic, going so far as to decline multiple invitations to survivors' reunions. She did assert, however, that she had seen a man use a revolver to force his way into a lifeboat.

As she progressed in years, Mary relaxed her sense of privacy just enough to confide a small amount of things in her young grandson, Stuart de Camp. According to Stuart, he eventually eased his grandmother into discussing Titanic--he recalls that he was around 9 years old at the time.

Moose River in the Adirondacks, as taken by Anne LaBastille in May 1973 for the Enivronmental Protection Agency.

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Around that time, Mary asked Stuart to row out in a family boat with her to the center of Moose River in upstate New York. She brought with her two items completely unknown to Stuart.

Eventually, Mary instructed Stuart to cease his rowing.

As she waited for the boat to still, she revealed the mystery items one by one.

The first was the film reel of her wedding to Daniel Marvin; that is, the staged version her parents had arranged after discovering their elopement.

The second, said Stuart, was the reel Daniel had filmed while he and Mary sailed on Titanic—that same reel that young Mr. Marvin had thrown down into the lifeboat, for his beloved wife to safeguard.

And then, before the eyes of her bewildered grandson, Mary threw both reels into the river.

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Ghost Boats & Lost Souls

Ghost Boats & Lost Souls

Recovery of bodies from Titanic took weeks.

The Canadian vessel Mackay-Bennett was tasked with collecting them, and they were overwhelmed with the job--there were more bodies than the ship could hold.

On board with crew and supplies were a priest and an embalmer.

First-class passengers were embalmed and stored in coffins; second-class, the same except for canvas instead of coffins. Third-class corpses and many crewmembers were buried at sea. Of these 116, only 56 were identified.

Recovery of a Titanic victim by the crew of the Mackay-Bennett.

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Out of over 1,500 dead, a total of 328 bodies were found by the Mackay-Bennett, and 306 of those were recovered. Still, this was far more than they had prepared for.

In addition, the bodies were saltwater-bleached, bruised, crushed, with broken limbs and all cut up. The sinking is often portrayed as sanitary, depicting vistims that died frozen but otherwise unharmed.

In truth, it was gruesome.

Captain and crew of the Mackay-Bennett, taken between 1910 and 1915. From the George Grantham Bain Collection, courtesy of the Library of Congress.

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Multiple crewmembers of the Mackay-Bennett suffered PTSD for the rest of their lives, including one man named Clifford Crease, who, at the end of his long life, even elected to be interred mere feet from the grave of a Titanic victim whose recovery had irrevocably scarred him. He honored the memory of this unidentified passenger all of his life.

Frederick Hamilton, a cable engineer on Mackay-Bennett, wrote about the reaping in his diary.

The tolling of the bell summoned all hands to the forecastle where thirty bodies are ready to be committed to the deep, each carefully weighed and carefully sewn up in canvas. It is a weird scene, this gathering. The crescent moon is shedding a faint light on us, as the ship lays wallowing in the great rollers. The funeral service is conducted by the Reverent Canon Hind, for nearly an hour the words For as must as it hath pleased - - ' we therefore commit his body to the deep' are repeated and at each interval comes, splash! as the weighted body plunges into the sea, there to sink to a depth of about two miles. Splash, splash, splash.

© Caption.

Even then, there were others to find, and many more that never would be.

Collapsible A had been launched only moments before submersion--so close to, in fact, that it was washed away without the officers being able to pop up its canvas sides.

Thus, even though people found it and boarded it, it had taken on water--so much, in fact, that those people were standing on it were knee-deep in water, and dying.

They did this for hours until they were rescued by Fifth Officer Harold Lowe, who was the only officer to attempt rescue of more people from the water.

Out of the thirty or so survivors who made it to Collapsible A, Officer Lowe found no more than a dozen survivors.

And many frozen corpses.

Fifth Officer Harold Lowe, the only Titanic officer to return for survivors.

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Lowe left three bodies in Collapsible A, which he commented on in his characteristically straightforward tone during the United States Senate Inquiry.

As to the three people that I left on her - of course, I may have been a bit hard hearted, I can not say - but I thought to myself, "I am not here to worry about bodies; I am here for life, to save life, and not to bother about bodies," and I left them.

...The people on the raft told me they had been dead some time. I said, "Are you sure they are dead?" They said, "Absolutely sure." I made certain they were dead, and questioned them one and all before I left this collapsible.

On May 13, 1912, the crew of the Oceanic were approximately 200 miles from the wreck site when the spotted a strangely shaped plank in the flat distance. Using binoculars, they realized it wasn't a plank. It was a lifeboat.

And it wasn't vacant.

Sire Shane Leslie, on board Oceanic, recalled, "Orders from the bridge dispatched a lifeboat with an officer and a medical officer. What followed was ghastly."

Collapsible A, boarded by crewmembers of Oceanic on May 13, 1912.

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Six Oceanic crewmen rowed out to meet the partially collapsed Collapsible A.

Slumped within, faces blackened from rot and a month under Atlantic sunlight, were three "unrecognizable" corpses: two firemen, and one wearing a dinner jacket.

According to the firsthand account by Sir Shane Leslie, the arms of one corpse snapped off in the crewmember's hands.

Two sailors could be seen, their hair bleached by exposure to sun and salt, and a third figure, wearing evening dress, flat on the benches. All three were dead and the bodies had been tossing on the Atlantic swell under the open sky ever since it had seen the greatest of ocean liners sink.

The names of the sailors, reported to be firemen, are to date unknown, but the well-dressed corpse was identified: First-class passenger Thomson Beattie, 37, from Canada.

Thomson Beattie, whose body was recovered from Collapsible A on May 13, 1912, one month after Titanic sank.

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The Oceanic crew wrapped the three corpses in canvas, said a prayer, and buried them at sea.

Upon hauling the lifeboat on board, the Oceanic discovered something else: a gold wedding ring. Inscribed in its band was "Edvard to Gerda."

It would later come to light that the wedding band belonged to Swedish third-class passenger Elin Gerda Lindell. She and her husband Edvard had boarded Titanic bound for a new life in Hartford, Connecticut.

After sliding down the steepening deck into the ocean, the couple had both made it to Collapsible A.

But Gerda had been too cold, and the others too weak, to pull her aboard. She eventually fell silent and still, and Edvard was forced to let her drift away.

Before he let go, he removed her wedding band.

Gerda Lindell’s wedding band, as displayed in Titanic: The Exhibition in New York City, 2022.

© soliloquism, 2022. Courtesy of #TitanicExhibitionNYC.

