3rd Class - Soliloquism

“Good-bye For Ever”: James Farrell

The Kates of Co. Longford might not have survived that night, had it not been for James Farrell.

James, born in 1886, was one of nine children, and thus a middle child amongst a swarm of siblings.

According to census data, his family owned a farm; by 1911, records indicate that his mother, Ellen, had died.

In the 1911 census, 24-year-old James was noted on the same farm property as his father, as an unmarried farmer’s son. And as a farmhand, he was reportedly a rather brawny lad.

What reason James had for traveling to America in 1912 is still uncertain. Records suggest he might have been due to meet a Patrick McGrath, or perhaps a James Keating, both of whom resided in Brooklyn.

A fair few Third-class ticket-holders, who like James were leaving their homes in Co. Longford, also traveled by train to the Queenstown dock that day.

That particular group reportedly made fast friends with each other, having recognized one another from neighboring villages in Co. Longford. This group included Kate Gilnagh and Thomas McCormack, amongst quite a few others.

They chatted and joked, and even had a sing-song on the train ride, according to a secondhand account.

All things considered, this group most likely included James Farrell.

From the train, the Co. Longford crew boarded the tender ship SS America.

As the little ship shuffled to Titanic’s side, the group likely watched the hills, the churning waves, and the colorless facade of Queenstown receding from view.

In those moments, fellow steerage passenger and musician Eugene Daly rested his pipes against his shoulder, bit down on the mouthpiece, and began to play. It was a moment much adored by those on board.

Once embarked on Titanic, the 113 newly arrived steerage passengers would have descended to the lower decks.

It might have been tiresome, navigating the corridors toward their assigned berths: single men to the bow section; unwed girls aft, in the stern. Married couples—or those couples pretending to be—shared the stern with the ladies.

Later, a settle-in was followed by a hungry pilgrimage to the Third-class dining saloon, which was located on F Deck. Therein, the long, clothed tables awaited them. The passengers were obligated to arrive to dinner in shifts, since the dining saloon could not accommodate everyone at once.

Therein, the sight of pressed tablecloths and electric lights were a delight that many had never before experienced.

As it was in the berths, the unmarried men were separated from maidens and families while dining; the saloon, divided as it was by a watertight bulkhead, facilitated this division.

Coats were hung on pegs along the white walls, and seats were taken. The dinner was served by stewards; the food was robust, and the room presumably boisterous.

After dinner, the Co. Longford company might have reconvened in the Third-class general room to spend time in each other’s company.

They might have taken up a game of chess, cards, or dominoes; alternately, they might have decided to take in music by the upright piano. One of the Co. Longford girls, named Kate Murphy, had brought her violin along.

The men likewise might have adjourned to the adjacent Third-Class Smoking Room, which was designated exclusively for their use.

The Co. Longford group almost certainly spent time out on the aft decks as well.

Much of James Farrell’s time was likely spent this way: reporting for meal times, and spending time with his new friends from Co. Longford.

The men and women Co. Longford—James Farrell among them—seem to have done their utmost to stick together throughout the sinking.

After Kate Gilnagh and her cabin mates were awoken and alerted to the emergency by Eugene Daly, they tried to ascend the decks as quickly as they could.

But, according to survivor testimony given to author Walter Lord, the steerage passengers were held back, and thus barricaded from salvation in a lifeboat.

In that dire moment, James Farrell appears in a survivor account for the first time.

Others somehow reached the second class Promenade space on B deck, then couldn’t find their way any further… Others beat on the barriers, demanding to be let through. Third class passenger Daniel Buckley… jumped to his feet and raised up the steps again. The seaman took one look, locked the gate and fled. The passenger smashed the lock and dashed through, howling what he would do if he caught the sailor...

At another barrier a seaman held back Kathy Gilnagh, Kate Mullins, and Kate Murphy… Suddenly a steerage passenger, Jim Farrell, a strapping Irishman from the girls’ home county, barged up. “Great God, man!” He roared. “Open the gate and let the girls through!” It was a superb demonstration of sheer voice power. To the girls' astonishment, the sailor meekly complied.

In the calamity that followed the girls' escape from behind the unspecified "barrier" between the Third- and Second-class decks, Kate Gilnagh found herself temporarily separated from her Co. Longford friends.

