Memory of a tragic night

Extracts from the Hampshire Independent on Saturday April 20, 1912.

W E give full details below of this sad happening, which is a disaster unparalleled in the records of ocean navigation.

Early on Monday morning there were rumours that a mishap had occurred, but these were at first set aside as idle talk, but very soon there was a rude awakening, though the first news to hand was in no way the full measure of what had really happened.

The Titanic at about half-past ten on Sunday night collided with an iceberg, which probably racked her bottom and set at naught all the devices with which she was fitted to render her "unsinkable"- a series of watertight bulkheads and so on.

The women and children were reported to have been taken off in the ship's boats, and this proved to be the fact, but all the earlier messages which gave dis-tinct hopes, definite statements indeed, that the huge ship was keeping afloat and was making for Halifax under her own steam, and that all on board would be saved, and other cir-cumstantial stories of a like character, proved to be false, for news later on came to hand that the big ship had sunk about four hours after the collision, the appalling conclusion being that every soul on board had gone down with her.

The disaster, as we have said is unparalleled in the annals of ocean navigation, and unfortunately, Southampton, as so often been the case with disasters at sea, is a great sufferer by this huge calamity. There were hundreds of men on the ship who have wives and families in the port, and in some of the streets in the humbler parts of the town there is hardly a house which has not to mourn the loss of its breadwinner.

With those who have been thus bereaved the deepest sympathy is felt, and it is most gratifying to know that that sympathy is backed by practical help, which is the best consolation that can for the moment be offered.

The Lord Mayor, in concert with the Mayor of Southampton, has started a Mansion House Relief Fund, and among the first contributors are the King and Queen and Queen Alexandra, who had previously sent messages of sympathy to the White Star Line, to be tendered to those who had lost their husbands, father, sons or other relatives. Some of the stories of the bereaved families as told below are most distressing.

Reception of the news at Southampton

Rarely, if ever, in the history of the port, have such scenes been witnessed as was seen outside the offices of the White Star Line in Canute Road on Monday where the following brief but pregnant message was posted:-" Titanic foundered about 2.30 am April 15. About 675 crew and passengers picked up by ships boats of Carpathia and California. Remaining and searching position of disaster. Names of those saved will be posted as soon as received."

Dismay and incredulity struggled for the mastery in the faces of the anxious crowd as regulated by the police they pressed for-ward to read the fateful bulletin, for the ambiguity of the message, and the absence of any direct mention of loss of life still hold out hopes which the more optimistic eagerly clutched at.

It was a grim and silent crowd, nearly entirely composed of men, that waited patiently in the roadway to hear the latest tidings.

The White Star Line officials were besieged with inquiries both personal and telephonic, but they could only say that the names of the survivors and the crew would be posted as soon as possible.

Ninety-five per cent of the members of crew of the Titanic were members of the newly-formed British Seafarers Union, and there were many tearful enquiries at the offices of the Union in Terminus-Terrace.

A rumour that a tramp steamer had reached Halifax with a number of survivors of the liner onboard, raised drooping hopes a little, but did little to dispel the gloomy forebodings that gripped every heart.

Many of the crew had wives and large families, and almost everyone seemed to have a husband, father, brother, son, or sweetheart on board the doomed vessel.

Anxiety of relatives

The pathetic scenes after the dread news of the Titanic's foundering had been confirmed would have moved the hardest heart to compassion.

One heard many a sad story of loved ones aboard the ill-fated vessel, who in many cases were the breadwinners of the family, and in several instances the speak-ers broke down and sobbed bitterly.

As darkness grew the crowds increased, both outside the White Star offices and the West gate side of the docks.

It was an impressive and pathetic scene. The street lamps and the white light from the arc lamps flickered on hundreds of faces which were wan and grey by anxiety.

The crowd was very dense around the entrance to the Company's offices, but frequently a gap was formed to allow some grief stricken relative to pass in and inquire if any more news was to hand.

But each time the answer was the same and the inquirer turned once more towards the street with head bowed down with sorrow and despair.

Among the onlookers there were few who were not affected by these touching little scenes. Women sobbed aloud, in the eye of rough and hardy sea faring men.

On Tuesday Southampton was a town of mourning. The White Star Line offices in Canute Road remained open day and night, and through dark watches the main dock gates maintained their mournful vigil.

But the hoped-for-news never came.

The officials and staff of White Star offices remained at their posts snatching a few winks of sleep in relays, and distracted woman, still hoping against hope, refused to leave the Dock gates.

More Pathetic scenes

The tired and harassed officials of the company were kindness and sympathy itself, but they had no news to impart.

"We have heard nothing further" was the only answer that could be given to the anxiously reiterated question on Wednesday, and as heartbroken inquirers groped there way out of the offices the golden sunshine which flooded dockland only emphasised the contrast between life and death.

A clerk made his appearance for a moment on the office steps, and half a dozen voices pleaded for news. "We haven't had any," he said sorrowfully. "As soon as we hear any-thing it will be posted up."

The crowd swelled, diminished, and grew again, and the nerve-racking suspense continued. Even in the midst of the horror of the waiting women found some poor consolation in their heroism of their men folk.

From time to time women with reluctant steps and backward glances detatched themselves from the crowd, and went home to get tea for the children but the new arrivals on the scene more than compensated for their absence.

Thursday's agony

Another day of suspense dawned at Southampton on Thursday, and though the sun shone brightly from the genial April sky, the shadow of death and disaster hung over the port like a black thundercloud.

All through the long night a tired-out little band of men and women kept a cease-less vigil, and the early morning trams brought fresh arrivals from the outlying district, who paid a fleeting call at the White Star offices on their way to work in the hope of allaying their fears for the safety of a loved one.

It was a strange sight, this crowd of grave, silent men and women waiting for the yearned for tidings that might never come, men and women waiting for a name-just one word or two that meant to them the whole wealth of difference between life and death.

Noon. The midday sun streams down on the waiting crowds that still linger around the fateful black board.

A few, a very few, of the patient throng, weak with abstinence and many hours standing about - drift away in search of food, but the remainder seem unable to tear themselves away. It seems as if by staying their hopes are more real while to go away means losing them entirely, and so they stand before the board on which Fate's verdict is to be recorded.

The words that may be written on the board during the coming days will decide which wives will become widows, which children orphans, and which sweethearts forlorn. A type-written notice announces that the names of the survivors will be posted directly they are received. Big as the board is it would never hold the names of all the dead.

- Originally published April 2002.