According to survivor August Wennerstrom, "Edvard's hair turned all gray in lesser time than 30 minutes".

Edvard died shortly thereafter, bereft at the loss of his wife, and still cradling her wedding ring. It is thought that his body was pushed overboard to lighten the load of the partially submerged Collapsible A, but the wedding ring was dropped in the process.

Neither Edvard nor Gerda Lindell were ever recovered.

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“In Death They Were Not Divided”: Isidor & Ida Straus

“In Death, They Were Not Divided”: Isidor & Ida Straus

Isidor Straus was nine years old when he first set foot on American soil in 1854.

He, along with his three younger siblings, had been brought to New York by their mother. They then set forth to reunite with Isidor’s father Lazarus, who had already settled in Georgia two years prior to establish his mercantile business, which thrived—partly due to Lazarus’s pre-existing connections with wholesale merchants in Philadelphia, and partly due to the prosperity of local cotton plantations.

Reportedly, the Strauses were the sole Jewish family in their new hometown of Talbotton.

In 1861, sixteen-year-old Isidor was ultimately turned away from the Confederate Army of the United States; he was simply too young, he was told.

So, in 1863, after becoming the secretary to a Confederate agent, young Isidor Straus elected to become an international spy.

He hopped a ship from Charleston to Liverpool, which ran the union blockade. Isidor hid himself away—his life savings of $1200.00 in gold was sewn into his undershirt.

And after a layover of some months, staying with relatives in his birthplace of Otterberg, Bavaria, Isidor settled in London. He worked as an aide in financial deals for the Confederacy, and at all of nineteen years old, he even took on a mission to Cuba.

Isidor returned to Georgia in 1865, once the Civil War had ended. He found his family’s business destroyed, and so he convinced his family to reconsider their planned relocation to Philadelphia, in favor of New York City.

So Isidor arrived in New York broke, because he insisted on paying all of his debts prior to his departure, in spite of the fact that Confederate money had been rendered worthless.

In 1871, Isidor married Rosalie Ida Blun, whom he had met in 1863 while traveling to England.

They would go on to have seven children.

Isidor & Ida Straus's marriage portrait, 1871.

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By 1871, Isidor had already been in business with his father for five years. Isidor’s brother Nathan and their brother-in-law joined in by 1873, thereby creating L. Straus & Sons, purveyors of crockery and fine china.

In 1874, L. Straus & Sons entered into an agreement with Rowland Hussey Macy, founder of Macy’s Department Store, to open a glassware department in the basement.

L. Straus & Sons became internationally successful. In 1888, Isidor and Nathan were invited into official partnership at Macy’s, which at the time boasted just over 2,000 employees.

And by 1896, Isidor and Nathan owned Macy’s outright.

Entrance to Macy’s Department Stire on 34th Street, Manhattan, circa 2022.

© soliloquism, 2022.

Isidor and Ida were reportedly a shining example of love throughout their lives.

They traveled together constantly and were rarely apart. Even when Isidor served in the United States Congress from January 1894 through March 1895, he and Ida exchanged daily correspondence.

Perhaps out of love as well as pragmatism, Isidor declined to seek reelection.

Congressman Isidor Strauss, taken on February 6, 1906. From the George Grantham Bain Collection, courtesy of the Library of Congress.

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They had wintered together in Europe in 1911 through 1912, spending most of their holiday at Cape Martin in southern France.

The Strauses had not planned to travel on Titanic. Like many other passengers, however, they found themselves with no other option due to the ongoing coal miners' strike.

Their daughter had been holidaying with them, but she did not board Titanic with her parents.

The Strauses’ time on board was evidently pleasant. Thanks to the account of Colonel Archibald Gracie, we are privy to an insight as to how Isidor and Ida spent the day of Sunday, April 14.

During this day I saw much of Mr. and Mrs. Isidor Straus. In fact, from the very beginning to the end of our trip on the Titanic, we had been together several times each day. I was with them on the deck the day we left Southampton...

During our daily talks thereafter, he related much of special interest concerning incidents in his remarkable career, beginning with his early manhood in Georgia when, with the Confederate Government Commissioners, as an agent for the purchase of supplies, he ran the blockade of Europe. His friendship with President Cleveland, and how the latter had honored him, were among the topics of daily conversation that interested me most.

On this Sunday, our last day aboard ship, he finished the reading of a book I had loaned him, in which he expressed intense interest. This book was 'The Truth About Chickamauga,' of which I am the author...

I recall how Mr. and Mrs. Straus were particularly happy about noon time on this same day in anticipation of communicating by wireless telegraphy with their son and his wife on their way to Europe on board the passing ship America. Some time before six o'clock, full of contentment, they told me of the message of greeting received in reply. This last good-bye to their loved ones must have been a consoling thought when the end came a few hours later.

Excerpt from "Titanic: A Survivor's Story," by Archibald Gracie, 1912 (reprinted by Sutton Publishing, 2008.)

On the night of the collision, Isidor and Ida found themselves at Lifeboat 8--the same lifeboat where Victor Penasco was desperately trying to get his sobbing bride, Pepita, to leave him and save herself.

Ida Straus stepped in, she expected Isidor to sit next to her; instead, thinking his wife out of harm's way, he stepped back on deck.

Ida immediately removed herself from the lifeboat and refused to reenter without her husband. Other First-Class passengers tried to secure a spot for Isidor aside Ida, but he refused.

Archibald Gracie described the scene as he witnessed it.

The self-abnegation of Mr. and Mrs. Isidor Straus here shone forth heroically when she promptly and empathically exclaimed: 'No! I will not be separated from my husband; as we have lived, so will we die together;' and when he, too, declined the assistance proffered on my earnest solicitation that, because of his age and helplessness, exception should be made and he be allowed to accompany his wife in the boat. 'No!' he said, 'I do not wish any distinction in my favor which is not granted to others.' As near as I can recall them these were the words which they addressed to me. They expressed themselves as fully prepared to die, and calmly sat down in steamer chairs on the glass-enclosed Deck A, prepared to meet their fate.

Excerpt from "Titanic: A Survivor's Story," by Archibald Gracie, 1912 (reprinted by Sutton Publishing, 2008.)

First-Class passenger Hugh Woolner was another survivor who witnessed this, and testified to as much during the Senate Inquiry.

She would not get in. I tried to get her to do so and she refused altogether to leave Mr. Straus. The second time we went up to Mr. Straus, and I said to him: "I am sure nobody would object to an old gentleman like you getting in. There seems to be room in this boat." He said: "I will not go before the other men."

