Titanic: The Unsinkable Stoker

Their skin; a canvas of crimson and caramel watercolor; slid down rigidly from their bones like a rare; well tenderized meat.

I was fifteen when the rumors started. Rumors about Whitestar’s plans to build a mammoth ship; the length of three football fields and one wide. A ship that would cross the oceans of the world and harbor the wealthy in luxurious first-class cabins; suiting their fancies with elegant ballrooms; exquisite dining and musical and theatrical entertainment and amenities unnamed.

The ship they said, would go down in history as the second greatest ship crafted since Noah built his ark. The ship they said would never go down.

I grew up in a small cottage of a simpleton town where there were no secrets, just pubs and drunken men and women full of ale spending every coin and spilling every bean. Laborers, farmers, herders, and whores. The politicians and militia were relentlessly pursuing the agenda to make Ireland a country of self-governance; separate and independent from the rule of Great Britain; which would later come to be knowns as the Irish Home Rule Movement of 1912.

Life in Belfast for me was mucky; with the rotten fetidness of manure and cow dung from every horse and carriage to the winds blowing from the fields of flea ridden livestock. Homeless plagued and hidden in the streets like chameleons covered in dirt and smudge wearing loose rags and peep toe boots in desperate need of a shoemakers’ guta perka. Beggars. What middle class; you were either rich or a laborer with poor wages. Most of its countrymen, however, were manual laborers—bog-jumpers, turf-cutters, bridgets—hard workers, and hard singing drunkards; at least from where I was sitting.

When Irish eyes are smiling,

Sure, it’s like a morn in Spring,

In the lilt of Irish laughter

You can hear the angels sing.

When Irish hearts are happy,

All the world seems bright and gay,

And when Irish eyes are smiling,

Sure, they steal your heart away.

The Harland and Wolff shipyard employed approximately 14,000 laborers from 1910-1912, during the two-years plus it took to construct the well renown RMS Titanic. Recovering unemployment rates; raising the spirits of our countrymen whilst raising lager mugs in a toast to prosperity. This was a golden opportunity for the families of Belfast; providing food and shelter to a struggling economy at war with a close relative; keeping the owner over at McHughs Tavern’s pockets lined with Irish pounds.

June 1, 1911

I could tell there was moisture in the air that morning as the pane began to sweat. Gazing through the stained crucifixes I began to suffocate. I grasp my chest; heaving heavily; shoulders see-sawing about. It was as if the clouds descended from above and perched themselves at my window, haunting me like ghosts. I could see nothing through the fog; it was solidly nontransparent.

I place my feet on the floor. It’s ice cold, but so am I.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Da, yells loudly, “I’m coming ya Mick!”

Finn replied, “Well hurry up; we’re gonna’ be late to the yard. Gotta make it before the ole’ heffer sounds. Today’s the day!”

Da, scuffles out the door in a hurry with his pipe in one hand and his lunch bag in the other, “See ya later lad.”

On this fateful day, James Dobbin Sr., would never return to us. The Titanic was set to launch that day in the River Lagan. Crowds gathered to witness the mammoth ship touch water; holding steady on the dry dock by large wooden stays.

While Da was releasing the timber stays that held the ship upright; he made one fatal mistake and in a matter of seconds; it landed; crushing him instantaneously. The weight of the stay was more than any human could bare; sending him instantaneously into shock; rupturing his pelvic and other vitally internal organs. He died two days later in the hospital. The RMS Titanic would tally eight souls even before her maiden voyage would arrive.

Over the years during its construction, folklore spread across the countryside even quicker than its foul winds. Whispers of a ship condemned, a vessel to hell. It was warned that only more death could follow. Some townsfolk believed the ship blasphemy against God and his reign over the earth’s elements.

“Only God can wheel the oceans and part the sea. Do not enter the mouth of the whale, passageway to hell. Passengers that step aboard the dying ship; shall never return from her trip.”

March 31, 1912

On this day the RMS Titanic was completed. In the year following his untimely death, to honor Da I sacredly chose to become a part of something he helped to build and dreadfully lost his life over; abandoning my trade as an apprentice plumber to work in the hull of the Titanic as a coal trimmer on her vastly approaching maiden voyage. Being the son, James Dobbin Jr., I changed my name and secured a spot on the crew and sealed my fate.

Each day a total eclipse of darkness; balmy, calamitous and claustrophobic conditions. At times I’d catch a glimpse of my reflection like a familiar moment having already been lived, fatigued; hidden in the bunker like a chameleon covered in coal smudge wearing loose rags and worn boots. Exceedingly dangerous work, but a critical operation, nevertheless.

To power the largest ship in the world the Titanic was equipped with two steam engines and a turbine, together consuming 600 tons of coal a day and 73 coal trimmers. The Titanic sailed carrying 5,862 tons of Welsh coal and coal supplements.