They were, at that moment, located a full deck above her.

But Kate was saved by a stranger's curious benevolence, when he offered her the chance to stand upon his shoulders to reach the deck overhead.

Upon rejoining the other Co. Longford girls on the boat deck, Kate Gilnagh would encounter James Farrell one more time, as she stood by Lifeboat 16 on the port side of Titanic.

Kate had just been denied entry to the lifeboat; it was too full to take on any additional passengers, she was told. But she finagled her way aboard with a fib.

James took this opportunity to bestow upon Kate Gilnagh yet another kindness.

James Farrell was the 68th Titanic victim found in the Mackay Bennett's recovery expedition. His corpse was committed to the sea on 24 April 1912, which was the predetermined outcome for the remains of Third-class passengers.

Kate Gilnagh, along with multiple other Co. Longford girls, survived the sinking.

And she believed that James Farrell's bellow across the barrier that night was what saved her life.

Kate was interviewed about her survivor experience in November of 1956. Even then, after more than four decades, she was moved to reflect on James Farrell's fearlessness.

"Well, we were standing on the steerage, Third Class, they call it, and then we couldn't get up to Second," Kate said. "And of course then there was one man with us.

And he was our guardian angel."

“Too Heart-broken To Talk Much”: Austin Van Billiard

The family arrived in London for what was intended to be a three-week stay before continuing on to the United States. Austin had already forged connections with diamond brokers in New York City, and he was eager to get there.

Austin excitedly informed his parents back home of his upcoming return to the United States—but in limited detail. Austin conveyed to them only that he would travel later into the spring.

Quite intentionally, he did not specify when.

Austin was expected in New York City by the aforementioned diamond brokers. And so he seized upon the opportunity to surprise his parents with an early visit.

He had not seen them in over ten years.

After some deliberation, it was decided that Maud would stay behind with the younger children in London, to extend her recuperation from childbirth.

But Austin and their two oldest sons, 10-year-old James and 9-year-old Walter, would travel ahead and surprise the family back in Pennsylvania.

And so, Austin Van Billiard booked passage on Titanic.

Curiously, despite his evident familial affluence and his cache of diamonds, Austin Van Billiard purchased Third-class tickets.

It has been speculated that Austin was trying to lay low because of the treasures he carried, which reportedly amounted to "many thousand dollars worth" of uncut diamonds. Sailing in steerage certainly would dispel any notions that he was well-off.

It has also been suggested that, since First- and Second-class passenger lists were published in American newspapers, that Austin hoped to keep his homecoming a surprise from his parents by staying anonymous in Third-class.

Or maybe he was simply frugal.

It is unknown how Austin and his sons spent their time onboard, perhaps supporting the notion that the Van Billiards strove to keep a low profile.

Austin's movements during the sinking are unknown. Contemporary reporting suggests that James and Walter would have clung to their father as Titanic foundered, rather than be separated in a lifeboat. Or perhaps, because the Van Billiards were steerage passengers, they never got to a lifeboat at all.

Austin and both of his boys died when Titanic sank.

Austin was 35 years old.

In Pennsylvania, Austin’s parents, James and Phoebe, had no reason to believe they were affected by the Titanic disaster; they did not know their son had been on board with the grandchildren they'd never met.

But when James read a passenger manifest in the newspaper, he saw his own last name.

James believed it a coincidence; Austin and the children were not due to arrive for weeks yet.

Never the less, James wired his daughter-in-law in London, inquiring if Austin and the boys had, unbeknownst to him, already sailed.

Maud confirmed the worst.

“Attached to Each Other”: Denis Lennon & Mary Mullin

The tender SS America shrunk down as it bobbed toward the RMS Titanic, ferrying over 120 passengers toward their fate. And amongst those passengers was Joe’s little sister, Mary, along with her lover Denis Lennon.

They were eloping.

Mary's family evidently did not approve.

Joe Mullin, a runner for Guinness and reportedly a mercurial, impulsive drinker, was witnessed pounding his fists on the dock rail in ire.

The police at Queenstown later affirmed to Joe that yes, they had indeed seen a young couple who appeared to be “runaways.” But they did not react, as they had not been informed of any runaways.

Mary was just 18 years old; Denis, 20.

It all unfurled after the Easter holiday.

