Passenger Profiles - Soliloquism

“He Was Not Likeable”: Alfred Nourney

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exactly why Alfred rebranded himself as a baron is unknown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the first lifeboat to launch from Titanic.

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

They did not much care for Alfred either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None in the party were more than 25 years old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So they jumped overboard.

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

Thomas surfaced and swam for a nearby lifeboat.

But he was attacked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mary elaborated on this moment in her own retelling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dawn eventually broke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Mary and her mother bore witness to it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- No, I heard those statements.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dear Wifey,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He returned to England and his beloved Wifey, Gertrude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Curses and Prayers Filled the Air”: Robert Williams Daniel & Eloise Hughes Smith

At 27 years old, Robert had survived the sinking of the Titanic--although no one, including himself, seemed to know exactly how.

But however he was saved from the ocean, the third-hand account from the Carpathia's medical officer attests to Robert having been saved in a red "woolen sleeping garment" or nightshirt, and shoes. Robert also reportedly wore his late father's pocket watch tied around his neck.

Carpathia's physician, Dr. Arpad Lengyel, had been assigned to attend to Titanic's steerage survivors. And since this is where he first treated Robert, who he found to be "delirious"--insisting he was a doctor himself--and underclothed.

So Dr. Lengyel, believing Robert was a colleague in the medical field in a pitiful state, gave him his own suit to wear. Robert reportedly had no recollection of this interaction when Dr. Lengyel tended to him the next day.

Standing before the doorway of her cabin--lacerations on his bruised face, wearing "a pair of trousers large enough for a giant [and] a blue shirt he had bought from the Carpathia's barber"--the still-reeling Robert offered his companionship to 18-year-old Eloise, so that she might feel protected while the survivors awaited the Carpathia's arrival in New York City.

She was newly pregnant, suddenly widowed, and absolutely inconsolable. Barely three months earlier, she had been another man's bride.

When Robert disembarked Carpathia with Eloise in his arms, she was reportedly "in a fainting condition." They were some of the first to appear on the ship's gangway.

After Robert had parted ways with Eloise and her father on the quay, his mother found him despite the fact she barely recognized him. The New York Sun reported that he was "total wreck" and almost too weak to stand. Reporters swarmed him immediately, and his confused--and confusing--narrative unfolded.

Robert reportedly "reeled" at least once, and removed himself to lean on a railing to steady and compose himself.

"Let me smoke a cigarette before we go on," he is reported as having said at last.

The reporters pressed Robert about the bruises and cuts on his face.

Robert would proceed to regale the press with so many stories about fellow passengers as the Titanic went under--including Jack Thayer, Richard Norris Williams and his father, the Carter family, and Ida and Isidor Straus--as well as First Officer William Murdoch and Fifth Officer Harold Lowe.

Robert was also sought out by the bereaved family members of victims who were anxious to learn the details of their last moments.

Later in 1912, Robert had plans to meet up with fellow survivor Colonel Archibald Gracie, with whom Robert had formed a fast and profoud friendship while on board Carpathia. The Colonel was writing a comprehensive book of the disaster based upon passenger recollections and testimonies, and the men wrote to each other regularly.

Robert, having been abroad once again in England, was asked by reporters in December of 1912 about Colonel Gracie. He did not know that his friend had died the week earlier.

When Robert was informed, he was "overcome with grief" and declined to speak any further.

By 1914, Robert began calling upon another Titanic survivor with whom he shared traumatic memories: the widowed Eloise Hughes Smith.

Her father was not a little displeased, given that his daughter was, at the time, involved in ongoing litigation with her late husband's family on behalf of hers and Lucian's infant son.

In spite of Congressman Hughes's misgivings, Robert and Eloise grew to be closer and closer friends, and that friendship evolved into romance.

And so, in a remarkable turn of events, Robert Williams Daniel married Eloise Hughes Smith in a quiet ceremony in New York City in August of 1914.

The next day, Robert departed for London yet again.

There, he became stranded for over two months due to the outbreak of the Great War, which delayed Eloise and Robert in announcing their marriage to society.

