The Wreck of the Titan & Der Untergang der Titanic 15. April 1912 E-Book

Jürgen Prommersberger

• Herausgeber: Jürgen Prommersberger
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

The Wreck of the Titan & Der Untergang der Titanic am 15. April 1912

Dieses Buch erzählt die Geschichte von zwei Schiffsunglücken. Das eine hat sich real ereignet und das zweite ist der Phantasie eines Schriftstellers entsprungen. Die Namen dieser Schiffe lauten RMS Titanic und Titan.

Im Jahr 1898 (mit einer Nachbearbeitung im Jahr 1912) veröffentlichte der Schriftsteller Morgan Robertson eine Geschichte über eine schreckliche Katastrophe auf hoher See. Der damals größte Ozeandampfer Titan rammte einen Eisberg und versank im Nordatlantik, wobei fast alle Passagiere und Besatzungsmitglieder ihr Leben verloren.

Klingt das nicht irgendwie vertraut? Angefangen mit den Namen der Schiffe. Oder die Größe? Und natürlich die ganzen Umstände des Untergangs. Es sind wirklich erstaunliche Ähnlichkeiten in der Geschichte der fiktiven TITAN mit der realen TITANIC zu entdecken. In diesem Buch ist sowohl die Geschichte der Titan in der englischen Originalversion abgedruckt als auch viele Details zum Untergang der Titanic (in deutscher Sprache).

Leseprobe

The Wreck of the Titan

-

Der Untergang der Titanic

15. April 1912

Futility or The Wreck of the Titan (1912)

von Morgan Robertson

Herausgegeben von:

Jürgen Prommersberger

Händelstr 17

93128 Regenstauf

RMS Titanic

INHALT

Hintergrundinformationen: RMS Titanic – Titan

Der Roman:

The Wreck of the Titan (1898/1912)

Die Realität: Der Untergang der Titanic am 15. April 1912

Hintergründe

Titan. Eine Liebesgeschichte auf hoher See (englisch Futility, or the Wreck of the Titan) ist ein 1898 entstandener Roman des amerikanischen Schriftstellers Morgan Robertson (1861–1915). Es handelt von einem Passagierschiff namens Titan, das nach einem Zusammenstoß mit einem Eisberg im Nordatlantik sinkt. Als auffällig gelten die Parallelen zum Untergang der Titanic 14 Jahre später - Verfechter übersinnlicher Fähigkeiten sprechen deshalb von einer Vision Robertsons.

Veröffentlichung

Ursprünglich wurde der Roman unter dem Titel Futility (Sinnlosigkeit) 1898 veröffentlicht. Die erste Auflage wurde nur sehr spärlich verkauft und ist heute sehr wertvoll. In einer Neuauflage 1912 nach dem Untergang der Titanic wurde der Titel in Futility, or The Wreck of the Titan (Sinnlosigkeit oder der Schiffbruch der Titan) geändert. Bei der Neuauflage wurden die technischen Daten der Titan geändert. Manche Autoren schreiben, dass die Daten an die der Titanic angepasst wurden, was jedoch nicht zutrifft. Vielmehr sieht es danach aus, dass die Titan das mächtigste Schiff bleiben sollte und deshalb alle Maße bis auf die Länge angepasst wurden. Auch das Ende und damit die Moral der Erzählung wurden angepasst.

Parallelen und Unterschiede zwischen der Titan und der Titanic

Kalman Tanito beschrieb in einer Analyse des Romans die Parallelen und Unterschiede zwischen der fiktiven Titan und der wirklichen Titanic. Der Beitrag wurde unter dem Titel The Titanic Commutator - The Official Journal of the Titanic Historical Society, Inc, im Jahre 1994 herausgebracht.

Folgende Parallelen lassen sich finden:

Die Länge der Schiffe: Titanic 269 Meter, Titan 244 Meter.

Beide Schiffe waren aus Stahl gebaut, hatten drei Propeller und zwei Masten.

Beide Schiffe hatten wasserdichte Schotten. Die Titan hatte 19, die Titanic 16.

Beide Schiffe galten als unsinkbar.

Beide Schiffe waren zu ihrer Zeit die größten Passagierschiffe.

Beide Schiffe konnten 3.000 Passagiere befördern.

Die Bruttotonnage der Titan betrug 45.000, die der Titanic 46.328.

Beide Schiffe verfügten über zu wenig Rettungsboote.

Die letzte Fahrt der Schiffe fand im April statt.

Beide Schiffe stießen mit einem Eisberg zusammen und wurden an der Steuerbordseite beschädigt.

Die Orte, an denen die beiden Schiffe untergingen, waren nur ein paar hundert Meilen voneinander entfernt.

Beide Schiffe gehörten britischen Reedereien, die ihren Sitz in Liverpool hatten und in New York eine Dependance am Broadway unterhielten.

Es gibt auch folgende Unterschiede aufzulisten:

Die Reise der beiden Schiffe fanden zwar im April statt, aber die Fahrt der Titan war keine Jungfernfahrt wie bei der Titanic.

Die Titan verlässt New York, die Titanic dagegen hielt Kurs nach New York.