Mary had been at home in Co. Galway with her mother and siblings. She was then due to return to her boarding school, called Loreto Abbey.

The Mullin family was a prosperous one. Mary’s widowed mother, Delia, owned a thriving pub and general store in Clarinbridge, Co. Galway. Joe worked as the bookkeeper, while his younger brother Owen was shopkeeper.

And according to the 1911 census, the shop assistant was Denis Lennon.

Denis, born in Co. Longford, was the third of six children in an impoverished family. Mary’s hometown of Clarinbridge was well over 100 miles away.

And yet somehow, for reasons still unknown, Denis had made his way there.

Mary was not present at home at the time of the 1911 census; she instead is found listed as a pupil at Loreto Abbey, located in Rathfarnham.

Despite this, at some point, Denis and Mary fell in love. Afraid that their desire to marry would be denied by her family, they made a plan.

It had been arranged that, following the Easter holiday with her family, Mary would take the train into Dublin, to be collected by her brother Bartholomew. He would thereafter deliver Mary back to school.

She reportedly left on time for the rail station on departure day.

But Mary Mullin never met with Bartholomew in Dublin.

Mary’s sister Bridget suspected something and made her way to the railway. There, Bridget had spotted Denis “the barman” watching her from a train.

Mary and Denis were presumably gleeful, then, to find out that their passage was transferred to the maiden voyage of Titanic, scheduled to depart only four days later.

Their ticket bore falsehoods.

The pair reported that they were siblings: a 21-year-old laborer and a 20-year-old spinster. Perhaps in a cheeky nod to their intention to marry, they registered solely under Denis’s last name.

And so, having eluded Joe Mullin’s handgun, they boarded Titanic as “Denis and Mary Lennon.”

Little exists in the way of information regarding Mary and Denis while on board Titanic, although contemporary reporting asserts that they “were spoken to while aboard the ill-fated vessel.”

Neither survived.

At first, it was speculated that maybe "the bride" Mary had survived, but it was a futile hope.

In her bereavement, Delia Mullin engaged local solicitors, Blake & Kenny, to investigate the fate of her stolen daughter.

After interviewing survivors, the solicitors discovered that a couple resembling Denis and Mary that either had a single lifeboat seat—or alternately, a single lifebelt—between them, meant for the girl. She refused, stating that ‘if he couldn’t have one’ then neither would she.

For decades thereafter, Denis and Mary were a persistent mystery: thanks to the error of the White Star Line, Denis’s surname of Lennon was, for a long time erroneously recorded, as “Lemon.”

The true nature of their relationship was, and still is, uncertain.

And, of course, “Mary Lennon” was elusive in found records, since, technically, she did not exist.

The legacy of Mary and Denis endures even today.

After the disaster, local folklore memorialized the tragedy of the lovesick girl who eloped on Titanic with her family's shop-hand.

An alumna of Loreto Abbey stated during an interview that as late as 1949, the school continued to invoke dedicated prayers each April for Mary Mullin. Hers was their chosen cautionary tale against romantic impulse.

And then, more than seven decades later, Mary and Denis inspired the creation of a fictional, forbidden liaison on the RMS Titanic.

It was a movie about a rich girl, a poor boy, and an angry chase involving a handgun.

“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 secondhand memories of the McCoy family, the new friends conversed amiably and even sang throughout the ride down to Queenstown.

And 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 in New York City, Thomas McCormack disembarked to be picked up by his brother-in-law, Bernard Evers, who had traveled there 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.

“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.

“I Think It Is True That They Can Smell Danger”: Titanic’s Rats

Ranger and other surviving crew, on standby to be called before the Board, had been advised to stay at the Sailors’ Home in London, which had offered wayward seafarers interim accommodations between voyages since the 1800s.

In May of 1912, however, the rooms in the Sailors’ Home were overly full—to the point that makeshift quarters were put out in the yard.

Meanwhile, construction to the building was ongoing, with bricklayers. The Titanic survivors were assigned to the vicinity of the remodeling efforts.

And Thomas Ranger could not bear to sleep there because the construction had disturbed and displaced an unspecified quantity of rats.

Rats have congregated on ships for so long and with such regularity that they are believed to have spread worldwide alongside human, thanks to our human Age of Conquest when ships dominated the open seas.