Once Robert was permitted to return to the United States, he and Eloise settled in Philadelphia with Eloise's son, Lucian Smith, Jr., and Robert's new English bulldog. Among their neighbors were the Carter family, who had also survived Titanic.

In February of 1919, Robert was sent overseas to France at the behest of the United States War Department to handle money that would be used to convert French currency in the possession of American soldiers returning from the war front. He was subsequently awarded a medal for his distinguished service.

But by the time Robert returned, his marriage to Eloise was sadly deteriorating.

They separated in 1920, in the wake of rumors of his marital infidelity. And in 1923, Eloise filed for divorce after learning, according to her legal claim, that Robert was residing with "an unknown blonde woman" in New York.

The divorce was granted without contest. According to the divorce decree, Robert was to remained unmarried for five years.

By December of that same year, he remarried in New Jersey. And in 1929, he would marry a third and final time.

Eloise would likewise remarry a third time, when she was widowed yet again. Her fourth and final marriage would end in a swift divorce.

After all of that emotional tumult, Eloise reverted her surname to Smith--that of her first husband, Lucian P. Smith, and the love of her life.

Eloise Smith died in 1940 from a heart attack at only 46 years old.

Her ex-husband, Robert Williams Daniel, died later that same year from cirrhosis of the liver. He was 56 years old.

Regardless of its outcome, Eloise and Robert are noted as the sole survivors to marry after meeting in the wake of the disaster.

“Keep Your Hands in Your Pockets It Is Very Cold Weather”: Eloise Hughes Smith & Lucian P. Smith

Eloise Hughes was 18 years old when she debuted herself to society in January of 1912. Since her father was a Congressman and her mother's family was also famously political, she was announced in a contemporary newspaper report as "a debutante of the congressional circle."

And rumor is that, from the moment 24-year-old Lucian Smith set eyes upon her photograph, he was hopelessly enamored.

The two married just a month later, in early February.

It was a grand affair. The Washington Post reported of the ceremony that Eloise radiated in "a gown of white satin trimmed with rare lace with a veil and orange blossoms and carried a shower bouquet of orchids."

Eloise took to bed earlier than her husband during the voyage. While she retired, Lucian would play cards in the First-Class Smoking Lounge.

On the night of the collision with the iceberg, Lucian and Eloise took dinner in the First-class dining saloon, where they observed the party the Widener family was hosting in honor of Captain Smith.

Not being guests of the celebration, which Eloise later wrote "was not particularly gay," the Smiths removed themselves to the Cafe Parisien, and listened to the ship's band.

Eloise excused herself for bed around 10:30 p.m.

Lucian, as usual, went to play cards.

That particular night, he sat down to a game of whist with three gentlemen from France, including the famed aviator Pierre Marechal.

When Titanic struck the iceberg, Lucian and his fellow card-players reportedly bore witness to it.

In an article by the times published April 20, 1912, "the Frenchmen" attested to what they saw.

Eloise, who was in bed, later attested that while the collision woke her, she eventually fell back to sleep. She awoke a second time when Lucian entered the room.

In response to his wife's inquiry as to what the matter was, Lucian replied calmly. "We are in the north and have struck an iceberg: It does not amount to anything, but probably delay us a day getting into New York," he told her. "However, as a matter of form, the captain has ordered all ladies on deck."

Eloise wrote that as she dressed to go up on deck, she and Lucian had leisurely conversation about their plans once they arrived in New York.

"There was some delay in getting lifeboats down: in fact, we had plenty of time to sit in the gymnasium and chat with another gentleman and his wife. I kept asking my husband if I could remain with him rather than go in a lifeboat. He promised me I could. There was no commotion, no panic, and no one seemed to be particularly frightened; in fact, most of the people seemed interested in the unusual occurrence, many having crossed 50 and 60 times. However, I noticed my husband was busy talking to any officer he came in contact with; still I had not the least suspicion of the scarcity of lifeboats, or I never should have left my husband."