Then, when Idisor tried in desperation to persuade Ida to get back in her seat, she again refused.

She was overheard by several witnesses, including steward Alfred Crawford, who testified at the Senate Inquiry, as stating, "We have lived together for many years; where you go, I go."

It is likewise reported that Ida Straus said, "I will not be separated from my husband. So we have lived, so we will die--together," but witness accounts do not seem to support this very particular word choice.

Archibald Gracie IV.

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In any case, Ida gave her chambermaid, Ellen Bird, her fur coat to keep warm in the lifeboat. Ida simply told Ellen that she would no longer need it.

And Lifeboat 8 was lowered away without the Strauses.

Miss Ellen Bird, maid to Ida Straus.

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Some say Isidor and Ida were last seen holding each other on deck, weeping. Others insisted that they were sitting on deck chairs, holding hands until a wave washed them into the sea. Others still attested only to the couple, arm-in-arm, on deck.

Isidor & Ida Straus.

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Isidor's corpse was the 96th body recovered by the Mackay-Bennett. It was listed as follows.

NO. 96 - MALE - ESTIMATED AGE, 65 - FRONT GOLD TOOTH (Partly) - GREY HAIR AND MOUSTACHE
CLOTHING - Fur-lined overcoat; grey trousers, coat and vest; soft striped shirt; brown boots; black silk socks.
EFFECTS - Pocketbook; gold watch; platinum and pearl chain; gold pencil case; silver flask; silver salts bottle; £40 in notes; £4 2s 3d in silver.
FIRST CLASS - NAME - ISADOR STRAUSS

Ida's corpse was never found.

The last devotion of Isidor and Ida was a tale immediately and widely told, and it galvanized an outpouring of public sentiment and admiration.

Forty thousand people attended the memorial at Carnegie Hall in New York City, which could hold a mere fraction of the mourners.

Isidor was posthumously lauded by the New York Times as “a representative of humanity in its best form.”

A small memorial was erected in Manhattan, located off of 106th Street. The landscaped plot, aptly christened Straus Park, bears a bronze statue of a water nymph that once gazed upon a reflecting pool. This water feature was transformed into a flower bed in the 1990s with the consent of the Straus family.

Straus Park was dedicated on April 15, 1915, exactly three years to the date of the Titanic disaster. Isidor’s younger brother, Oscar, was one of many in attendance.

Dedication of Memorial to Isidor & Ida Straus on April 15, 1915. Courtesy of Library of Congress.

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Isidor's brother, Oscar Straus, at the dedication to the memorial of Isidor & Ida Straus on April 15, 1915. Courtesy of Library of Congress.

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Isidor Straus was laid to rest in the couple’s mausoleum in the Bronx. Because Ida’s remains were not recovered, the Strauses collected ocean water from the wreck site in an urn and interred it beside Isidor.

The Straus mausoleum is thusly engraved.

Many waters cannot quench love -- neither can the floods drown it.

In 1913, approximately 5,000 Macy's employees donated their meager wages toward a memorial plaque for the Strauses, who were much beloved, particularly Isidor.

It's been reported that "'Mr. Isidor,' as he was known, regularly walked the shop floor, a pink carnation boutonnière stuck in the lapel of his dark suit jacket as he greeted workers by name."

The memorial plaque was re-dedicated in 2014 at the so-named "Memorial Entrance" on 34th.

It reads, "Their lives were beautiful and their deaths glorious."

Memorial plaque at Macy's 34th Street Entrance.

© soliloquism, 2022

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“Just Like Little Canaries”: Victor & Maria Josefa Penasco

“Just Like Little Canaries”: Victor & Maria Josefa Penasco

Victor Peñasco y Castellana, born October 24, 1887, was just 24 years old and newly wed when he boarded the RMS Titanic at Cherbourg.

Young Victor was kind and athletic. He was also spectacularly wealthy, and family to the minister of the King of Spain.

And on December 8, 1910, Victor married Maria Josefa Perez de Soto y Vallejo, an heiress who was two years his junior and affectionately called Pepita. Their combined affluence ballooned to obscene proportions.

By all accounts, the newlyweds were carefree, pretty, and very much in love.

Victor and Pepita spent almost two years on their honeymoon, leaving a trail of receipts for precious gemstones throughout Europe. Because Pepita loved herself some fancy jewelry.

While whiling away in Paris, they happened upon a flyer for Titanic's maiden voyage. They longed to extend their honeymoon a little further by going to New York, but Victor's mother, Purificacion, had forbidden ocean travel--it was a truth universally acknowledged that it was very bad luck on one's honeymoon.

So the Penascos had their butler, Eulogio, stay behind in Paris, and left him with a collection of pre-written postcards to be sent intermittently to Victor's superstitious mother, boasting of trips to Notre Dame Cathedral, the Palace of Versailles, and the opera.

Victor and Pepita then absconded to have some fun in New York and return in secret. Purificacion would be none the wiser.

Victor Penasco y Castellana.

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The Penascos boarded Titanic with Pepita's maid, Fermina, on the evening of April 10, 1912. The party occupied stateroom C-65.

They were not the only Spanish passengers, but they were the only ones in First Class.

Reports vary as to the Penascos' fluency in English, but multiple sources say they spent most of their time speaking with their fellow Spanish-speaking passengers. And there would have been a number, particularly from Argentina and Mexico.

Victor at the very least must have been proficient in the English language, but historical accounts reflect that Pepita was not.

Regardless of any language barrier, Victor and Pepita were apparently the darlings of any First Class coterie that beheld them.

Survivor Helen Bishop said of them, "[Pepita] and her husband were just like little canaries... …They were so loving… and were having such a happy honeymoon that everyone on the Titanic became interested in them."

On the night of the collision, Victor and Pepita were readying themselves for bed. Fermina, Pepita’s maid, had stayed awake because Victor and Pepita were late returning from dinner. Working to mend a corset while waiting to tend to the couple, Fermina felt a jolt and a shudder.

She immediately alerted Victor and Pepita. Later, Pepita would attest that the impact was so faintly felt that not a drop had spilled from a bedside glass of milk.

Victor dressed himself and left to seem information from officers. Met with the grim news, he hurried to collect Pepita and Fermina.

Victor outfitted his wife and Fermina with lifebelts and hurried to escort them to the boat deck.

Victor the ladies into the care of Second Officer Charles Lightoller, who was preparing to lower in Lifeboat 8.

It became a vessel well-known as the site of multiple lovelorn declarations that occurred that night--in particular, that of Isidor and Ida Straus.