It’s reasonable to hypothesize that rats would have boarded the Titanic much like they have any other vessel in history: by running up unguarded mooring lines, as stowaways within waiting cargo, and even by taking up residence within the walls during construction in the shipyard.

Interestingly, around the time of the British Inquiry into the Titanic disaster, a law had recently been enacted that mandated the use of rat-guards on mooring lines, upon penalty of a five-pound fine.

But rats are cleverer than that.

Oftentimes, rats were so plentiful aboard that firemen working the boilers had a particular method of killing shipboard rats on-sight: by scooping the offending rats up with their shovels and flinging them into the fiery maw of the furnace.

For this reason, many ships had at least one cat on board.

In the case of Titanic, this rumored mouser was named Jenny: a newly adopted stray about to birth a litter.

According to Violet Jessop, Jenny the Ship's Cat was tended to primarily by a scullion named Joseph 'Big Joe' Mulholland.

The Sunday Independent reported on Joe's own account on the anniversary of the sinking, in 1962.

"There was something about that ship I did not like and I was glad to lift my old bag and bid goodbye...

Big Joe is still fond of cats and perhaps he has a reason. He recalls that on his way down to the Titanic before she set sail from Belfast with bands playing and crowds cheering, he took pity on a stray cat which was about to have kittens. He brought the cat aboard and put her in a wooden box down in the stokehold.

At Southampton, when he was ruminating whether to take on the job of store-keeper on the trip or sign off, another seaman called him over and said: 'Look Big Joe. There's your cat taking its kittens down the gang-plank.'

Joe said, 'that settled it. I went and got my bag and that's the last I saw of the Titanic.'"

"On this very morning, my chum and I had just gone across firing our boilers and we were standing against a watertight door—just talking—when all of a sudden, on looking through the forward end on [Titanic’s] starboard side, we saw about six or maybe seven rats running toward us. They passed by our feet; in fact, we both kicked out at them and they ran after somewhere.

They must have come from the bow end, about where the crash came later. We did not take much notice at the time because we see rats on most ships, but I think it is true that they can smell danger."

Shortly before collision, there was a large party in the common area of steerage.

And Kathy Gilnagh told Walter Lord that, at some point during the frivolity, a rat scurried across the room--presumably dashing across the makeshift dance floor. According to Kathy, the girls shrieked and may have even cried, but a few boys gave chase.

Kathy did not elaborate about whether those boys managed to catch that particular rat.

But the party reportedly continued on.

Even during the collision with the iceberg.

“Not Bad for A Shipwrecked Man”: Patrick O’Keefe

In 1912, at the age of 21, Patrick had returned to Ireland to visit with his family and meet his new stepmother. He had initially booked passage back to America on the SS Baltic.

But Patrick’s brother, James, convinced him to stay over an extra week in Ireland so the entire family could be together for Easter on April 7th.

And so Patrick transferred his ticket to Titanic.

Having failed to find a taker for his doomed ticket, Patrick reluctantly embarked on the Titanic at Queenstown on April 11th.

He did so only because he feared derision.

He wrote to his father, “I thought if I went back to Waterford again the boys would be laughing at me.”

Mr. BRIDE.
And there was a passenger; I could not see whether he was first, second, or third.

Senator SMITH.
What kind of a looking man?

Mr. BRIDE.
I could not say, sir.

Senator SMITH.
Have you learned who it was?

Mr. BRIDE.
No, sir; I heard him say at the time he was a passenger.

Senator SMITH.
Was it Colonel Gracie?

Mr. BRIDE.
I could not say. He merely said he was a passenger.

Senator SMITH.
Where did he get on?

Mr. BRIDE.
I could not say. I was the last man they invited on board.

Senator SMITH.
Were there others struggling to get on?

Mr. BRIDE.
Yes, sir.

Senator SMITH.
How many?

Mr. BRIDE.
Dozens.

Mr. O’Keefe immediately adjusted the aforementioned masses from bereavement to thanksgiving for his son’s miraculous survival.

Patrick went on to his new job, eventually working as a window dresser for an unidentified department store. Later on, he became a lift operator in a New York City office building.

Patrick O’Keefe declined to ever speak about the sinking of the Titanic.