"He then said, "I never expected to ask you to obey, but this is one time you must; it is only a matter of form to have women and children first. The boat is thoroughly equipped, and everyone on her will be saved." I asked him if that was absolutely honest, and he said, "Yes." I felt some better then, because I had absolute confidence in what he said. He kissed me good-by and placed me in the lifeboat with the assistance of an officer. As the boat was being lowered he yelled from the deck, "Keep your hands in your pockets it is very cold weather."

Safely on board Carpathia, the newlywed widow was gifted the cabin of a kind honeymooning couple named Charles and Emma Hutchinson.

Eloise searched for Lucian throughout the Carpathia, in disbelief that he had not been saved.

Desolate and all alone in the cabin of other newlyweds, Eloise is reported to have heard a sudden and unexpected knock upon the door.

Standing there, in an oversized suit that had been donated to him by the Carpathia's physician, was Robert Williams Daniel.

Robert, a fellow First-class passenger on Titanic, reportedly felt honor-bound as a Virginian gentleman to offer his protection and accompaniment to the bereaved young Eloise while she was alone on board Carpathia.

Upon the ship's arrival in New York, Robert carried Eloise in his arms down the gangway to the dock. There, he entrusted her "in a hysterical condition," according to contemporary periodicals, to the care of her waiting father, Congressman Hughes.

But Robert and Eloise would see each other again.

“I Wish the ‘Titanic’ Were Lying at the Bottom of the Ocean”: Edgardo Samuel Andrew

Edgardo Andrew grew up on a cattle ranch called El Durazno, in Argentina.

He was born to English-immigrant parents, named Samuel and Annie, in March 1895. Edgardo was the second-to-last of eight children, but his younger brother died in infancy, making Edgardo the de facto baby of the family.

Samuel Andrew died in 1906, leaving Edgardo's older brother as administrator to both the business and his family.

It was commonly accepted practice for expatriate families to export their children for their schooling back home. And the Andrew family did just that.

So in 1911, in keeping with the tradition dictated by his siblings before him, Edgardo set off for school in Bournemouth, England. He went at the behest of his elder brother, Silvano.

Silvano had himself attended school back in Britain, where he studied marine engineering and steam engines over the course of six or seven years.

Silvano then returned to Buenos Aires and joined the Argentinian Navy.

He was thereafter shipped off to United States: first to Quincy, Massachusetts, and then New Jersey.

While there, Silvano began courting an affluent widow named Harriet White Fisher, and he eventually quit the Navy to work as an executive for Harriet's prominent company, called "Fisher and Norris Anvil Works."

It was well into the spring of 1912 when Edgardo received a letter from Silvano: he and Harriet Fisher were engaged to be married. And soon.

The wedding was scheduled for April 27, 1912, in New York.

Silvano wanted Edgardo to attend--not just as a guest at the wedding, but also to enjoy the bounty of American life, and possibly even work alongside him at the Anvil Works.

Edgardo, of course, accepted the invitation and booked immediate passage to New York from Southampton.

On board the R.M.S. Oceanic.

Edgardo's ship was scheduled to depart from the Southampton docks on April 17th, 1912, only ten days before the wedding.

He had not considered the coal strike, which had only recently ended on April 6th and was still impacting sea travel. It left most vessels without fuel for their scheduled routes.

Including the Oceanic.

Edgardo's ship was berthed indefinitely, moored alongside smaller vessels like the S.S. New York. And most likely, it had had its limited coal supply pilfered by its parent, the White Star Line.

To supply the maiden voyage of Titanic.

Edgardo felt he had no choice: to make it in time for his brother's wedding, he would have to depart England sooner than scheduled.

And so, he transferred his ticket to Titanic, which was set to leave a week earlier, on April 10th. It would afford him more time; and really, it was his only option.

Edgardo was displeased with the adjustment for a particular reason.

He had recently received a letter from a dear friend--often presumed to be a romantic interest, or even fiancee--back home in Argentina: a girl named Josefina Cowan.

Josefina wrote to Edgardo that she would soon be taking passage to England, and that she dearly hoped to see him.

But with his alternate passage on Titanic already booked, Edgardo had to dash both her hopes and his. He responded on April 8th.