Isidor & Ida Straus, who lost their lives in the Titanic disaster and remain its most famous love story.

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Rumor has it that Victor dashed back below deck for his wife's famed jewels. When he returned, he implored Pepita to get into the lifeboat, but in tears, she refused.

Speaking Spanish, in the midst of heartbreak and chaos, no one understood the exact words of their desperate exchange.

But the Countess of Rothes did try.

The Countess's cousin, Gladys Cherry, recalled the Penascos parting as a "terrible scene."

As patience in the waiting lifeboat wore thin, the Countess gently interceded in French, which she recalled in her letter to Walter Lord, the author of "A Night to Remember."

Pepita was no less inconsolable for the Countess’s polite intervention. Finally, according to Gladys, Victor "threw [Pepita] in our arms and asked us to take care of her."

There is the occasional report that Victor was last spotted on the boat deck, taking to his knees in prayer.

But he was never seen again.

Pepita wailed and wailed for him as the boat descended and pushed away from Titanic.

The Countess of Rothes described her time with Pepita in heartrending detail in the April 21, 1912,  issue of the New York Herald.

Then Signora de Satode Penasco began to scream for her husband. It was too horrible. I left the tiller to my cousin and slipped down beside her to be of what comfort I could. Poor woman! Her sobs tore our hearts and her moans were unspeakable in their sadness.

As the darkness bore down and the women rowed Lifeboat 8, the Countess of Rothes continued to try to comfort Pepita, who was beside herself with grief.

When the awful end came, I tried my best to keep the Spanish woman from hearing the agonizing sound of distress. They seemed to continue forever, although it could not have been more than ten minutes until the silence of a lonely sea dropped down. The indescribable loneliness, the ghastliness of our feelings never can be told.

When the rescue ship Carpathia deposited the survivors in New York, Victor's mother had no idea her son and daughter-in-law had sailed, let alone that her son had died.

It's said she found out via a Madrid newspaper, and was as baffled as she was heartbroken. How could it be true, when she'd been receiving her son's postcards from Paris all along?

A suit owned by Victor Penasco y Castellana. Courtesy of Titanic: The Exhibition, New York City, 2022.

© soliloquism

Soon, the bereft family of Victor Penasco was soon faced with financial dilemma on top of the tragedy of his loss.

Contemporary Spanish law dictated that even though Pepita was legally widowed, she could not inherit Victor's fortune.

This was because without a body as proof of death, Victor could not be declared deceased for 20 years.

So unless Victor’s remains were found, their combined downries eould remain bound and untouchable in a savings account.

Figuratively cornered by the law, the family made an unusual choice: they bribed someone.

According to descendants, Victor’s family supposedly bought an unnamed victim's corpse, Fermina then identified it as Victor, which was substance enough to issue the death certificate.

However it happened, the result was the same: Pepita, though grieving, was that much wealthier.

Pepita married again about 6 years later and had three children; Fermina continued to work for her through retirement.

Pepita died at the age of 83.

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First-Class Athletic Facilities

FOR THE ATHLETICALLY INCLINED: First-Class Gym Facilities

Titanic's gymnasium was accessible from the boat desk, adjacent to the second funnel. It was outfitted with elaborate equipment, especially during an era in which exercise was more of a hobby, or a quaint way to pass some time.

It would seem that prior to sail, it was open for exploration by both genders and other classes of passengers. But once Titanic departed Queenstown, it was a first-class exclusive, and was used separately by ladies and gentlemen.

The gym was the domain of Thomas McCawley, a spry moustache master always seen at his post, and always wearing his white flannels and plimsolls (canvas athletic shoes), the primmest and dapperest Edwardian fitness instructor you could ever imagine.

Colorized version of photo of Titanic's gymnasium, taken by Robert John Welch for Harland & Wolff.

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The gym was available for a shilling a ticket, which would be paid, of course, to Chief Purser Hugh McElroy prior to use, and would be good for one session.

The gym was exclusive to the ladies from 9am to noon, children 1pm to 3pm, and the men 2pm to 6pm. Tom McCawley was said to be precise to the minute in opening the gym for these scheduled shifts.

The gymnasium was equipped with punching bags, Indian clubs, stationary bicycles with giant red meters for monitoring one's progress, a rowing machine, and mechanical horses. It was also installed with an "electric camel", which mimicked the back-and-forth motion of a camel ride when sat upon, and which was lauded as "good for the liver."

Lawrence Beesley, a second-class passenger, on the stationary bicycles with an unnamed friend. originally published in London Illustrated News, April 20, 1912.

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There was a racquetball court presided over by instructor Frederick Wright on G Deck with an entrance on D Deck, and an observation gallery on F Deck. That would set you back two shillings for one half-hour of play.

Titanic also boasted Turkish baths, which offered massages, shampoos, and electric baths. The central feature was the Cool Room, and it was decorated in a lavish Arabic style--all teak wood, green and blue tiles, a marble fountain, and a scarlet ceiling with guilded beams and hanging lanterns. It was littered with lounges, folding chairs, and Damascus tables.

In 2005, they rediscovered the Cool Room in a remarkably preserved state. Because it had flooded early on, and its location was deeper inside the ship, it was largely protected from damage when the bow crashed into the seabed. And because it's so far within the ship, hungry microorganisms can't really get at it, so the woodwork, stained glass windows, and even the recliners are still recognizable.

Illustration of the Cool Room of the Turkish Baths on R.M.S. Olympic, which was Titanic's elder sister.

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To most people, the most delightfully ironic of Titanic's fitness features was a heated saltwater swimming pool, (or "bath," as they referred to it).

It was 30x14ish feet and was tiled in blue and white. It also had a marble staircase descending into the water; this was because the water was 3 feet below the lip of the pool, to try to prevent water from sloshing out with the motion of the ship. There were shower stalls and changing cubicles along its side.

Swimming pool of the R.M.S. Olympic, which can be discerned from Titanic's due to the presence of a diving board.

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The swimming bath was open only to First Class, of course; the use of a swimming suit was included in the fee of a shilling.

It was the second of its kind ever put to sea; the first was that of RMS Olympic, and the only notable difference between it and Titanic's was that Olympic's swimming bath had a diving board, while Titanic's was absent of the same. This was decided upon because the sloshy water made the diving end shallower than it appeared, and it caused a hazard to passengers.

First-Class survivor Colonel Archibald Gracie used the swimming bath to his great enjoyment. He took a refreshing swim on the morning of April 14, 1912--and later mused upon the irony of the same, stating he probably wouldn't have enjoyed it so much if he had known the next swim he was about to take.

