IN the anxious hours of uncertainty, when the air cracked
and flashed with the story of disaster, there was never
doubt in the minds of men ashore about the master of
the Titanic. Captain Smith would bring his ship into port
if human power could mend the damage the sea had wrought,
or if human power could not stay the disaster he would never
come to port. There is something Calvinistic about such men
of the old-sea breed. They go down with their ships, of their
own choice.
Into the last life-boat that was launched from the ship Captain
Smith with his own hand lifted a small child into a seat
beside its mother. As the gallant, officer performed his simple
act of humanity several who were already in the boat tried
to force the captain to join them, but he turned away resolutely
toward the bridge.
That act was significant. Courteous, kindly, of quiet
demeanor and soft words, he was known and loved by thousands
of travelers.
When the English firm, A. Gibson & Co.9 of Liverpool,
purchased the American clipper, Senator Weber, in 1869,
Captain Smith, then a boy, sailed on her. For seven years
he was an apprentice on the Senator Weber, leaving that vessel
to go to the Lizzie Fennell, a square rigger, as fourth officer.
From there he went to the old Celtic of the White Star Line
as fourth officer and in 1887 he became captain of that vessel.
For a time he was in command of the freighters Cufic and
Runic; then he became skipper of the old Adriatic.
Subsequently he assumed command of the Celtic, Britannic,
Coptic (which was in the Australian trade), Germanic, Baltic,
Majestic, Olympic and Titanic, an illustrious list of vessels
for one man to have commanded during his career.
It was not easy to get Captain Smith to talk of his
experiences. He had grown up in the service, was his comment,
and it meant little to him that he had been transferred from a
small vessel to a big ship and then to a bigger ship and finally
to the biggest of them all.
"One might think that a captain taken from a small ship
and put on a big one might feel the transition," he once said.
"Not at all. The skippers of the big vessels have grown up
to them, year after year, through all these years. First there
was the sailing vessel and then what we would now call small
ships—they were big in the days gone by—and finally the
giants to-day."