Die Titan ist zusätzlich mit Segeln ausgerüstet, die Titanic nicht.

Die Titan besitzt einen Yachtkiel, die Titanic nicht.

Die Titan rammt ein Segelschiff, jedoch werden die Überlebenden ignoriert. Bei der Titanic gab es keine derartigen Ereignisse.

In der Nacht, in der die Titan den Eisberg rammt, ist dichter Nebel. Die Titanic-Katastrophe fand in einer klaren Nacht statt.

Im Roman ist in jener Nacht von Mondschein die Rede, die Titanic sank in einer Neumondnacht.

Die Titan schlittert auf dem Eisberg, bis sie aus dem Wasser ragt und dann auf die Steuerbordseite fällt. Die fallenden Maschinen reißen ein Loch in den Rumpf und dann rutscht die Titan zurück ins Wasser. Dabei werden die Rettungsboote der Steuerbordseite zerstört. Die Titanic dagegen riss sich den Rumpf an dem Eisberg auf. Durch die Kollision entstanden mehrere Lecks im Bereich der sechs vorderen Abteile. Die Rettungsboote der Steuerbordseite wurden nicht zerstört.

Von den 3.000 Passagieren der Titan überleben nur dreizehn. Auf der Titanic verloren etwa 1.500 Passagiere ihr Leben. Es konnten um die 700 Menschenleben gerettet werden.

John Rowland, die Hauptfigur des Romans, kämpft auf einem Eisberg gegen einen Eisbären. Das ist keiner Person während der Titanic-Katastrophe widerfahren.

Vorahnung oder Zufall

Anhänger des Übernatürlichen führen die vielen Übereinstimmungen ins Feld, um die Annahme zu bekräftigen, bei Robertson handele es sich um einen wahrhaftigen Propheten.

Es gilt allerdings zu bedenken, dass der größte Teil der Geschichte den damals üblichen Geschehnissen entspricht und Schiffsunglücke und Zusammenstöße mit Eisbergen vergleichsweise häufig passierten. Manche behaupten, der Schiffszusammenstoß des Passagierdampfers Elbe mit dem Kohledampfer Crathie im Jahre 1895 und die Kollision der Arizona mit einem Eisberg hätten Pate gestanden.

Bereits 18 Jahre vor der Veröffentlichung des Romans gab es ein eisernes Dampfschiff namens Titania, das am 9. Juli 1880 nach Kollision mit einem Eisberg im Nordatlantik innerhalb von drei Stunden sank.

Die nachfolgende Geschichte des Passagierdampfers Titan ist im englischen Originaltext abgedruckt:

Der Roman:

Futility or the Wreck of the Titan

Chapter One

SHE was the largest craft afloat and the greatest of the works of men. In her construction and maintenance were involved every science, profession, and trade known to civilization. On her bridge were officers, who, besides being the pick of the Royal Navy, had passed rigid examinations in all studies that pertained to the winds, tides, currents, and geography of the sea; they were not only seamen, but scientists. The same professional standard applied to the personnel of the engine-room, and the steward's department was equal to that of a first-class hotel.

Two brass bands, two orchestras, and a theatrical company entertained the passengers during waking hours; a corps of physicians attended to the temporal, and a corps of chaplains to the spiritual, welfare of all on board, while a well-drilled fire-company soothed the fears of nervous ones and added to the general entertainment by daily practice with their apparatus.

From her lofty bridge ran hidden telegraph lines to the bow, stern engine-room, crow's-nest on the foremast, and to all parts of the ship where work was done, each wire terminating in a marked dial with a movable indicator, containing in its scope every order and answer required in handling the massive hulk, either at the dock or at sea — which eliminated, to a great extent, the hoarse, nerve-racking shouts of officers and sailors.

From the bridge, engine-room, and a dozen places on her deck the ninety-two doors of nineteen water-tight compartments could be closed in half a minute by turning a lever. These doors would also close automatically in the presence of water. With nine compartments flooded the ship would still float, and so no known accident of the sea could possibly fill this many, the steamship Titan was considered practically unsinkable.

Built of steel throughout, and for passenger traffic only, she carried no combustible cargo to threaten her destruction by fire; and the immunity from the demand for cargo space had enabled her designers to discard the flat, kettle-bottom of cargo boats and give her the sharp dead-rise — or slant from the keel — of a steam yacht, and this improved her behavior in a seaway. She was eight hundred feet long, of seventy thousand tons displacement, seventy-five thousand horse-power, and on her trial trip had steamed at a rate of twenty-five knots an hour over the bottom, in the face of unconsidered winds, tides, and currents. In short, she was a floating city — containing within her steel walls all that tends to minimize the dangers and discomforts of the Atlantic voyage — all that makes life enjoyable.

Unsinkable — indestructible, she carried as few boats as would satisfy the laws. These, twenty-four in number, were securely covered and lashed down to their chocks on the upper deck, and if launched would hold five hundred people. She carried no useless, cumbersome life-rafts; but — because the law required it — each of the three thousand berths in the passengers', officers', and crew's quarters contained a cork jacket, while about twenty circular life-buoys were strewn along the rails.