Archibald Gracie IV, Titanic survivor who used the swimming bath on April 14, 1912.

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The swimming bath was across the hall from the Turkish baths, but within the wreck, it is blocked by a watertight door. Given the relatively immaculate state of the Turkish baths, it is assumed the pool is in similarly excellent shape.

The gymnasium was a central location during the sinking; many people who rushed to the boat deck found themselves too cold while waiting for lifeboats, and crowded into the gymnasium for warmth.

It was here that John Jacob Astor was witnessed slitting open a life-vest with his penknife, to reassure his young wife about the buoyancy of cork. A few passengers peddled on the stationary bikes to keep warm.

And the entire time, Mr. McCawley manned his post. When asked about a life-vest, he declined to wear one; he insisted it would inhibit his swimming once the ship went down.

Thomas McCawley died in the sinking. He was 36 years old.

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“Lead, Kindly Light”: Noel Leslie, the Countess of Rothes

"Lead, Kindly Light": Noel Leslie, The Countess of Rothes

The Countess of Rothes, whose name was Noel Lucy Martha Leslie, was reknowned for her beauty, her gracefulness on the dance floor, her lifelong philanthropy. But when it comes to Titanic, she is famed for her relentless optimism and being the fiercest woman on the sea.

Noel was 33 when she boarded Titanic with her parents, cousin-in-law Gladys Cherry, and maid Roberta Maioni, at Southampton. Before setting sail, she was interviewed and stated that she was going to America to see her husband, and that they hoped to purchase a pretty little orange grove.

When the reporters derisively asked her if she looking forward to leaving the glamour of London society for a "California fruit farm," she replied, "I am full of joyful expectation."

The Countess's parents disembarked at Cherbourg, and the others carried on.

On April 14, the crash woke the ladies in their suite, and they sought out Captain Smith, who insisted they immediately find lifevests and head for lifeboats. The three were put into Lifeboat 8 around 1am, which was launched off the port side.

Captain Smith put approximately 4 men with experience at sea in Lifeboat 8; unfortunately, they were experienced stewards and the like, not sailors. After they had lowered, and were attempting to push themselves out from Titanic, the ladies on board were critical of their ineptitude, and it certainly didn't help.

Doing their damnedest, stressed, scared, and frustrated, it was reported by a Mrs. White at the Senate Inquiry that one crewman said to another, "If you don’t stop talking through that hole in your face, there’ll be one less in this boat."

The person this vitriol was directly at was Thomas Jones, the lone seaman in Lifeboat 8, only 32 years old, who had been assigned to it by Captain Smith at the last minute. But it was the Countess who immediately took charge.

Jones famously said of the Countess that, because he had to row, "she had a lot to say, so I put her to steering the boat."

And she damn well did, stopping only briefly after an hour so she could take to comforting a fellow passenger, an almost-teenaged newlywed, who was distraught about leaving her husband.

The Countess said "the most awful thing was seeing the rows of portholes vanishing one by one" beneath the water, and later, the sounds of the dying, and the eventual absence of sound from the dead.

She, Tom Jones, and some others wanted to row back for more people, but were overruled for fear of the boat being overturned. Tom Jones is remembered as having said, "Ladies, if any of us are saved, remember, I wanted to go back. I would rather drown with them than leave them."

Tom's comment about the Countess having "a lot to say" has been intepreted in recent memory as snide, or some sort of punishment for a woman daring to speak out of turn, but he meant it in earnest. He said, "I heard the quiet, determined way she spoke to the others, and I knew she was more of a man than any we had on board.”

According the the Countess herself, "We were lowered quietly to the water, and when we had pushed off from the Titanic's side I asked the seaman if he would care to have me take the tiller, as I knew something about boats. He said, 'Certainly, lady.'"

At the subsequent inquiries, the Countess also made sure to emphasize that Thomas had wanted to turn the boat back.

If that isn't sufficient to refute the impression that Jones was being vindictive, the Countess bestowed an engraved silver pocket watch upon Thomas Jones in gratitude for his saving their lives. In reciprocation, he sent her the plaque from Lifeboat 8. They remained friends for the rest of their lives, writing to one another every Christmas; the Countess's letter was always sent with a pound enclosed, according to Jones's daughter. The plaque and pocketwatch now both belong to the Countess's family.

The Countess of Badass rowed, alternating with other women, through the night. When the rescue vessel Carpathia was finally sighted, the boat began singing "Pull for the Shore" and "Lead, Kindly Light."

Once on board Carpathia, the Countess was intent on helping steerage survivors, in translating, acquiring medicine, and making clothes. The London periodical Daily Sketch reported, "Her Ladyship helped to make clothes for the babies and became known amongst the crew as the 'plucky little countess.'"

According to her great-granddaughter, Angela Young, The Countess wrote a letter to her own parents, detailing her many busy hours on board Carpathia. In that letter, Noel wrote that she worked closely with the doctors to help feed the children on board so their mothers might recuperate. She was also sought out by the doctors to aid in calming a "hysterical" French woman who they feared might commit suicide; in addition, the young widow Pepita Penasco, who the Countess had comforted in the lifeboat, clung to her "like a baby" as she spoke no English and knew not a soul but one in America.

It further reported that a stewardess had lauded the Countess, telling her, "You have made yourself famous by rowing the boat."

Noel Leslie, Countess of Rothes, replied, "I hope not. I have done nothing."

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“Surrounded by Mothballs and Memories”: Quigg Baxter & Berthe Mayne

"Surrounded by Mothballs and Memories": Quigg Baxter & Berthe Mayne

The Baxters--matriarch Helene, her daughter Zette, and her son, Quigg--were an affluent family from Montreal. They had been traveling Europe through 1911, after Helene had sold her property in Montreal to absolve herself of her late husband's embezzling. I guess that's what you get when you marry yourself a man nicknamed "Diamond Jim."

Zette, 27, was married, and defied her husband's wishes by traveling with her family.

Quigg was 24, and had been a lauded football and hockey player back in his school days, until he was blinded by a stick to the eye in 1907. He continued to coach, though, and even set up one of the first international hockey tournaments in Paris.

Whiling away in a cafe in Brussels, Quigg met a young cabaret performer named Bella Vielly. Her real name was Berthe Antonine Mayne, and she was "well known in Brussels in circles of pleasure."