But at the outbreak of the Great War in America, he traveled to Canada to enlist as a British subject--rather than be conscripted into the American forces and be forced to cross the Atlantic again.

So profound was his aversion to sea travel, in fact, that after 1912, Patrick never once stepped foot in Ireland again.

Patrick O'Keefe died from a heart attack in 1939. He was 49 years old.

“On a Trip Around the World”: Henry Sutehall, Jr. & Howard Irwin

Henry Sutehall Jr. had been away from home for over two years when he boarded Titanic in Southampton on April 10, 1912.

Harry, as he was called, had been born in England in 1886. He emigrated to the United States with his parents and two younger siblings in 1895. They departed from the docks at Southampton, thereafter settling in Buffalo, New York.

His father worked with plaster in construction; his mother managed the family’s corner store on Delaware Avenue, selling tobacco products, confections, and ice cream.

And when Harry came of age, he took to work as a “trimmer,” working with upholstery in fancy carriages and automobiles.

Harry worked at E. E. Denniston’s in Buffalo. And that was where he met his new best friend: a young Canadian man named Howard Irwin.

The young men were dissimilar: Harry was unassuming, even-tempered, and genteel, with nary a vice. Howard, on the other hand, was arrogant, adventurous, and irascible. By his own admission, he got into fights.

But they forged a devoted friendship, and soon, Harry Sutehall and Howard Irwin decided to embark on a round-the-world tour.

And so, on New Year’s Day of 1910, Harry and Howard set out on their adventures. Harry brought along his violin, and during their cross-country travels, Howard picked up the clarinet. Harry presumably guided his friend in nurturing his musical skills.

The boys worked their way across the United States; or, as Howard wrote in his journal, “stopping in all the principalities between Buff [Buffalo] and Frisco [San Francisco].”

They financed their travel by working as trimmers whenever they could offer their services. But they took other jobs as well—at one point, they worked as peach-pickers in California.

And then, sometime in the summer of 1911, Harry and Howard headed to Australia.

They arrived in Sydney.

The boys seemed to fare well in Australia. Harry reportedly won a sweepstake of some kind while they were there, which contributed itself toward their travels.

While there, Harry fell in love. The girl's identity has not been discovered to date, but Harry made his intentions clear in the letters he wrote home: he would, one day soon, return to Australia to marry her.

Somewhere along the way, Howard Irwin had also fallen in love--although the relationship appeared to have been deteriorating. Pearl Shuttle had been touring the United States in her own right, as she was either a vaudeville performer or playing cornet a band.

Their love was epistolary, and Howard expressed in his letters to Pearl that because she was so beautiful, that he feared she would fall in love with another man. Over and over again, Pearl attempted to reassure Howard.

After many exchanges sent between Australia and the United States and back again, Pearl sent a seven-page letter to Howard in which she suggested they break up.

The boys parted ways after their stint in Sydney, only because they had diverging interests and they had plenty they each still wanted to see. But they vowed to meet up again along their westward wanderings toward home.

Howard and Harry made good on their word and reunited in Durban, South Africa, where they won a talent contest, perhaps thanks to their musical aptitudes. Then Howard and Harry once again split off, promising to meet again in England in 1912 to head back home on the maiden voyage of Titanic.

After separating from Howard, Harry went on to Europe.

While there, he is reported to have had an audition with American composer John Phillip Sousa. "The March King," as Sousa was widely known, had great esteem for Harry's talent but alas, he had no need for a violinist. So he advised the young man as to potential avenues he might take, to further his musical ambitions.

Eventually, Harry made it to England ahead of schedule. He stayed with family and enjoyed the reunion; they had not seen each other in five years, since 1907.

Harry Sutehall boarded Titanic as a Third-Class passenger at Southampton on April 10, 1912. He was unexpectedly alone.

For reasons still unconfirmed, Howard Irwin didn't show up.

By some accounts, Howard had left Europe two months early, because Pearl was deathly ill, and he had rushed to be with her. By Howard's own account, he had been shanghaied: the night before, he had gone out drinking with some random fellows and when he woke up, he was on an eastbound steamer vessel, heading to the Orient.

Not many people believed him.

Regardless of Howard's absence, Harry curiously boarded Titanic in possession of Howard's trunk. Maybe it was a mistake; maybe, it was a favor for his friend who had left it behind.

