Excerpt from Ships and People, 1926, by Dr J. C. H. Beaumont
When I joined the Olympic, Captain Herbert J. Haddock was Commander; Robert Fleming, Chief Engineer; Claude Lancaster, Purser, and William Jones, Chief Steward. The first voyage westward fortunately was not a busy one, and I had thus a chance to know more about the ship, and especially my own quarters, main surgery, operating room and hospitals which were amidships.
There was a second large dispensary aft, where the second and third-class passengers could be attended by the Assistant Surgeon.
All went smoothly till the Sunday night, on the voyage from New York. Around midnight, Lancaster and I were in his room, having a pipe together, when the door opened, and in walked Bob Fleming, the Chief Engineer. "Boys,” said he, “there is awful trouble. The Titanic has been struck by an iceberg, is badly damaged and we are going up north to her assistance.” He then left us and went below to light up more boilers and drive the ship to her full capacity.
For any of us officers on board, sleep was out of the question that night; by breakfast time everyone knew about it, and was worked up to a pitch of intense excitement.
Anticipating that there might be many casualties, and cases of collapse from immersion in the water, amongst the Titanic’s passengers and crew, I spent most of my day with my staff, preparing some 200 emergency beds in the large public third-class rooms in the after end of the ship. Elaborate preparations were made elsewhere on board to receive the survivors, for we learned by Marconi, at short intervals, that the Titanic was in a sinking condition.
Meanwhile, the firemen and trimmers down below were straining every nerve to drive the ship, and it was reported that during twelve hours, i.e., from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m., the Olympic covered 300 knots, an average speed of twenty-five knots per hour. Even then she remained very steady, but vibrated more than usual.
At 5 p.m. every one on deck could observe that the ship had suddenly altered her course, and instead of going north, had swung round, so that she was heading south and east. The message then leaked out that the Titanic had sunk, that all the survivors of the wreck were housed on the Carpathia, which had come to the rescue, that it was all over and nothing more to be done, and further that it was not deemed advisable that they should see the Olympic, which, of course, was sister ship to the ill-fated vessel just lost.
The feelings of all of us on board at this crisis can be better imagined than described.
The whole catastrophe was so sudden, so appalling and tragic, that not one of us could realize really what had happened.
There was nothing for us to do but steam to Southampton. A subscription was at once started on board for a “Titanic Fund”, and, if I remember correctly, resulted in a collection of nearly £2,000.
On arrival at Southampton, we found everyone in a state of dismay, the White Star Line office there (as in London and Liverpool) being besieged by heartbroken relatives clamouring for the latest list of those "missing" in the disaster.
It seemed inconceivable that such a great ship, the last word in engineering, and proclaimed (unfortunately I think) "unsinkable”, could have her side ripped open by ice, and sink in a few hours, with a death toll of 1,700 souls. As is well known, all her officers, deck, engine and victualling, with the exception of very few in charge of boats, stuck to their posts and went down with their ship.
Most intimately of them all, I knew Mr. McElroy, the Purser, and Dr. O'Loughlin, Senior Surgeon. Both of them were Irishmen of the best type—efficient officers, genial and witty companions, well known to and beloved by thousands of Atlantic travellers.
Dr. O'Loughlin, “Old Billy” as we called him, had been many years in the service, and I followed him up on the Olympic. Whether he had any premonition about the Titanic (I think it is known that McElroy had) I cannot say. But I do know that, during a talk with him in the South-Western Hotel, he did tell me he wanted to remain on in the Olympic, as he was tired, at his time of life, of changing from one ship to another.
When he mentioned this to Captain E, J Smith the latter chided him for being lazy, and told him, to pack up and come with him. So fate decreed that “Billy" should go to the Titanic and I to the Olympic.
The Titanic tragedy reacted more swiftly than even we expected on the crew of the Olympic. On the next sailing morning, all crew and passengers had embarked and we were ready to start. Half-an-hour before sailing hour, all of the firemen and trimmers threw down tools and walked off the ship. The engineer officers, however, set to work, and took the ship down as far as Cowes, waiting on for a new set of men to take the place of the strikers.
Later on the same day, the strike spread to the sailors who left in a body. Finally, after another day of time wasted in useless parleying with the men, it was decided to abandon the voyage, and we steamed back to port, where all passengers were transferred to other ships. The whole affair was discreditable to the men, and disagreeable, to say the least, for the Company and passengers.
Firemen are, at any time, a weird lot of human beings, ignorant and stubborn, impulsive, unreasoning and easily swayed by any agitator, who has only to voice a supposed grievance for the men to follow him like a flock of sheep, often enough not knowing what they are striking for.
In this particular case, I have no doubt the recent tragedy had been too much for their nerves and, suddenly becoming panic-stricken, they concluded that the best thing for themselves and their frightened families, was to have a voyage off at home.
Fortunately, the same thing did not occur to the public in America, who are accustomed to accidents and take them less to heart; for within a month we sailed from New York with over 700 passengers in the first Saloon alone.
From April, 1911, till August, 1914, all went well on the Olympic, and we were like a happy family together, at work and at play. She was a great ship, very popular with all classes of travellers, and not less so with the crew, whose quarters were roomy, well ventilated, conveniently arranged, and altogether comfortable.