Quigg was mad about her, and they quickly fell into a secret affair. When he learned his family was returning stateside, he pleaded with Berthe to come back with him. She relented, and he purchased a ticket separate from and unknown to his family, installing his lover in a first-class cabin on C-Deck under the name Mme. De Villiers, a throwback to a prior lover of hers named Fernand de Villiers, a soldier in the French foreign legion who was eventually sent off to the Belgian Congo.

Helene Baxter had spent most of the journey on Titanic laid up with seasickness and nausea, and suffered weakness as a result.

When Titanic struck the iceberg, Quigg sought to discover what happened, and in so doing came across Captain Smith and Bruce Ismay in the hall. Captain Smith told him everything was just fine; Ismay, on the other hand, demanded that Quigg get his mother and sister to the lifeboats.

Helene had an anxiety attack when Titanic ceased moving, having taken comfort in the constant turning of the engine. Quigg carried his mother in his arms to the boat deck, and loaded her and his sister into Lifeboat 6.

He then went to fetch Berthe, and in what must have been the world's worst time to meet your future mother-in-law, Berthe was introduced to the Baxter women.

She did not want to get into the lifeboat, but Molly Brown helped persuade her. Quigg asked his mother and sister to be good to Berthe, and handed his mother his silver brandy flask. Now, the Baxter children had been raised to speak English to their father, and French to their mother, but it's reported that when he gave Helene the flask to keep warm with, she started in on him,wishing he wouldn't drink so much. But Quigg cut her off to ask if she was alright, and then bid everyone fare well.

Quigg Baxter died in the sinking. His body, if recovered, was never identified.

Helene Baxter never fully recovered from Titanic, and died in 1923. Zette moved to California, and according to her nephew, lived "surrounded by mothballs and memories" until her death on the last day of 1954.

And Berthe, the benefactor of the family's last promise to dear Quigg, stayed with the Baxters in Montreal for some time before returning to performance in Paris. She never married.

As an elderly woman, she told fanciful, ridiculous stories about having sailed on Titanic with a tragic Canadian millionaire, which no one in their right mind would believe. Until after her death in 1962, when her nephew discovered a curious shoebox among her effects.

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“A Costly Thing, Studded With Diamonds”: John Jacob Astor IV

"A Costly Thing, Studded With Diamonds": Colonel John Jacob Astor IV

John Jacob Astor--who went by Jack--is one of Titanic's most famous passengers because he was The Richest Man On the Ship, although it's been my experience that less people realize he did in fact die in the sinking.

Wildly wealthy, John Jacob Astor and his second wife--who was 19 to his 47--were returning from their honeymoon abroad in Egypt and France, which they were ending early because of her unexpected pregnancy. The Astors boarded Titanic in Cherbourg, France, with Mrs. Astor's maid and nurse, Col. Astor's valet, and the Astors' dog, an Airedale named Kitty.

John Jacob Astor IV, circa 1909.

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Many of the American elites had recently come to disdain the Astors because of Jack's hasty remarriage to such a young girl. One of the few who didn't pass judgment, however, was fellow First-Class passenger Molly Brown, who had traveled with the happy couple in Europe, and coincidentally also needed to abbreviate her travels and head home on Titanic.

The Washington Times, dated August 3, 1911.

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Astor was a Harvard alum; he was a very intelligent man, and considered eccentric by some. In addition to the real-estate that comprised his fortune, he also tried his hand at writing science fiction in the 1890s; he published a novel exploring life on other planets in the faraway year of 2000, called "A Journey in Other Worlds".

He was also fascinated by technological advancements, and was known to invent certain things to make life's little tasks easier--a bicycle brake--and things to make the world better--a better turbine engine. He was also fond of motor cars.

Astor in his motor car, circa 1903. Courtesy of the Library of Congress.

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Astor served in the US Army during the Spanish-American War and offered his yacht for commission by the US Navy. His service was not entirely appreciated by the American public; his minimal involvement in combat was rewarded with an honorary promotion to colonel. It was his chosen form of address for the rest of his life.

Astor in military uniform.

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Astor roused his wife immediately after the collision, assuring her the damage was "not serious." While waiting on deck for a lifeboat, the young Mrs. Astor offered her shawl to a third-class passenger, to keep her child warm.

Now concerned with the cold while waiting on deck, the Astors went into the gymnasium, taking seats on the mechanical horses. It was during this time that Titanic's First-Class Barber Augustus Weikman found Jack and fellow millionaire George Widener watching some other men have a go at the punching bags.

The Colonel was also reportedly witnessed in the gymnasium slicing open a life-jacket with a pen knife to show his nervous wife the contents therein.

Madeleine Force Astor circa 1915. From the George Grantham Bain Collection, courtesy of Library of Congress.

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It was Second Officer Charles Lightoller who refused Jack a seat in Lifeboat 4, even though Astor indicated his wife was "in a delicate condition."

Jack took the refusal gracefully, asking what lifeboat number it was in order to find her later. And then, stepping back, The Colonel lit a cigarette with another doomed man.

Conflicting reports persist of Colonel Astor stepping aside, or otherwise giving up his seat to children and selflessly assisting other women into lifeboats. This imagined heroism is a common theme with notable men who died on Titanic; they are, however, often unsubstantiated.

The Astors with their beloved Airedale Terrier, named Kitty.

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Mrs. Astor's maid and nurse both survived.

John Jacob Astor IV, as well as his valet Victor Robins, both perished.

John Jacob Astor's body was recovered by the crew of the Mackay-Bennett on April 22, 1912, one of just over three hundred. The condition of his corpse remains a source of speculation, as it would likely indicate his precise cause of death: hypothermia, drowning, or--as rumor has dictated--the brute injury of being crushed by a falling funnel.

However he met his end, Titanic's wealthiest victim was labeled as follows.

NO. 124 – MALE – ESTIMATED AGE 50 – LIGHT HAIR & MOUSTACHE.

CLOTHING – Blue serge suit; blue handkerchief with "A.V."; belt with gold buckle; brown boots with red rubber soles; brown flannel shirt; "J.J.A." on back of collar.

EFFECTS – Gold watch; cuff links, gold with diamond; diamond ring with three stones; £225 in English notes; $2440 in notes; £5 in gold; 7s. in silver; 5 ten franc pieces; gold pencil; pocketbook.

FIRST CLASS. NAME- J.J. ASTOR IV

While a great deal of attention was paid to his dazzling effects, there is no mention of damage to Astor's body.

In fact, Mackay-Bennett crewmember Gerald Ross reported the following in his interview with the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin, further demonstrating that, contrary to popular belief, it would appear that John Jacob Astor had not, in fact, been crushed.