The alarms began to yell, and the lights began to signal as I witnessed the urgency of everyone running around me towards one of the coal bunkers.

FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

In that moment, I’d taken a break and removed my protective goggles and gloves. Without even thinking I charged towards the fire wanting desperately to help and put on some display of heroism. As I approached, the darkness was overcome by a blazing light, like a sunset over the ocean at six post meridiem, powerful gases piercing through my pupils and smoke swelling in my lungs. I outstretched my arm in a feeble attempt to navigate myself out of harm’s way and out of the way of others, like a blind man immersive in a book written in brail. Upon contact with the slippery wall, wet with condensation and boiling with heat I lost my balance and fell head-first onto the ground, striking my noggin on a bulkhead, or something.

I forced myself onto my hands and knees and managed to crawl to my feet. I heard heavy footsteps in formation and felt a strong wind passing by and heavy hoses that slid across the hems of my pants over my boots like serpents, spewing venom. It was massive. It took several hours to level the fire to a sustainable state, but between the stokers and the coal-trimmers it was made possible by shoveling the burnt coals into the ship’s furnace; disabling the immediate threat, but the fire itself was never fully extinguished.

Do not enter the mouth of the whale, passageway to hell. Passengers that step aboard the dying ship; shall never return from her trip.”

I kept replaying those words, over and over in my mind as I was suddenly approached by an older man; English fella with a face like a horse and jet-black hair who must have seen the blood seeping from my head flowing into my eyes and the look of fear upon my face.

“Can I help you lad? You’re going to need something for that shiner or you’re gonna have a hangover by tomorrow. Come with me and I’ll get you patched up.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir.”

“Much obliged, by the way I’m Arthur; Arthur John Priest.”

“Are you a priest sir?”

“Oh, heavens no son—I’m your savior.”

We chuckled obscenely at his radical sense of humor and if ever there was a time I needed a good laugh; it was in that moment. We became best of companions at once. He shared with me his life story and told tales of his time working as a fireman and the close encounters with death he and a group of 26 other firemen and stokers known as the black gang experienced. I never asked him about the origin of the name and how they came to be knowns as the black gang, but I reasoned the answer away rhetorically, pitting it against the appearance of the ash residue contoured upon the faces of fireman in the aftermath of a fight.

I spent as much time as possible on the F Deck with Arthur. I came to see him as sort of a father figure which I was easily susceptible to given that I’d lost mines not so long ago. Those stolen moments away from boiler room and out of the darkness were daring escapes from the bowel of the ship. The F Deck by comparison was like the difference between first and third class. The F Deck or Fireman’s Deck as we came to call it was where the fireman’s workspace was along with cargo and boiler casings, fans, bunker hatches, soiled linen rooms and a Squash Racquet Court. It was indeed the luck of the Irish to have met Arthur. He altered the storms and raging waves in my mind and transformed them into calm waves rolling ashore.

April 08, 1912

It would be two days from the date the RMS Titanic was scheduled to set out on her maiden voyage. After a week of getting to know one another and confiding in each other, I’d earned Arthur’s trust. No topic was taboo between us. He revealed to me the ship’s forbidden cargo manifest, feathers and flames.

There was a large shipment of Ostrich feathers; second most valuable commodity of worth by weight in 1912; next to diamonds. As a matter of happenstance, American Gasoline became Royal Dutch/ Shell Group company in 1912 with plans to expand the sale of gasoline along the Pacific Coast to the United States, where they would transport fifty barrels of oil on the Titanic’s maiden voyage; 6,667 miles across the Northern Atlantic Ocean.

As the Titanic was mainly a passenger liner carrying 329 first class passengers, 285 second class passengers, and 310 third class passengers, the oil cargo was a brokered deal made under the table and in confidentiality.

Arthur swore me to secrecy, and I vowed to keep my Irish mouth shut.

April 10, 1912

I was enamored by their porcelain faces and their fancy threads as I watched the lady passengers board first class in rich fashion. Polished button-up boots; ankle length traveling dresses and tailored suits with matching gloves; flaunting jewels of oyster pearls reflecting iridescently against the rising sun to my eyes; carefully crafted, beaded and sequined handbags; large brims; embellished by silk or velvet ribbon trim and Ostrich feathers; toting poodle-like parasols.

The first-class passengers were greeted with sweet pralines, a decadent chocolate cream ganache center inside a chocolate shell; the original filled chocolate and a flute glass filled with Dom Perignon brut champagne.

Each day thereafter, was more of the same; fine dining, musical and theatrical entertainment; wardrobe changes several times a day (one for every occasion); swimming; Turkish bathing; men and women squandering and enjoying their wealth.

The adventures continued seemingly without complication days in and days out, meanwhile we coal trimmers were still fighting coal fires below while the ship was afloat and its passengers unbeknownst.

