THE EVER-PRESENT DANGERS OF THE SEA
Boswell, that faithful, if over-appreciative chronicler, tells us that
Dr. Johnson once described an ocean voyage as "going to jail with a
chance of being drowned." Had some one quoted the grim witticism of
the doctor in the spacious dining-room of the _Titanic_ on the night
of April the fourteenth, it would have provoked a smile of derisive
incredulity. Going to sea in the cramped quarters of the frail sailing
packet of Johnson's day was one thing; crossing the Atlantic at railroad
speed in the spacious luxury of a 60,000-ton liner was quite another.
Yet, five hours later, when the vast bulk of that noble ship was
slanting to its final plunge, the pitiless truth was brought home to
that awe-stricken crowd that, even to-day, travel by sea involves the
"chance of being drowned."
The remarkable immunity of the high-speed Atlantic liners from such
accidents as befell the _Titanic_ has been due in part to careful
seamanship and in part to an amazing run of good luck. Of this there can
be no doubt whatever. On a recent occasion the subject was brought up
for discussion in the officers' quarters of one of the fastest liners.
In answer to the writer's question as to whether the dangers of running
at high speed through fog or ice-infested regions were not enormous,
one of the officers frankly admitted that, not only were the risks most
serious, but the immunity from such disasters as that which befell the
_Titanic_ was to be explained on the ground of sheer good fortune. "I
well remember," said he, "that the first time I found myself in charge
of the bridge on a ship that was running through fog at a speed of
over 20 knots, I fairly shivered with a sense of the possibilities of
disaster that were involved. To-day--well--familiarity, you know----"
[Illustration: Stewards are closing door in fire-protection bulkhead.
FIRE-DRILL ON A GERMAN LINER]
Let it not be supposed, from the heading of this chapter, that it is
the writer's purpose to draw any lurid picture of the dangers of ocean
travel. These are no greater to-day than they were before the _Titanic_
went down. Icebergs have swept down from the Arctic seas from time
immemorial, and year by year they will continue to throw the shadow of
their awful menace across the lines of steamship travel. Fog, with its
ever-present dangers of collision, will continue to infest the ocean
highways; and always, the half-submerged derelict, a peril scarcely less
than that of the iceberg, will continue to sail its uncharted course
over the high seas.
The strength of the impulse to build unsinkable ships will be exactly in
proportion to our realisation of the dangers which beset ocean travel.
The toll of human life exacted in the recent disaster will lose its one
possible compensation, if it fails to impress deeply the very serious
lesson that since the sea is not man's natural element, he can hold
his way safely across its surface only at the cost of most careful
preparation and eternal vigilance.
Protracted and amazing immunity from disasters of portentous magnitude
has bred in us something of that very contempt for the dangers of the
sea above referred to. We have piled deck upon deck until the "floating
palace" of the sea towers twice as far above the water-line as it
extends below it. So rapidly have we added weight to weight and
horsepower to horsepower, that both the mass and the power have been
quadrupled. The giant steamship of to-day, as she rushes through the
black night and the all-obscuring fog, represents a potential engine of
destruction, for which no parallel can be found in the whole field of
human activity.
Do you doubt it? Then learn that on that fatal night when the _Titanic_
bore headlong into the icefield, she embodied in her onrushing mass an
energy equal to that of the combined broadsides of our two most powerful
battleships, the _Florida_ and the _Utah_. Which is to say that, if
the two dreadnoughts had discharged their twenty twelve-inch guns, at
point-blank range, against the iceberg which sank this ship, they would
have struck a combined blow of less energy than that delivered by the
_Titanic_. And every one of these guns, be it remembered, delivers its
shell with an energy of 50,000 foot-tons--sufficient to lift either of
these battleships nearly two and a half feet into the air.
[Illustration: Hose from bellows supplies fresh air to man with smoke
helmet.
FIRE-DRILL ON A GERMAN LINER]
Of the serious risk to a ship of collision with an iceberg, it is
superfluous to say anything here. The swift sinking of the world's
greatest steamship has driven that lesson home, surely, for all time
to come. But there are two other forms of accident on the high
seas--collision with another ship and the running down of a
derelict--whose possibilities of disaster are scarcely less. For if the
huge steamships of our day, moving at high speed, are such potential
engines of destruction, it follows that the damaging effects of
collisions are proportionately increased.