I saw the recovery of Col. Astor’s body. Like the others it was floating buoyed by a lifebelt. Both arms extended upwards. The face was swollen, one jaw was injured. His body was clothed in a business suit and tan shoes. His watch, a costly thing, studded with diamonds, was dangling from his pocket. It had stopped at 3:20. Practically all the other watches on bodies we recovered had stopped at 2:10. His watch chain was of platinum and so were the settings of the rings he wore.

Colonel Astor's fame and societal prominence invited much in the way of tall tales and un-truths that persist even today.

For instance, it's been rumored that Astor himself let all the passenger dogs loose from their kennels, although how he would have managed to go from the boat deck to F-deck and back again--all while in the company of his panicked wife and prominent friends--remains to be reasoned out.

And then there's the myth that he was idle at the bar when Titanic struck the iceberg and decided to quip, "I asked for more ice, but this is ridiculous."

By all accounts, John Jacob Astor IV wasn't one for humor.

 

New York American dated April 16, 1912.

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Madeleine Astor gave birth to a son in August of 1912. Named after his late father, he was nicknamed "Jakey". He was often called the "Titanic Baby" by the press.

Jakey died in 1992.

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Dogs on Titanic

Dogs on Titanic

Animals weren't scarce on Titanic.

Aside from Jenny the Ship Cat, whose premonitory departure at Southampton with her litter has already been outlined, there were also a number of fancy-breed French roosters and hens, a canary that is oft-misreported as going down with the ship, and countless rats, as on every ship in the history of humanity.

And of course, there were about a dozen dogs.

Dogs were only permitted if they belonged to first-class passengers, but there were no size restrictions. They included two Pomeranians, a Pekinese named Sun-Yat-Sen owned by the Harper family (as in, Harper Collins Publishers), and a toy dog named Freu Freu that was "too pretty [to stay in the kennels]" and belonged to Helen Bishop.

Larger dogs included Ann Isham's Great Dane or St. Bernard (my research leads me to believe the latter), John Jacob Astor's Airedale, Kitty.

The Carter family brought two dogs on board: their unnamed King Charles Spaniel, and their own Airedale Terrier. The latter belonged to their young son Billy.

And the most valuable canine passenger was an all-black French Bulldog named Gamin de Pycombe, who was a recent purchase of Robert Daniel's that cost the obscene equivalent of almost $14,000 today.

First-Class passenger Robert W. Daniel. courtesy of N.A.R.A.

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As fun as Gamin's name is, best-named Titanic dogs go to Harry Anderson's chow-chow, named Chow-Chow, and a Fox Terrier aptly named Dog. Captain Smith's Russian Foxhound, Ben, spent only one night on board, then was taken back home by Smith's daughter before Titanic set sail.

Captain E.J. Smith and his wolfhound Ben. Published in contemporary accounts.

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The dogs were kenneled on F Deck and looked after by the ship's carpenter. They were exercised and taken out for bathroom breaks daily. There were even enough purebreds on board that Titanic's schedule for Monday, April 15, 1912, actually called for a mini-dog show in the morning.

We all know what happened instead.

Of the 12 dogs confirmed to have been on board, 3 survived: the two Pomeranians and Sun-Yat-Sen the Pekinese, who were all smuggled or otherwise permitted on the lifeboats because they were so small

A Pomeranian circa 1915. Of the three dogs saved from Titanic, two were Pomeranians.

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Little Freu Freu, clearly sensing dismay, pulled desperately on Helen Bishop's dress as she left for the boat deck. Helen reluctantly left Freu Freu behind in her room, feeling that to insist on saving her dog when people could die was indecent. She said it broke her heart.

The larger dogs clearly could not be secreted to safety, but that was only one reason for their demise. Recall that the dogs were locked in their kennels below deck.

This changed, however, when a still-unknown Samaritan made their way down to F Deck despite the rising water and freed the dogs, undoubtedly trying to give them a fair shot at survival, or at least a less inhumane end.

Rumors still circulate that their savior was John Jacob Astor himself; this is unverifiable, though one can guess at its origins.

Jack Astor and his wife were both extremely protective of Kitty, especially since she had been lost as they traveled the Nile on their honeymoon in Egypt. Luckily, Kitty was discovered on another American family's passing boat and returned to the Astors, who offered a sizeable reward.

Kitty apparently was most often found in sleeping in the Astors' suites instead of in the Titanic's kennels, and Astor walked her on deck every day. When Astor lifted his pregnant wife through a window and into a lifeboat, it's reported that she begged him to go find Kitty.

Some witnesses say it's the last they saw of John Jacob Astor.

The Astors with their Airedale Terrier, Kitty. Jack Astor and Kitty would both die in the sinking.

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Astor is also associated with the Carter family's unnamed Airedale, who belonged to their 11-year-old son, Billy.

Billy absolutely adored his dog. He had him on a leash while waiting for a lifeboat, but the dog was refused a spot on the lifeboat. Billy, in tears, was reassured by Astor that his dog would be well taken care of, no matter what.

Billy declined to speak much of the sinking even as an adult, being so traumatized with guilt over leaving his dog behind. The most he did say was that he last saw him sitting, still leashed, beside the preternaturally calm John Jacob Astor.

The Carters filed a $100 claim for their Spaniel, $200 for their Airedale, and $5,000 for their Renault car in Titanic's cargo hold... Yes, that's the Sexy Time Handprint Car in the 1997 movie.

As the ship sank, all the dogs left on board were seen running in a frantic herd up and down the sloping deck. Mrs. Astor said this is when she last saw Kitty, pacing back and forth. Frou Frou died locked in Bishop's room; no one knows how long Chow-Chow and Dog survived.

But this was not the last sighting of Titanic's dogs.

First-Class passenger and world-famous tennis player Richard Norris Williams was struggling to keep his head above the freezing water in the moments after Titanic submerged.

Breaking the surface, he came face to face with the last thing he would have expected in the middle of the nighttime ocean: Gamin de Pycombe the Extraordinarily Expensive French Bulldog, paddling for his own life in the swarm.

French Bulldog (not Gamin) circa 1915.

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Gamin, was said to having been heard crying when the chaos began by Edith Russell, whose cabin neighbored Daniels'.

Edith went inside and pet the dog and put him to bed. He was fed a treat and "was very obedient and sat there and looked at me sweetly as I closed the door. I did not know then that we were in any great danger or else I would have taken him with me."

Gamin was presumably let loose from the room shortly thereafter, given Williams' encounter.