"You figure Josey I had to leave on the 17th this (month) aboard the "Oceanic", but due to the coal strike that steamer cannot depart, so I have to go one week earlier on board the 'Titanic'. It really seems unbelievable that I have to leave a few days before your arrival, but there's no help for it, I've got to go. You figure, Josey, I am boarding the greatest steamship in the world, but I don't really feel proud of it at all, right now I wish the 'Titanic' were lying at the bottom of the ocean."

And so, on April 10th, Edgardo rode the train to Southampton and embarked on Titanic. He held a Second-class ticket.

He was all alone.

His spirits seem to have lightened, however, once he had settled on board.

While Titanic steamed toward the port of Cherbourg that same afternoon, Edgardo popped into the barber shop and bought two postcards: one for his brother Wilfredo back home at El Durazno, and one for his friend in Italy.

Edgardo began the postcard to Wilfredo: "From this colossal ship I'm pleased to greet you."

On Titanic, Second-class passengers shared dining tables.

And so young Edgardo became friends with his table-mates. They were Jacob Milling, who was a railway machine inspector from Copenhagen, and Edwina Troutt, who was traveling to visit her sister.

Just like Edgardo, Edwina had likewise been inconvenienced by a transfer of passage from the lamed Oceanic.

Edgardo seemed to have spent a significant amount of time in the company of his new friends.

Edwina recalled that both Edgardo and Jacob wrote letters each morning. She also reported on conversations between them about how ardently Jacob missed his wife, and his excitement to send her a wireless message.

And according to Edwina, on the evening of April 14th, the trio was "in the Library talking over various things."

Edwina later wrote the following recollection about the actions of both Jacob Milling and Edgardo Andrew once Titanic struck the iceberg.

"I heard the ship make a stumbling noise, enough to wake me... [after the collision] I met only a few curious women & Mr Andrew. I tried to find out out what was the matter, & the officer told me, 'It's only an iceberg. ou must go back to your stateroom or you'll catch cold.'

...I saw them lower one lifeboat with no one in it & noticed the men were also uncovering another. I then realised something was the matter. I at once went to the state rooms of all my friends & told them to dress in case we were called up. Then I met Mr Milling & he said 'What is the trouble, Miss Trout? What does it all mean?' I said, 'A very sad parting for all of us. This ship is going to sink.' (Mr Andrew laughed at me & said impossible)

Mr Andrew & I then went looking for other friends & so many of them couldn't do anything for themselves so we helped them with their life preservers..."

In a spoken interview decades later, Edwina recalled that Edgardo had tried to convince her that the ship could not--and would not--go down.

Elsewhere, she reported that Edgardo even gave her his life vest.

Edgardo died in the sinking that night. His body, if ever recovered, went unidentified.

But in 2001, a leather suitcase was recovered from the shipwreck, about 800 feet off of the stern. The luggage was submitted for restoration.

It was Edgardo's.

Remarkably, once opened, it was found to still be neatly packed. The contents included his shoes, as well as a school notebook.

Therein, written in pencil, researchers found that he had taken up pages, just signing and re-signing his name.

Edgardo Samuel Andrew--only 17 years old and looking toward his future--seems to have been practicing his signature.

“My Friend Was a Gentleman Farmer”: William Crothers Dulles

William Crothers Dulles was a millionaire bachelor from Philadelphia.

Contemporary reporting indicates that he had a law degree, but if he did, he never seems to have practiced. To date, there is not even a record of a law degree being issued to him by his reported alma maters.

William was a member of an elite driving club in New York. He was also a dog fancier, having shown his Cavalier King Charles spaniels at shows throughout the Northeast.

But his life’s absolute passion was thoroughbred horses.

William was a horse breeder of some renown; his country home and farm in Goshen, New York, was called Tophill.

Tophill Farm was also where William also housed his extraordinary equine library and collection of equine art, which was rumored to be one of the most extensive in the world at the time.

This may very well have been true, given that William built a fortified bunker in which to store it all.

According to the New York Herald, “his library of sporting books was well known on both sides of the Atlantic. He had a vault of steel and concrete constructed for their safekeeping.”