Harry Sutehall Jr. did not survive the sinking. He was 25 years old.

Howard Irwin claimed he was in Port Said, Egypt, when he heard that Titanic had foundered. He returned home thereafter, without his belongings and without his best friend.

In 1993, a submersible recovered Howard Irwin's luggage from the wreck site of Titanic. Inside, were his clarinet and shoes, a leather satchel filled with letters from Ms. Pearl Shuttle, and his travel diary from 1910.

The first entry reads:

“The Trunks and Valises And All That With Them”: Ludwig Muller

With the advent of the 20th century arrived a more enlightened perception of immigration. Steamship companies sought to capitalize on the ever-increasing number of steerage passengers boarding their European vessels for the United States.

Among the first to boast elevated accommodations for its Third Class was the White Star Line.

The following was published as a review of the White Star liner RMS Baltic, which underwent her maiden voyage in June 1904 under the command of Captain Edward J. Smith, who would command the RMS Titanic less than a decade later.

Translators, most often to as "interpreters," were employed on board passenger liners such as the Baltic, Olympic, and Titanic.

Typically, a single interpreter was assigned per voyage, and this individual was responsible for assisting and otherwise managing the mass of immigrants in the steerage class. Many emigrating groups were families from northern and central Europe; thus, interpreters often seem to have been fluent in Germanic languages alongside English.

The "Interpreter Steward" acted as a liaison between passengers and crew, facilitating communications between parties that included non-English speakers. The on-board interpreter could be prevailed upon to aid in any number of circumstances, from the most mundane of matters to the downright whimsical.

In 1906, for instance, the interpreter of the White Star Line's RMS Majestic was called upon to assist in officiating the at-sea wedding of a "youthful runaway couple" from Norway who were unable to get married before boarding, as they had intended.

This ceremony was, incidentally, arranged with great diligence and evident joy by Chief Purser Hugh McElroy. He would, six years hence, serve in the same role on Titanic.

At the opposite end of the spectrum were interpreters who were reported as idle, morally compromised ne'er-do-wells. The following account regarding an unidentified White Star interpreter was published in 1909.

An interpreter who spoke English, Swedish, Norwegian, and some German was on board to serve when needed. He was, however, not at all conscientious in the performance of any duties and evidently not very capable. His price for granting privileges, performing favors and overlooking abuses was a mug of stout... he did not hesitate to solicit free drinks from everyone... he was generally present in the dining room during meals, though he did nothing. To young women passengers his manner could be most friendly and gracious. To others he was positively rude.

By all survivor accounts, however, this description does not characterize the interpreter of RMS Titanic.

Ludwig Muller, also called Louis, was German by birth. He had already operated as the Third-Class interpreter on Titanic's older sister Olympic. He presumably spoke an assortment of northern European languages.

Ludwig embarked on Titanic at Southampton on April 10, 1912. His last recorded address was a hotel called the Hooper's Temperance, an establishment on Oxford Street in Southampton that was frequented by transient mariners from all around.

On board, Ludwig found himself bunked in a rare two-bunk cabin on E Deck. His sole cabinmate was a Third-Class Steward named Sidney Sedunary.

Ludwig's experience on board Titanic prior to the iceberg strike is not recorded. Considering that he was acting as the sole interpreter for over 700 steerage passengers, it is fair to presume he was continually on the clock.

His movements during the sinking, however, were noted in multiple survivor accounts.

During the sixth day of the British Board of Trade's Inquiry into the disaster, Chief Baker Charles Joughin testified to that he had spotted Muller during the sinking.

Joughin also spoke in detail about the hindrances that Ludwig Muller dealt with as he endeavored to do his duty. Specifically, the steerage passengers whom the interpreter was attempting to direct insisted upon hauling all of their luggage with them, and Ludwig could not dissuade them.

6174. So that, unless on this particular occasion special instructions were given to [Third-Class passengers] as to the route they should follow they would not know where to go, would they?
- They would not know unless they were given instructions.

6175. Did you hear any such instructions given?
- Yes.

6176. By whom?
- I saw the interpreter passing the people along that way, but there was a difficulty in getting them along because some of the foreign third class passengers were bringing their baggage and their children along.