The last sighting of any of Titanic's doomed dogs was of that reportedly belonging to First-Class passenger Ann Isham.

Ms. Isham's dog is most commonly reported to have been a Great Dane, but I'm still looking for the primary source of this information; I believe that it comes from a widely circulated photo of three dogs on a ship deck (including a Dane) that is meant to represent the Titanic dogs. But don't be fooled; this photo does not portray any of Titanic's dogs. In fact, it was not taken on Titanic at all.

Photo erroneously cited as being of dogs on board Titanic.

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What is rumored is that Ann Isham, a First-Class woman, supposedly refused to take her seat in a lifeboat if she could not take her dearest dog with her.

Days later, the German ship SS Bremen sailed past Titanic's wreck site. Bremen passenger Johanna Stunke wrote that as the ship passed, everyone observed in horrified silence.

Looking down over the rail we distinctly saw a number of bodies so clearly that we could make out what they were wearing, and whether they were men or women.

We saw one woman in her nightdress, with a baby clasped closely to her breast. Several of the women passengers screamed, and left the rail in a fainting condition.

There was another woman, fully dressed, with her arms tight around the body of a shaggy dog that looked like a St. Bernard. The bodies of three men in a group, all clinging to one steamer chair floated close by, and just beyond them were a dozen bodies of men, all in life-preservers, clinging together, as though in the last desperate struggle for life.

© Excerpt from "Lost Voices of the Titanic: The Definitive Oral History" by Nick Barratt, St. Martin's Press. 2010.

It makes sense if the dead woman was, in fact, Ann Isham. There is, however, is no way to verify it, or to find out to whom the shaggy dog belonged. Ann Isham, for note, was one of only four First-Class women to die in the sinking.

The final Titanic dog never existed to begin with, even though many people still think he did. This made-up hero dog was a black Newfoundland named Rigel belonging to First Officer William Murdoch.

Newfoundland, circa 1915.

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Rigel supposedly rescued and aided victims throughout the night, and even barked to prevent the Carpathia from running exhausted survivors over.

This story, while heartwarming and novel--a Newfie in the ice-cold Atlantic rescuing people as Newfies are bred to do, how convenient--was first published as told by a Carpathia crewman named Jonas Briggs. But a) there is no record of a Newfie on Titanic, b) Murdoch's widow insisted he never owned a dog, and c) there is no record of a Jonas Briggs on Carpathia.

Moreover, Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall, who was in the first lifeboat to be picked up Carpathia, made no mention of Rigel, which one would think he would had something so extraordinary occurred.

So, as awesome as Rigel was, he was only that awesome because he was imagined that way. But this has not stopped the story from circulating, even today.

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Dining Facilities

Dining On Board

Behold, what First-Class passengers were eating for lunch on April 12, 1912.

There is a noticeable disparity in quality to the modern eye between this fare and the menu options for Second and Third Class, but in 1912, First-Class passengers had never felt more adored, and Second- and Third-Class passengers had never felt more privileged.

The White Star Line commissioned work with various companies for proprietary silverware, china, dishes, pots, and state-of-the-art electric equipment for the kitchens. All menu items were coordinated by 2nd Steward Andrew Latimer, whose recipe book was left behind in Southampton.

First-Class passengers had a dining saloon. They also had exclusive access to the Verandah Cafe, which was more often called 'the Palm Court' because of its trellis walls cloaked in ivy and its potted plants on pretty tile floors. It was also replete with wicker chairs and oversized windows to make full use of the soft light.

The Palm Court on R.M.S. Olympic.

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They were also privy to "The Restaurant," which was available exclusively to their class of ticket.

Tables in The Restaurant had to be reserved in advance; lucky passengers could even get a seat with Captain Smith, or White Star Chairman J. Bruce Ismay. An Italian restauranteur was in charge of The Restaurant; he in turn brought in his head chef from Olympic, a Frenchman by the name of Rousseau.

Adjacent to The Restaurant was Cafe Parisien, which the White Star Line hyped as a "charming sun-lit veranda, tastefully decorated in French trellis-work with ivy and other creeping plants." It was, naturally, exclusive to First Class.

Moreover, Cafe Parisien was also exclusive to Titanic herself, as it had been installed to replace what was an oft-untrod promenade deck on her older sister ship Olympic.

Cafe Parisien on Titanic. Taken by Robert John Welch for Harland & Wolff.

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First-Class passengers could also get room service. Given how gargantuan Titanic was, a hot water jacket was used to keep the meals warm on the commute from kitchen to suite, which had a separate dining area.

Second-Class options were expectedly less highfalutin.

The Second-Class dining area hosted crewmembers as well as passengers, and its kitchen was shared with First Class, but the diners did not enjoy all the same luxuries.

For instance, silverware, although likewise silver-plated, was more utilitarian. Whereas First-Class passengers were given the extremely vital grape scissors at their tables, for example, Second-Class passengers were expected to pull the wanted grape from its bunch by hand.

In addition to Second Class, Titanic had a dining area for the maids and servants of first-class passengers on C Deck, which was accessed just off the Grand Staircase. Their silver napkin rings were engraved with the word "SERVANTS," lest they forgot themselves.

Third Class had plainer fare but no want for enthusiasm.

The Second-Class Dining Saloon on Titanic's elder sister, R.M.S. Olympic, circa 1911.

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In addition to Second Class, Titanic had a dining area for the maids and servants of first-class passengers on C Deck, which was accessed just off the Grand Staircase. Their silver napkin rings were engraved with the word "SERVANTS," lest they forgot themselves.

Third Class had plainer fare but no want for enthusiasm.

Many Third-Class passengers had never eaten better--or received better treatment--than they had on board. Not only were the chairs unbolted to the floor as was customary for Third Class, but the tables had linens, and they were given tissue napkins printed with the White Star logo.

In a marketing bid, Third-Class passengers were encouraged to keep their menus, which doubled as a postcard that White Star hoped they would send back home, thereby enticing their family and friends to buy a steerage ticket and experience the luxury. Despite the opulence that so often springs to mind at the mention of the RMS Titanic, First-Class tickets were not White Star's bread and butter: steerage, thanks to immigration to America, paid the bills.

Third-Class Dining Saloon on R.M.S. Olympic. Courtesy of Bedford Lemere & Co.

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A single Third-Class menu card, dated April 14, 1912, survives. It was safeguarded in the purse of steerage passenger Sara Roth, who was in Collapsible Lifeboat C.

SOURCE MATERIAL

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

https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-survivor/sarah-roth.html

https://titanicexhibition.com/nyc/

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