And William alone kept the key to it.

William had been wintering in Europe alongside his mother Mary Dulles, since late January of 1912.

He was reported to have been inseparable with his mother following the loss of his father Andrew twelve years prior, always acting as his mother’s escort to Philadelphia events. Mary had been in Europe since December 1911, visiting with William’s younger sister Margaret and her husband Ettore.

In the spring of 1912, William had been dallying in Britain on the hunt for more rare equine tomes to add to his legendary library.

But then, for reasons unknown, Mrs. Dulles and her son parted ways in Paris so he might return home.

"The American colony in Paris was plunged into profound grief this morning by the definite news of the stupendous loss of life caused by the wreck of the Titanic. Hundreds of permanent residents and of the American tourists staying at the hotels had relatives on board. They had gone to sleep last night comforted with the assurances cabled here that all had been saved, and it was only when they received their newspapers this morning that they learned the terrible toll of fatalities…

The White Star office was besieged by weeping women, several of whom had sons on board. Among these was Mrs. William Dulles, who left the office in a state of collapse, supported by her friends."

Furthermore, in the midst of the tragedy, the Newark Star reported on that same day that a strange and harrowing incident had occurred at Tophill Farm.

An employee of William Dulles by the name of John Pippin had appeared on the property “wildly intoxicated… and violent.” He was subsequently kicked by one of the horses.

Drunk and bleeding, he then wrested the keys from the property caretaker and made his way to the late William’s bed, where he passed out.

Police arrested John Pippin at midnight after breaking in the door, which he had barricaded with furniture and a bunk bed.

Pippin had also armed himself with an axe, although according to the report “he had no opportunity to use it.”

William Crothers Dulles was interred in a family mausoleum in Philadelphia’s Laurel Hill Cemetery on May 6, 1912.

His world-famous library was eventually auctioned off in December of 1912, but only after expert attempts to break the lock to the bunker that safeguarded it.

New York’s American Courier reported in January 1913 that “in order to open the vault, his executor found it necessary to employ an expert locksmith, who worked many hours before he succeeded in his task.”

Prior to sale, William's collection was noted by the New York Herald as “the largest and Choicest Collection ever offered for sale by auction in America or Europe.”

“Lighted and Beautiful in the Night”: Engelhart Cornelius Ostby

Engelhart Cornelius Ostby was born around Christmastime in 1847 in the city that became Oslo, Norway. He studied to become a jeweler at the Royal School of Art.

In 1869, Engelhart followed the trail of his parents and his younger brother, who had emigrated to the United States three years prior. After arriving in New York, he reunited with his family and settled in Providence, Rhode Island,

He first took a job with the jewelry firm of Hunt & Owen, but shortly thereafter moved on to Arnold & Webster, where he acted as the Director of Design and Engraving for almost a decade.

Engelhart married a girl named Lizzie Webster in 1876. The couple would go on to have five children: four sons and a daughter.

In 1879, Engelhart entered into business with a gentleman named Nathan Barton. With about three thousand dollars in capital, the men established Ostby & Barton. The company would gain renown for its beautiful designs of gemstone, signet, emblem, and even baby rings, alongside other pieces of adornment such as brooches, cuff links, and pendants.

Engelhart's firm quickly became a top-tier producer of gold rings. It outgrew its initial business space quickly, and was moved to a factory building. Booming business soon demanded yet another relocation to the old Ladd Watch Case Company on the corner of Richmond and Clifford Streets in Providence. Then the space of this premises had to be doubled.

Engelhart did not limit his world to jewelry-making. He also became a director of both the High Street Bank and the Industrial Trust Company, and was a trustee of the Citizens Savings Bank. Because of these positions, Engelhart rose to prominence in Providence, for both his business acumen and his ongoing charity.

Sadly, Engelhart became a widower in 1899 when Lizzie died at the age of 45. He raised their five children with the assistance of his mother Josephine, until she died three years later, in 1902.

Engelhart Ostby took regular business trips to the European capitals, in order to survey the popular and upcoming jewelry trends for his "kingdom of rings" back home.