April 14, 1912

Ante Meridiem

I could tell it was really cold that morning as the glass had speckles of frost upon them. Gazing through the porthole I began to suffocate. I grasp my chest; heaving heavily; shoulders see-sawing about. It was as if the clouds descended from above and perched themselves, haunting me like ghosts. I could see nothing through the fog at sea; it was completely nontransparent.

I place my feet on the floor. It’s ice cold, but so am I.

5:50 PM

I could feel the shift in the Titanic’s course as I steadied my footing and almost lost my grip of the coal-filled shovel. The transition wasn’t smooth sailing, it was sharper because of the 23 knots. The speed upon which was unintentionally accelerated by the vast number of coals burning within the furnaces rapidly; the effect of the coals we placed there whilst fighting coal fires over the course of several days. No doubt the fires weakening the integrity of the ship. Unorthodox to say the least, the entire ordeal was. Why would the Titanic sail with these major complications knowingly beforehand; holding the lives of thousands within its jaws?

11:30 PM

I’m preparing for the shift change, about to retire for the evening after a very enduring and exhausting day in the night, but not before I stop by to see Arthur and play a few card games and let him bend my ear about a maiden he’d met a few days prior; Lady Lucy.

11:40 PM

But before I could exit the Tank Top and start my ascend to the Orlop Deck up through the Lower Deck (G Deck), which no one was allowed as that was where the cargo holds were stored; there were chained gates and locked on either side of the lengthy corridor, I was stopped dead in my tracks by a force so powerful it caused me to tumble backwards down the staircase crashing onto boiler room deck. I heard shrieks and cries in agonizing pain echoing like a call out in the mountains.

Help me, dear God please help me!

I didn’t realize it then, but this was the moment, the moment that would seal the fate of the RMS Titanic and its passengers.

My mind was racing, I was confused and I, I didn’t know what to do. Instinctively, I started my way back up the staircase; just two decks more and I could find Arthur because I don’t want to know what’s behind those terrifying screams. But what if someone is badly injured? What if someone needs my help? What if it were me?

I ran back to the boiler room as quickly as my dazed and confused state of mind would allow and what I witnessed…

Their skin; a canvas of crimson and caramel watercolor; slid down rigidly from their bones like a rare; well tenderized meat.

I placed my hands over my eyes and cried uncontrollably as I carefully and shamefully backed away. When I made it back to the staircase I ran as quickly as I possibly could to find Arthur.

“Arthur, something horrible has happened. They’ve all burned, they are being burned alive.”

Arthur grabs me by the shoulders and begins to shake me, “Listen, we’ve hit an iceberg and things are about to get worse; much worse, follow my every instruction and I promise you will survive this. Wait for me here, we have to try and save as many as we can and put out the fire.”

12:15 PM

Arthur comes barging back in, “We’ve got to go now. The Tank Top is flooding, and the water is rising fast. The impact of the iceberg caused a crack in the upper decks where the oil is. The oil barrels are spilled over and leaking to the decks beneath it and into the furnaces. The oil combined with the burning coals in the furnace resulted in a spontaneous combustion setting everything ablaze down there. Anyone managing to survive the fire will drown as the deck above collapsed and blocked the exits just before we made it out.”

“And I’ll tell you something I didn’t share with you before because I would never have imagined it would become a necessity, there aren’t enough lifeboats onboard for every passenger, so we have to move now!”

“What do you mean there aren’t enough lifeboats onboard? What does that even mean?”

He reached into the closet and handed me a fireman’s coat.

“Here, put this on. You will have a better chance of getting onto one of those lifeboats with it.”

12:30 PM

As we fought our way through the staircases up the decks there was chaos surrounding us on all sides. The cries of small children separated from their parents; passengers frantically falling and being trampled; breaking limbs and fighting one another; pushing, shoving; dying. I know the details are lacking, but they’re painful to recall.

1:00 AM

When we finally arrived at the boat deck there were already lifeboats in the water. Crewmen yelling loudly, “Women and children only.” By now the ocean water has risen to the E Deck and we are sinking fast.

“Hurry, hurry”, says Arthur. “We have to make it to boat 3 right now!”

And we did. Boat 3 was lowered carrying approximately 39 passengers; and 12 crew members; unofficially.

3:30 AM

The Carpathia arrives firing rockets in the air; one of the many vessels that received the S.O.S. and CQD from Captain of the Titanic Edward Smith but weren’t close enough to make it to us in time.

Once I boarded The Carpathia I couldn’t utter a single word as they were trying to record the survivors’ names. Arthur spoke on my behalf. I didn’t sleep the entire way to New York City. How could I?

April 18, 1912

9:25 PM

The Carpathia arrived in New York City and I touched land for the first time in weeks. I cried hysterically and thanked the Lord above for safe passage and for Arthur.

Arthur went on to survive three more ship disasters, The HMS Alcantar, The HMHS Britannic, and The SS Donegal. He became known to the world as The Unsinkable Stoker, but I would forever know and remember him as my savior.