"I survived the sinking of the Titanic"
Iceberg ripped open the largest luxury liner. — The "unsinkable" sank. — 1,600 died in the waves.
Our editorial staff member F. J. Kayser asked Alfred Nourney for an interview.
The world holds its breath. Passers-by tear the extra papers out of the newspaper boys' hands. In Berlin, Paris, London, New York, in all the cities of the world. In huge headlines the name "Titanic sunk!" screams from the still-damp jetties, "The world's greatest steamer sank!", "1,600 died in the icy waters!" Traffic in the streets of the world's cities comes to a standstill. April 15, 1912 is a day of mourning. A huge wave of compassion hits the 700 rescued people from a silent wall of people as they leave the gangways of the steamer "Carpathia" in New York on April 18. Among them is a 16-year-old boy [sic]. A Honnefer.
We spoke to him. Mercedes representative Alfred Nourney, Hauptstraße 102, told us about the sinking of the Titanic, the sinking of the largest luxury liner in the world, the sinking of immense wealth, the death of millionaires and steerage emigrants. The hunt for the Blue Riband, the desire to command the fastest ship on the seas, which inspired Captain Smith, brought 1,600 people to a watery death in icy waters. Alfred Nourney was miraculously rescued;
Miracle of shipbuilding.
"In the spring of 1912 I was in Paris with my mother," he says. "At that time, the Parisian newspapers, like the entire world press, were outdoing each other in describing the new luxury liner of the White Star Line, the example of English shipbuilding, the unsinkable "Titanic." This giant, whose construction and equipment cost 32 million dollars, had 18 giant boilers, a power of 50,000 horsepower and a gross registered tonnage of 46,000 tons. A crew of 900: engineers, technicians, navigation personnel, stokers, sailors, a separate steward for each first class cabin. I pestered my mother until she booked me a ship's ticket for the maiden voyage of the "Titanic" to New York.
The passengers of the "Titanic" travelled in two special trains from Paris to Cherbourg, where they were to board the giant coming from Southampton. When we arrived at the port in the late afternoon, I was disappointed by the Titanic. I had imagined it to be much bigger and more impressive than the ship that was bobbing in front of my eyes on the dirty brown water of the port. I also expressed this to my porter. "Oh, sir, what are you thinking," he said, "That's not a Titanic. That's just a tender, the Titanic can't come into the port here at all. You have to board on the high seas."
Furnaces like gas tanks.
Dusk is already creeping in from the north and turning the sea water a deep black as the mighty superstructure of the Titanic appears on the horizon. The dark side of the 285-meter-long monster rises out of the sea like a skyscraper the closer our ship gets to the giant. The four funnels resemble large gas tanks and bright light pours out of thousands of hatches and windows over the superstructure and dances on the glittering waves. Our tender crouches against the side of the ocean giant like a dwarf. The walkways cannot be laid from deck to deck, the difference in height is too great. Even when they are brought up from the bridge of the tender to the Titanic, we still have to walk steeply uphill to get on board the ocean giant, even though the walkways have been laid in a door on the side of the ship.
We walk through two rows of white-clad staff into the reception lounge of the Titanic. Palm trees and seductive music greet us. Three elevators next to each other lead to the first class cabins. Each one has its own steward, and one of these cabins costs 800 marks. That was still a small fortune in 1912. But the ultimate in elegance and luxury is offered by the luxury class. My cabin already has a bathroom where I can bathe in sea or fresh water. I can let cold or warm sea air flow in, and by my bed is the most elegant telephone I have ever seen. There is a whole control panel on the wall. Every press of a button brings a new surprise, a new convenience.
Shopping street, salons, Viennese cafe.
On the second day I go on a voyage of discovery through the Titanic, which resembles a large shipping city. It is a journey into fairytale land. There is a separate shopping street with jewelry shops, hairdressers, fur salons. There are a huge number of salons, from blue, red, purple salons to mahogany and silver salons. A Viennese cafe. There are bars, music rooms, smoking rooms, theaters, tennis courts and a gym with artificial horses where the older gentlemen can work off their fat. There is also a Roman-Irish bath. It is overwhelming.
No one who sees this even thinks that all this splendor could one day be stolen by the waves. And yet just a few days later, in the immeasurable depths of the ocean, the waves wash through the shopping street. The 50,000 horsepower of the machine lie still forever. Where the young wife Madelaine of the billionaire king Jacob Astor, where Sir Vanderbilt and the famous tennis star Behr glide over the mossy carpets of the salons, the fish then shoot away. All the money is of no use to the dollar-heavy bankers Isidor Strauss, New York, Wiedener and Guggenheim.
An iron spiral staircase.
A small iron spiral staircase saved my life. I discovered it during my forays through the ship. As a 16-year-old, you snoop around everywhere. Completely hidden, this staircase ran from the command bridge through all nine decks down to the tennis court. It was only intended for the use of the ship's management. None of the crew or passengers knew about it. It ended in a balustrade above the tennis court, from which you could watch the players.
When I found this little staircase, I did not yet know that it would save my life a few days later. — The sea has rarely been as calm as it was on the night of the disaster. It lay there in the evening like a smooth green-blue plate of glass. Not a breath of wind ruffled the surface. As darkness fell, the water turned black as ink. The cold became more and more intense. When the ship's guests asked why it was so cold, the officers told them: "It's because the Newfoundland Banks are so close." There was no mention of icebergs.
We went to dinner in tailcoats.
