Photos by Alya B. Honasan
I WAS in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada last November for the wedding of my nephew, who had been raised in Canada and married a lovely local girl. It was my friend David Huang who first told me of the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic and its artifacts from the Titanic, easily the most famous shipwreck in history and one of the biggest maritime tragedies ever—especially, I think, because of the hubris involved.
After all, the ship had been the product of fierce competition between two shipping lines, White Star and Cunard, at a time when transatlantic crossings were the way to go, and it was considered White Star’s flagship that was “virtually unsinkable.” It weighed more than 52,000 tons and was approximately 269 m long and 28.2 m wide.
The “unsinkable” claim was because, according to britannica.com, the ship included 16 compartments with doors that could be shut from the bridge or control center, where the captain “drives,” as it were, so any water entering the ship’s hull (or main structure) could be kept back. Apparently, not all these compartments were watertight, however—which means this was obviously some kind of false advertising.
Exquisite detail from the interior carvings
Still, the ship was known for its opulence, with first class suites with actual fireplaces, a gym, Turkish baths, interiors full of intricate carvings, and that famous staircase that received much attention in James Cameron’s 1997 film Titanic. According to theconversation.com, “Wealthy passengers paid up to £870 for the privilege of occupying the Titanic’s most expensive and spacious first-class cabins. To put this 110-year-old money in perspective, when the first world war broke out in 1914, infantry soldiers in the British army were paid a basic salary of around £20 per year.” As we’ll see later, this class divide would actually cost people their lives.
Titanic set sail on April 10, 1912 from Southampton, England to New York City, with some 2,200 people on board. It would hit an iceberg, and completely sink on April 15. According to records, said brittanica.com, the ship’s 20 lifeboats could carry only 1,178 people—way below the number of passengers. To make matters worse, a scheduled lifeboat drill earlier in the day had been cancelled, so the crew didn’t confirm that each boat could indeed carry the prescribed 65 people. Instead, some of the vessels, like lifeboat no. 7, was sent off with only 27 people on board—all of them first class passengers, who were prioritized by the crew. Second and third class passengers actually had quarters with locked gates and doors, purportedly to keep any disease outbreak from spreading, although some sources have noted that people in other classes simply had more difficulty accessing the deck, as they stayed in the lower parts of the ship.
Also, the faulty communication system meant third class passengers were not notified about what was going on until it was too late. Although the “women and children first” rule was followed, the survival rate was still obscenely lopsided: according to courses.bowdoin.edu, in a piece on “Disproportionate Devastation,” 62 percent of first class passengers survived, compared to 41 percent for second class and 25 percent for third class. Total number of people actually rescued by boats: slightly over 700. Here’s another clincher, according to brittanica.com: “Fearful of being swamped, those in the lifeboats delayed returning to pick up survivors. By the time they rowed back, almost all the people in the water had died from exposure.” That somehow feels more chilling than the actual water must have been.
All this is just historical data, however, until you come face-to-face with evidence that the Titanic disaster really did happen, and many people died horrible deaths. The Maritime Museum of the Atlantic is located on Lower Water Street, on the waterfront of Halifax, the capital of the province of Nova Scotia on the Atlantic side of Canada. Halifax is a beautiful city with ocean views, great seafood, and a slow, relaxed pace—with a lot of history.
A permanent exhibit on the Titanic, Titanic: The Unsinkable Ship and Halifax, tells the story of the doomed ship, as well as the role Halifax played in the disaster. In a famous directive, while survivors went to New York, “the dead would come to Halifax.” Halifax was the closest major seaport with connections by rail and enough mortuaries to handle the bodies (although they evidently ran out of space and embalming fluid), and according to the museum website, became “the base for ships searching and recovering bodies of Titanic victims.” Three cable ships, or ships that maintained marine cables on other ships and in the water—the Mackay-Bennett, the Minia, and the Montmagny—valiantly managed to recover a total of 328 bodies, scattered over a wide area by wind and waves, while many bodies sank with the ship. “This role left Halifax with a legacy of grim memories, recovered wreckage, funerals, and gravesites,” said the museum website. Many individuals are now buried in Halifax’s Fairview Lawn Cemetery. Cable ship crew members would also keep pieces of Titanic wreckage, called “wreckwood,” in their family for generations as sobering mementoes.
Yet more evidence of the class distinction, even in death: first-class passengers were prioritized for embalming and placed in coffins, while others were simply wrapped in canvas, or placed in a mortuary’s holding area.
Yet more evidence of the class distinction, even in death: first-class passengers were prioritized for embalming and placed in coffins, while others were simply wrapped in canvas
An actual deck chair from the ‘Titanic’
The exhibit, on the second floor of the small museum, opens with several historical photographs in black and white, and an intricately detailed model of the ship which, even in miniature form, reveals its grandness. Probably most eerie is a well-preserved wooden deck chair; these chairs were thrown overboard when the boat was sinking, so people could use them as flotation devices. While the original is behind glass, a facsimile is available for anyone to sit in to get the feel of sunbathing in 1914.
More woodwork with a facsimile you could feel
Several pieces of wreckwood are also on exhibit, showing the exquisite craftsmanship that went into the detailing of the ship. One thoughtfully includes a plaster cast of the piece on the outside of the glass, inviting visitors to feel the object themselves. There is also a remarkably intact medicine cabinet that survived the ravages of sea water and time.
A well-preserved medicine cabinet
On their website, the museum makes an admirable statement: “We only have fragments that floated to the surface when Titanic sank in 1912. The Maritime Museum of the Atlantic, along with most marine museums in the world, belongs to the International Congress of Maritime Museums which is opposed to commercial salvage of Titanic. They consider Titanic to be a memorial and archeological site requiring minimal intervention, systematic mapping, and sharing of research for scrutiny by archeologists and scientists. Simply retrieving objects destroys much of their value and sets a bad example for other historic shipwrecks, including the 10,000 recorded shipwrecks in Nova Scotia waters.” Thus, most of the items on exhibit were either donated or loaned by descendants of Nova Scotians involved in the recovery.
Doomed passenger and Canadian millionaire George Wright’s actual letter (photo from Britannica.com)
A recent museum acquisition is a letter written by George Wright, then 62, a Halifax millionaire, hastily dashed off before the boat set sail, written on Titanic first class stationery and accompanied by a postcard of the ship, dated April 10, 1912. “I am now on the way to New York and am on the largest ship in the world and she really is a great sight,” he wrote. “I have a room as large as I had at the Hotel. This is her first trip. I just got on board and she will sail in a few minutes so am writing this in a hurry.” Wright’s body was never identified.
Sidney Leslie Goodwin’s shoes
Finally, and most poignant of all, is an actual pair of children’s leather shoes originally recovered from “Body No. 4,” also known as “The Unknown Child,” later identified by DNA testing as a little boy named Sidney Leslie Goodwin from England. The shoes were recovered by the crew of the Mackay-Bennett; the family was en route to Niagara, where their father had found some work, but none of the bodies of then 19-month-old Sidney’s seven other family members were ever found.
Obviously moved by their discovery, the sailors on the Mackay-Bennett pooled money to pay for Sidney’s coffin, funeral, and a temporary headstone with a dedication to the unknown child. According to Wikipedia, the sailors also laid a copper pendant on the coffin. It read simply, heart-wrenchingly: “Our Babe.”