6177. Who was the interpreter?
- I do not know his name.

6178. You do not know his name?
- No.

6179. Where was he standing?
- He was standing just abaft this emergency door leading into the third class.

6180. He was pointing or directing those who came to the door?
- Passing them along.

6181. That is at the door, but my point is this. Did you see or know of anyone going to the third class quarters and giving instructions there to the third class passengers?
- No, Sir, I did not. I am out of that altogether.

6182. As to the course they should follow in order to escape?
- I did not hear any orders.

6183. You did not hear any directions being given to these people to go to this door, when further instructions would be given to them?
- I only saw and heard the interpreter doing his business.

...

6193. You say at the time this passage seemed to be obstructed by third class passengers bringing their luggage?
- Yes.

6194. Would that lead to any confusion?
- It would.

6195. Did it, as a matter of fact?
- There did not seem to be much confusion, only it hampered the steward; it hampered the interpreter and the men who were helping him, because they could not prevail on the people to leave their luggage.

During the British Inquiry, a Mr. Clement Edwards solicited further information from surviving First-Class bathroom steward Samuel Rule regarding Ludwig Muller's actions during the disaster.

Rule's account aligned seamlessly with Joughin's testimony three days prior. In fact, he indicated that Ludwig Muller had been proactive in spite of an apparent lack of instruction from superiors, endeavoring in the absence of leadership to direct the Third-Class passengers. It is also worth noting that a significant number of those immigrants on board did not hail from countries that spoke Scandinavian languages.

And yet, it would seem that Muller did his damnedest anyway.

Rule also corroborated Joughin's account that said passengers were adamant in carrying their possessions along with them, and that this impeded Muller and the Third-Class stewards who were attempting to aid the situation.

9769. Did anyone give the stewards' department any orders what to do?
- They gave me no orders.

9770. Did you see any orders given by any of these people in position?
- No.

9771. Did you see any stewards going forward or aft to the third class?
- As I passed out on E deck, Muller, the interpreter, was getting all his people from forward aft, and they were taking their luggage with them on E deck.

9772. He was getting them from forward to aft?
- Yes, the afterend of the ship.

9773. Were there any women among them?
- No, all men.

9774. They were passing the men along E deck?
- All the foreigners.

9775. And they were bringing the baggage along?
- Yes, the trunks and valises and all that, with them.

9776. Was there any chaos in the alleyway?
- None whatever; you would think they were landing on the tender taking their baggage to New York.

“The Titanic Was Also A Vessel of Hope”: David Vartanian

David Vartanian (who Armenian name was Davit) was 21 years old when his family implored him to leave them—and his new wife—behind in Armenia.

He had just married his sweetheart, Mary, in 1911.

David was a Christian, and the Armenian populace was suffering more each day, persecuted and abused by the hand of the Ottoman Empire. Additionally, there was a rumor that the Turks were beginning to draft able-bodied young men from the villages, sending them to the front lines without any weapons.

So local families collaborated to save their sons.

David Vartarian’s salvation was the kindness of his Turkish neighbors, who gave David their dead son’s papers, so that he would be permitted to leave the country.

And so David banded together with four other young men from the village. They set their course on foot for a seven-day trek to the Black Sea, where they then sailed for Marseilles, France.

Once there, the group purchased steerage tickets on the RMS Titanic. They would leave from Cherbourg.

David’s compatriot Neshan Krekorian described the steerage accommodations as snug, but comfortable.

Both David and Neshan were among those who insisted that steerage passengers were barricaded below decks. The reasoning, however, is rarely cited to be anything more than fact, although malice is often implied: Third-Class passengers were not permitted under any circumstance to enter other parts of the ship belonging to First- and Second-Class. Certain areas were always locked or closed off to prevent any wandering.

Neshan Krekorian attested to breaking a chain on a door. David said they had to break down the gates.

David Vartanian made it to the boat deck in the end and soon thereafter found himself with no other option than to jump from Titanic.

And so David watched Titanic sink.

It was his 22nd birthday.

Before leaving Armenia, David reportedly had taught himself to swim in a nearby creek; he would maintain that this incidental choice saved his life that night in the Atlantic.

David Vartanian always maintained that he swam for the nearest lifeboat, but when he reached it, the occupants within slapped and pounded at his hands to make him let go. They were terrified, he believed, that he would capsize the boat while attempting to climb in.