If a 60,000-ton ship, such as the _Titanic_, while running at high
speed, were struck on the beam by a vessel of large size, it is quite
conceivable that the outside plating of three of her compartments (not
merely the "two adjoining" of standard shipbuilding practice) might
be broken in, or the seams and butts started, before the energy of the
colliding ship was absorbed and the two vessels swung clear of each
other. The average length of the compartments of the _Titanic_ was about
53 feet. At 21 knots she would move forward about 35 feet in one second.
Hence, in a few seconds' time (even allowing for her slowing down due
to the drag of the other ship), her enormous energy of over 1,000,000
foot-tons would cause her to grind along past the broken bow, surely
more than the 100 feet or so which would suffice to involve three
compartments. If three compartments amidships were opened to the sea, it
would mean the admission of some 12,000 to 15,000 tons of water.
Even more insidious is the menace of the abandoned and water-logged
ship--the justly dreaded derelict--which, floating low in the water, and
without a light to reveal its position, may lie directly in the path of
the high-speed ocean liner. So slightly does the derelict project above
the surface, that it is almost impossible of detection by night from the
lofty position of the lookout on a modern steamship.
[Illustration: Test of fire mains is made every time the ship is in
port.
FIRE-DRILL ON A GERMAN LINER]
Another risk of the sea, which, because of long immunity from disaster,
is in danger of being overlooked or underrated, is that of fire. The
structural portions of a ship and its engine- and boiler-plant, being of
metal, are proof against fire; but the stateroom partitions, the wooden
floors and ceilings, the wainscoting, and the hundreds of tons of
material used in decoration and general embellishment, to say nothing
of the highly inflammable paint-work and varnish, constitute a mass of
material, which, in the event of a serious fire, might turn the whole
interior of a large passenger ship into one vast cauldron of flame.
Fortunately, the bulkhead is as effective in confining a fire as it is
in localising an inflow of water in the event of collision. Therefore,
some of the bulkheads of the under-water portion of all passenger ships
should be continued (of lighter construction) right through the decks
reserved for passenger accommodations, to the topmost deck of the ship.
But, perhaps, after all said and done, the greatest perils of high-speed
ocean travel are to be found in that spirit of nautical _sangfroid_, or
indifference to danger, which, as this disaster has proved, may in time
begin to characterise the attitude even of so experienced a navigator as
the late captain of the _Titanic_.
Protection against the dangers of the sea may be sought in two
directions: First, the enforcement of rules for more careful navigation;
second, the embodiment of non-sinkable construction in the ship.
The protection afforded by the one is limited by the fallibility of
human nature.
The protection afforded by the other is exact, absolutely sure, and will
last as long as the ship itself.
If we would make ocean travel safe we must make the ship, as far as
possible, unsinkable. In other words, the naval architect must adopt
that principle of construction, common in other lines of mechanical
work, which has been aptly designated as "fool-proof." In the building
of folly-proof ships, then (the term is here used in a modified sense
and with not the least reflection upon that fine body of professional
men whose duties lie on the bridge of our ocean liners), is to be found
the one sure protection against the perils of the sea.
We are well aware that the merchant ship, like the warship, is a
compromise, and that the ingenuity of the naval architect is sorely
taxed to meet the many demands for speed, coal capacity, freight
capacity, and luxurious accommodations for passengers. All this is
admitted. But the object of these chapters is to show that in designing
the ship, the architect has given too little attention to the elements
of safety--that, in the compromise, luxurious accommodations, let us
say, have been favoured at the expense of certain protective structural
arrangements, which might readily be introduced without any great
addition to the cost of the ship, or any serious sacrifice of comfort or
speed.
Under the sobering effect of this calamity, caution and moderation are
the watchwords of the hour. Steamships are leaving port crowded with
lifeboats of every size and shape. Steamship routes have been moved far
to the south of the accustomed lines of travel. The time occupied in
passage is longer, distances are greater, and the coal bill runs into
larger figures.
But competition is keen, dividends must be earned, and amid all the fret
and fever of our modern life, memories, even of stupendous happenings,
have but a brief life. Steamship routes, under the strong pressure of
competition, will tend to edge northward on to the older and shorter
sailing lines. Immunity from disaster will beget the old _sangfroid_;
and with the near approach of the age of motor-driven ships, we may look
for an increase in speed such as the old Atlantic has never witnessed,
even in the years of fiercest contest for the blue ribbon of the seas.
Let it be so--provided, always provided that, made wise by the lessons
of the hour, we write it in our laws and grave it deep in the hearts
of our shipbuilders, that the one sure safeguard against the eternal
hazards of the sea is the fireproof and unsinkable ship!