Unsurprisingly, he spent much of this time in Paris.

Later on, they encountered the Warrens in Pari; the couple expressed that they looked forward to their upcoming travel on Titanic. Presumably, this is how Engelhart and Helen learned that they could still book passage on Titanic's maiden voyage.

And so, they did.

Father and daughter boarded Titanic as First-Class passengers on the evening of April 10th at Cherbourg. As per usual, Engelhart carried with him his black leather Gladstone bag, which contained gemstones and precious valuables that he had acquired during the trip.

Helen was fairly vague in her recollections of their time spent on board. "Mostly," she wrote, "we just wandered around between meals, enjoying the luxury and newness of it all."

She went on to note that she and her father always traveled with the White Star Line, so they enjoyed comparing notes of Titanic versus the other vessels under its flag.

Sunday, April 14th, was leisurely. Helen wrote that she and Engelhart mused on the grand welcome Titanic was sure to receive when arriving in New York City. Helen also overheard Captain Smith receiving an ice warning while he spoke to passengers nearby.

After enjoying "the usual Sunday evening concert" by Titanic's musicians, Helen retired to her cabin.

I had just dropped off to sleep when I was awakened by a jar that felt about as it would if you were in a car that scraped the side of a tree... It seemed completely silent for a minute or two. The engines were cut off. The corridors were quiet until one began to hear doors open and voices speaking. The first voice I heard was a woman asking the steward what had happened. He replied calmly, 'Everything will be alright.'

Passengers began to gather in the corridor one by one, trying to get some information. My father came out of his stateroom across the corridor. It was very quiet, as when a train stops in a station and you can hear everyone's voice. You could see anxious looking faces, people with outlandish clothes and women in curlers. People had thrown on anything just to cover themselves.

Eventually, the stewards instructed the passengers to don their lifebelts. It was a troublesome endeavor, according to Helen, because there had been no emergency drill to practice getting them on, but the stewards were very helpful.

Helen dressed warmly, although she claimed she was struck quite abrupt by the instinct not to put on too many clothes, lest they weigh down her ability to swim.

Engelhart and his daughter met up with the Warrens once again, and migrated up to the boat deck via the Grand Staircase. Helen wrote that Captain Smith swept by them, followed by two ship officers who would not engage with--or even look at--inquiring passengers.

On deck, the group could hardly hear a thing, because the steam from the funnels was deafening. The sequence of events in Helen's multiple accounts become contradictory by this point, but it is evident that, at some point, Engelhart parted from his daughter, as Mrs. Warren also testified that "a young woman by the name of Miss Ostby, who had become separated from her father... was with us."

Helen said that Engelhart either remained in--or alternatively, returned to--his cabin to dress more appropriately for the cold, assuring her that he would not be long.

A heartbreaking comedy of errors ensued.

I wondered what kept father below however, and after about ten minutes I went down to try to find him. I guess my father must have come upon deck some other way for I could not find him in the stateroom. Thinking he had gone up and joined the Warrens, I too went back but he had not been around there. I was waiting for him all the time when the crew came around and told us to get into one of the boats. We all hung back awhile, I wanted father to come with us but the men insisted that we hurry up so we got in...

It was a very unpleasant feeling stepping into that boat because although it was level with the boat deck, it was swung out over the water so that there was a little gap between it and the side of the ship... The stars were out but it was pitch dark...

Up until that time, things had gone on very calmly. But at the end we could see and hear people on board were realizing there was no place to go. As the ship began to stand on end we heard a big rumbling, rattling noise as if everything was being torn from their moorings inside the ship. She stood quietly on her end for a minute, then went down like an arrow... Of course some complained of losing jewelry and clothing -and some the cold. One woman was seasick. When somebody happened to mention jewelry left behind, I remembered for the first time that I had lost a diamond bar pin which was given me by my father which was still pinned to my nightgown aboard ship. I hadn't given it a though, and when I was reminded, it didn't matter.

“High Class Confectionery”: Kate Phillips & Henry Morley

In the spring of 1912, Henry Morley sold his candy shops.