I will never forget that Sunday evening, that night. When my steward called me to dinner - that was the norm in first class - I put on my first tailcoat. My mother had had it made for me especially for the maiden voyage of the Titanic. I would have been better off not wearing it. When I entered the dining room, I was the only one wearing a tailcoat. There are no evening parties on English ships on Sundays.
After dinner, I went to the smoking room. I ordered a whisky. A little later, some friends came. We played bridge. Later, I went for a little stroll. Even though there was no big evening party, the dance halls, bars and cafes were packed. When I returned to the smoking room, the gentlemen were still sitting with a cigar and playing bridge. I sat down with them.
The whisky in the glasses sways.
It is approaching midnight. Shortly before 12 o'clock, a small groaning movement suddenly goes through the ship. The whisky in the glasses sways a little. Nothing else. The gentlemen pause for a moment in their conversation. But it's over. The engine is running smoothly. Many of them didn't even notice the small jolt. The conversations continue. "Oh, it doesn't matter," says a jovial American to me, to whom I draw the attention of the vibration.
Ice on deck. — Engine stops.
But the matter doesn't leave me alone. It may have been a premonition of terrible disaster or just the curiosity of a 16-year-old. I get my coat. The deck is empty and eerily quiet. Only the steady running of the engines can be heard. The cold cuts sharply into my face. The sea is black and dead. I stroll forward across the deck. Everything is quiet. But a strange glitter catches my eyes as I look down from the deck at the loading hatches. Ice. Chunks of ice lie on the loading hatches. How did they get there? It is eerily quiet. The cold has driven everyone off the deck. How did the chunks of ice get to the lower deck? Do they have something to do with the impact? I ask myself as I stroll back. But it must be nothing. No unusual noise comes up to me. Ailes seems to be walking normally.
There. The engines stop. Dead silence. What happened? I rush to the stairs that lead to the top deck. The door is locked. My brain is working feverishly. What now? The small stairs.
Water in the ship.
The iron door is unlocked. I hear voices. Captain Smith and two officers are walking down the stairs in front of me. I follow them. The light above the tennis courts lights up. What is that? Seawater stands above the courts like a reflective blue-green surface of glass. Water in the ship! A few white tennis balls are floating on top. A quiet gurgling sound every now and then. Captain Smith looks at me. He doesn't see me, he sees through me. Then I'm alone in the eerie room.
I hurry into the smoking room. A melting tango sounds from the bar next door. Happy and exuberant people. "Oh, it doesn't matter," the American says to me a second time when I tell him my observations. "Probably some pipe burst."
"We're drowning."
I run up the small spiral staircase to the upper deck. Sailors are getting the lifeboats ready. "The ice has ripped open the whole side of the ship. We're drowning," I hear. The "Titanic" is sinking! The largest luxury ship in the world is sinking. I rush to the kitchen. I return with a bottle of whiskey and a handful of sandwiches, mingle with the feverishly working people and get to work.
Shots in the steerage.
The ship comes to life. The stewards wake the guests. There is unrest in the steerage. Suddenly shots are fired. Screams become louder. The steerage workers seem to be rebelling against the guards. Unrest also breaks out in first class. Muffled blows against the locked door leading to the lifeboats echo up.
Then a shrill command. "Women and children first!" The doors are opened. A crowd of people screaming madly shoots at the lifeboats. Officers wave their revolvers around in the air, shooting. The mass can no longer be held back. It is chaos.
Panic.
The unbridled current carries me away. I can cling to the third boat. A jolt. I am lying inside. Women's voices ring out. Children cry, moan, roar, howl. The crowd is blind with fear, rushing, pushing each other away from the boats, women in nightgowns, shivering from the cold. Men wearing only trousers. Our boat is the first to go into the water. Not even all the seats are occupied.
Up on deck, the crowd that has shot past the boats is flooding back. There are far too few lifeboats. A real witches' cauldron. People rush at each other like animals, hot emergency rockets hiss into the sky. The "Titanic" is slowly tipping forward. The death struggle has begun.
Away from the vortex.
One hundred hands grab the oars in our boat. To be out of the danger zone of the vortex when the wounded giant shoots into the depths. This thought burns in everyone's mind. I am at the end of my strength. At the front of the boat, the whiskey bottle next to me, I fall asleep. That was too much for a 16-year-old.
"She is going!" "The Titanic is sinking. An Englishman shakes me awake. A ghostly image. The ocean giant is brightly lit. The bow is already deep in the water. The stern protrudes. A thousand-voiced scream. Then the lights go out. Fear of death gives us superhuman strength. We row wildly to escape the danger zone.
The Titanic is sinking.
The stern of the wounded giant rises higher and higher. Rockets are still hissing in the sky. No rescue ship can be seen anywhere. The morning is slowly dawning. The stern is standing vertically in the air. A dull rolling. Flames are blaring from the hull. The giant is leaning to the side. Lower and lower, it is sinking away. The eddies were foaming up above it. — [The "Titanic" has set off on its last voyage.
The dull rolling has stopped. The flames have gone out. I hear a siren from the scene of the disaster. It is not a siren. It is the death cries of more than a thousand people. They are struggling to freeze to death in the ice-cold water. We cannot help them. Hundreds of hands would drag our boat to the watery grave.
"Carpathia" brings rescue.
After hours we are picked up by the "Carpathia". We are not the only ones she takes on. Poignant scenes are taking place. Mothers are crying for their children. Men are looking for their wives. The sea has swallowed them forever.
On April 18th we arrive in New York. I haven't slept a single night at sea. Thousands of people are standing on the quay. Silent and reverent."