Into the Drink

April 15th marks the one-hundred-and-seventh anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, a catastrophic accident that resulted in tragic loss of life and still serves as a monument to hubris – the folly of proud men who built a ship and deemed it "unsinkable."

The tragedy of the Titanic is one that has touched hearts and gripped imaginations for generations, especially after the fateful day was vividly captured in James Cameron's 1997 blockbuster film, "Titanic." The movie follows two fictional characters in the ship's last days, up to and through the terrifying events of the great ocean liner's sinking. Although Cameron's Jack and Rose are fictional, the passengers and crew on board the Titanic when it hit the iceberg in the middle of the Atlantic just before midnight on April 14, 1912, were not.

The thing that has always interested me about history are the personal stories of the individuals who lived to tell the tale (or didn't, as the case may be). We recently re-watched the movie, so morbid imagination fired, I started doing a bit of casual research into that fateful voyage. The story of one survivor in particular, a baker by the name of Charles Joughin, was just the sort to pique my interest. In fact, after looking deeper into Joughin's story, it's my opinion this man is the sort of unsung hero of badassery we need to make a household name.

An Englishman, Joughin (pronounced "Jockin") first went to sea at age 11, and eventually ended up a baker for the White Star Line. He was the Chief Baker on board the RMS Titanic, both on its delivery trip from Belfast to Southampton, and again when it embarked on its maiden and final voyage.

Joughin was relaxing in his cabin the night of April 14 when, just before midnight, the ship collided with an iceberg in what would prove to be, for many, a fatal accident. As Chief Baker, Joughin was responsible for a staff of 13 and had no doubt been apprised of emergency procedures. He hurried to direct the staff under his supervision in the stocking of lifeboats with provisions. After spending some time in the kitchens dispensing his duties, Joughin did what anyone in their right mind would have done, faced with impending disaster – he returned to his cabin for a life jacket and a healthy slug or three of liquid courage to steady the nerves. Thus fortified, he made his way to the deck to assist with loading passengers – themselves in varying states of terror and denial and probably in need of a few stiff drinks - into the lifeboats. Having quite literally bodily chucked as many women and children into lifeboats as possible, by 1:30 a.m. Joughin had seen the boats launched. He, along with hundreds of others, remained stranded on the badly foundering ship.

At this point, our hero must have known his chances were not looking good. It's hard to imagine how terrifying was the prospect of being stranded on a sinking ship in the middle of the freezing North Atlantic. However grim the outlook, Joughin doesn't seem to have been one to waste time and energy on useless hysterics. Instead, he kept his head, returning one last time to his quarters, where he slowly savored a final drink, until the icy waters filling the cabin forced him once more to the upper deck.

Returning topside, Joughin proceeded to toss around fifty deck-chairs overboard in the hopes that they might be used as flotation devices. Then he waded through waist-deep water to the pantry, where he had a (no-doubt much-needed) glass of water. Hydrated and quite well-lubricated, Joughin then made his way to the stern – not unlike Jack and Rose in the 1997 film. In fact, Joughin is portrayed in scenes from the movie, swigging from a flask, throwing deck chairs overboard, and clinging to the railing beside Rose as the stern of the ship bobbed like a cork before going under. Just like Cameron's fictional lovers, Joughin and his snoot-full clutched the ship's railing at the topmost point and rode it down as it sank, becoming one of the last of the ship's occupants to enter the water.

Buoyed by his life belt, Joughin calmly paddled for two and a half hours through the freezing water and nightmare scene surrounding him as 1,500 people thrashed and bobbed on the surface and slowly froze to death, calling out in vain for the life boats that hovered just out of reach, terrified of being swamped.

Eventually, Joughin reached an overturned lifeboat that had about 25 men standing on it. There was no room for him to get up out of the icy water, but he held onto the side of the boat until he was eventually picked up by one life boat that did finally return, looking for survivors. Later, he boarded the SS Carpathia, the rescue vessel that had received the Titanic's distress signal and arrived hours after the ship's sinking. He was, quite remarkably, none the worse for wear, other than some swelling in the feet.

In general, alcohol consumption is thought to speed the onset of hypothermia, as it causes the dilation of blood vessels, thus sending blood rushing to the skin and depriving the internal organs of its warmth. However, it's thought the water was cold enough to constrict Joughin's vessels, counteracting the vasodilation typically caused by alcohol. In addition, Joughin's enhanced state of calm served him well. Rather than flailing and hyperventilating, he simply paddled sedately in a mildly inebriated state, effectively feeling no pain. That, along with the fact that he had the presence of mind to perch on the railing and was thus one of the last people to enter the water, factored into his survival.

Personally, I believe Joughin's state of Clint Eastwood-level cool is to thank for the 33-year-old baker's survival. In the face of what was surely a terrifying crisis of epic proportions, surrounded by mass hysteria, he remained calm and did everything exactly as he should have, while knocking back a whiskey or three in the process. Who amongst us could say we'd have such courage and presence of mind, in a similar situation?

The official total of the passengers and crew of the Titanic is 2,229. Of those, 709 survived the ship's sinking.

Joughin went on to continue working on ships, eventually emigrating to the U. S. in 1920 and working on troop transport ships during WWII. He retired in 1944 and died in 1956 at the age of 78, whereupon his obituary revealed he had also survived the sinking of the SS Oregon in Boston harbor, in 1885.