The shops, collectively called Purveyors of High Class Confectionery and owned by L. Morley Confectioners, were fine-candy stores, and they were quite successful. The businesses were profitable enough for Henry to employ multiple shop assistants.

One of those assistants was Kate Florence Phillips, with whom Henry fell in love.

And so, on April 10, 1912, Henry and Kate boarded Titanic at Southampton. Henry's brother, who had aided him in selling the Confectioneries, waved the couple on from the quay. The lovers were planning to resettle in the United States, where they could begin a life together in San Francisco.

But Henry had also left a life behind.

Henry Morley, who was 38 years old at the time he absconded with 19-year-old Kate, was a married man.

Henry had chosen to abandon his wife Louisa in order to elope with Kate. He had left "on holiday" under the pretense of going to a western climate in order to recuperate from an illness--and then he sold his businesses. Some funds were allocated to the continued support of Louisa and his daughter Doris; the rest of the money was intended as capital for a new shop in California, with Kate as his bride.

On March 2, 1912, Henry withdrew a large sum of money from his bank in Worcester. He spent the next month bouncing from address to address, passing Kate off as his wife.

Henry and Kate boarded with a joint Second-Class ticket under the very fake names of Mr. and Mrs. Marshall.

How Kate and Henry spent their time during the voyage is undocumented.

While on board, or perhaps before embarking on the voyage, Henry gifted Kate with a love token he had purchased back in Britain: a silver necklace, boasting a deep-blue sapphire surrounded by diamonds. She reportedly wore it to every dinner on board, gleaming with pride.

When Titanic struck the iceberg on the night of April 14th, Henry is reported to have roused Kate from sleep. Before rushing up on deck, Henry removed Kate's necklace from a drawer and latched it around her neck.

On the boat deck, Kate wore only her cotton nightgown and her beloved necklace, and held nothing but a small seal-skin purse and her lover's arm. Henry could not swim, and he reportedly clung to Kate as they stood before the lifeboats. And then a sailor grabbed her away and forced her to board.

The lifeboat in question alternates between Lifeboat 11 and Lifeboat 13. It has been reported that Kate shared the lifeboat with two-month-old Millvina Dean, and that at one point, she was in Kate's arms.

Henry Morley died in the sinking. His remains were not recovered.

Young Kate arrived in New York alone, bereft, and impoverished. Somehow, she found an unnamed couple with whom to stay as she recovered from the trauma of the disaster.

And then Kate learned that she was pregnant.

Unfortunately, the couple who housed her did not want a baby to care for as well; Kate had no other option but to return to her parents' home in England.

In January of 1913, nine months after Titanic set sail and foundered, Henry Morley's daughter was born. Kate named her Ellen Mary.

It was a disgrace to be born without a father, but in my early childhood I was protected from the shame.

I was born in my grandparents' house on January 11, 1913, nine months to the day from when the Titanic called at Queenstown.

The house backed onto the river Severn and my earliest memory is of sitting in the family punt while my grandfather strapped me in. "Well make sure you won't drown," he would say. But I didn't know what he meant.

For the first nine years I was brought up by them. Once a year this woman would arrive from London and cuddle and smother me in kisses. I couldn't bear it. I had no idea who she was.

Ellen's paternity, though never publicly conceded, appears to have been acknowledged by payments made to Ellen's grandparents by Henry Morley's brother, in order to pay for her schooling.

Ellen suffered an emotionally and physically abusive childhood as her mother's mental health deteriorated.

Per Ellen's accounts, her likeness to Henry Morley seemed to amplify her mother's emotional pain. She would reprimand her young daughter for looking at her, for instance, because she had her father's eyes.

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Category: Passenger Profiles

“He Was Not Likeable”: Alfred Nourney

"he Was Not Likeable": Alfred Nourney

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

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

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

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

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

"For Those Few Minutes, the Ship was Alive Again": Adolphe Saalfeld

“Curses and Prayers Filled the Air”: Robert Williams Daniel & Eloise Hughes Smith

"Curses and Prayers Filled the Air": Robert Williams Daniel