David did not speak English at the time. He did not understand.

He back away, but had to swim back. When those in the lifeboat saw that David was only attempting to hold on, and not crawl in, they let him alone. He shortly fell into unconsciousness, and they hauled him into the boat.

This is sometimes speculated to have been Collapsible A, which was partially submerged.

David’s family have since been told that sometime after David had been pulled aboard unconscious, that the lifeboat went under. David swam to another, it is said, where he entered without any hesitation from the passengers in the boat.

In the end, there is no conclusive evidence to be had about which version of events is true. We only know for certain that he was somehow saved from the water.

David Vartarian and Neshan Krekorian were the only survivors of the five in their party.

Upon reaching New York, the two men were hospitalized. According to David’s grandson, "The lower half of my grandfather’s body had a bluish tint from being in the frigid water for so long, and remained that way.”

While he and Neshan were convalescing, a reporter visited at the hospital with a translator in tow. At some point during the interview, this journalist informed David that he was one of two survivors with the same first name. When asked which he preferred, he replied, “Titanic David.”

He went by “Titanic David” for all the rest of his life.

But David’s saga had not concluded in his survival.

David eventually left Canada for Toledo, Ohio. By 1915, he had heard that the village he had left behind had been decimated in the ongoing invasion by the Ottoman Empire.

He was led to believe that his beloved wife, Mary, was dead--inevitably killed in the genocide of the Armenian people.

In 1915, Mary’s brothers had miraculously found their ways to America and had set up in Pennsylvania. David met up with them to begin a campaign to track down his dear Mary.

Dead or alive, he had to find her.

David proceeded to write to relatives, churches and convents, orphanages, newspapers, and anyone or anything else that occurred to him.

And six years after he left Armenia, David Vartanian found Mary alive.

Mary had fled her village in the genocide, but had returned to live with her sister.

She herself, having heard of the disaster and nothing more, had believed that David had been killed in the sinking of the Titanic.

According to the Vartanian family, David sent Mary money for the journey for nearly five years. Their daughter Rose revealed that money in Armenia was gold coin, so Mary kept each coin on a necklace.

One day, Mary would reunite with her husband in America. Because she was not a legal citizen, she would travel to Canada first, and then cross the border.

Immediately before Mary left Armenia for her passage to Canada, her family convinced her to leave the necklace behind because, as Rose Vartanian repeated decades on, “where you are going, the streets are paved with gold.”

Their great-granddaughter Melissa has mused on the significance of the Titanic not just from the vantage of trauma, but also of promise.

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Category: 3rd Class

“Good-bye For Ever”: James Farrell

"Good-bye For Ever": James Farrell

“Too Heart-broken To Talk Much”: Austin Van Billiard

"Too Heart-broken To Talk Much": Austin Van Billiard

“Attached to Each Other”: Denis Lennon & Mary Mullin

“Attached to Each Other”: Denis Lennon & Mary Mullin

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

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

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

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

“I Think It Is True That They Can Smell Danger”: Titanic’s Rats

"I Think It Is True That They Can Smell Danger": Titanic's Rats

“Not Bad for A Shipwrecked Man”: Patrick O’Keefe

"Not Bad for a Shipwrecked Man": Patrick O'Keefe

“On a Trip Around the World”: Henry Sutehall, Jr. & Howard Irwin

"On a Trip Around the World": Henry Sutehall, Jr. & Howard Irwin

“The Trunks and Valises And All That With Them”: Ludwig Muller

"The Trunks and Valises And All That With Them": Ludwig Muller

“The Titanic Was Also A Vessel of Hope”: David Vartanian

"The Titanic Was Also a Vessel of Hope": David Vartanian

"Good-bye For Ever": James Farrell

"Too Heart-broken To Talk Much": Austin Van Billiard

“Attached to Each Other”: Denis Lennon & Mary Mullin

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

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

"I Think It Is True That They Can Smell Danger": Titanic's Rats

"Not Bad for a Shipwrecked Man": Patrick O'Keefe

"On a Trip Around the World": Henry Sutehall, Jr. & Howard Irwin

"The Trunks and Valises And All That With Them": Ludwig Muller

"The Titanic Was Also a Vessel of Hope": David Vartanian

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