In view of her absolute superiority to other craft, a rule of navigation thoroughly believed in by some captains, but not yet openly followed, was announced by the steamship company to apply to the Titan: She would steam at full speed in fog, storm, and sunshine, and on the Northern Lane Route, winter and summer, for the following good and substantial reasons: First, that if another craft should strike her, the force of the impact would be distributed over a larger area if the Titan had full headway, and the brunt of the damage would be borne by the other. Second, that if the Titan was the aggressor she would certainly destroy the other craft, even at half-speed, and perhaps damage her own bows; while at full speed, she would cut her in two with no more damage to herself than a paintbrush could remedy. In either case, as the lesser of two evils, it was best that the smaller hull should suffer. A third reason was that, at full speed, she could be more easily steered out of danger, and a fourth, that in case of an end-on collision with an iceberg — the only thing afloat that she could not conquer — her bows would be crushed in but a few feet further at full than at half speed, and at the most three compartments would be flooded — which would not matter with six more to spare.

So, it was confidently expected that when her engines had limbered themselves, the steamship Titan would land her passengers three thousand miles away with the promptitude and regularity of a railway train. She had beaten all records on her maiden voyage, but, up to the third return trip, had not lowered the time between Sandy Hook and Daunt's Rock to the five-day limit; and it was unofficially rumored among the two thousand passengers who had embarked at New York that an effort would now be made to do so.

Chapter Two

EIGHT tugs dragged the great mass to midstream and pointed her nose down the river; then the pilot on the bridge spoke a word or two; the first officer blew a short blast on the whistle and turned a lever; the tugs gathered in their lines and drew off; down in the bowels of the ship three small engines were started, opening the throttles of three large ones; three propellers began to revolve; and the mammoth, with a vibratory tremble running through her great frame, moved slowly to sea.

East of Sandy Hook the pilot was dropped and the real voyage begun. Fifty feet below her deck, in an inferno of noise, and heat, and light, and shadow, coal-passers wheeled the picked fuel from the bunkers to the fire-hold, where half-naked stokers, with faces like those of tortured fiends, tossed it into the eighty white-hot mouths of the furnaces. In the engine-room, oilers passed to and fro, in and out of the plunging, twisting, glistening steel, with oil-cans and waste, overseen by the watchful staff on duty, who listened with strained hearing for a false note in the confused jumble of sound — a clicking of steel out of tune, which would indicate a loosened key or nut. On deck, sailors set the triangular sails on the two masts, to add their propulsion to the momentum of the record-breaker, and the passengers dispersed themselves as suited their several tastes. Some were seated in steamer chairs, well wrapped — for, though it was April, the salt air was chilly — some paced the deck, acquiring their sea legs; others listened to the orchestra in the music-room, or read or wrote in the library, and a few took to their berths — seasick from the slight heave of the ship on the ground-swell.

The decks were cleared, watches set at noon, and then began the never-ending cleaning-up at which steamship sailors put in so much of their time. Headed by a six-foot boatswain, a gang came aft on the starboard side, with paint-buckets and brushes, and distributed themselves along the rail.

"Davits an' stanchions, men — never mind the rail," said the boatswain. "Ladies, better move your chairs back a little. Rowland, climb down out o' that — you'll be overboard. Take a ventilator — no, you'll spill paint — put your bucket away an' get some sandpaper from the yeoman. Work inboard till you get it out o' you."

The sailor addressed — a slight-built man of about thirty, black-bearded and bronzed to the semblance of healthy vigor, but watery-eyed and unsteady of movement — came down from the rail and shambled forward with his bucket. As he reached the group of ladies to whom the boatswain had spoken, his gaze rested on one — a sunny-haired young woman with the blue of the sea in her eyes — who had arisen at his approach. He started, turned aside as if to avoid her, and raising his hand in an embarrassed half-salute, passed on. Out of the boatswain's sight he leaned against the deck-house and panted, while he held his hand to his breast.

"What is it?" he muttered, wearily; "whisky nerves, or the dying flutter of a starved love. Five years, now — and a look from her eyes can stop the blood in my veins — can bring back all the heart-hunger and helplessness, that leads a man to insanity — or this." He looked at his trembling hand, all scarred and tar-stained, passed on forward, and returned with the sandpaper.

The young woman had been equally affected by the meeting. An expression of mingled surprise and terror had come to her pretty, but rather weak face; and without acknowledging his half-salute, she had caught up a little child from the deck behind her, and turning into the saloon door, hurried to the library, where she sank into a chair beside a military-looking gentleman, who glanced up from a book and remarked: "Seen the sea-serpent, Myra, or the Flying Dutchman? What's up?"

"Oh, George — no," she answered in agitated tones. "John Rowland is here — Lieutenant Rowland. I've just seen him — he is so changed — he tried to speak to me."

"Who — that troublesome flame of yours? I never met him, you know, and you haven't told me much about him. What is he — first cabin?"

"No, he seems to be a common sailor; he is working, and is dressed in old clothes — all dirty. And such a dissipated face, too. He seems to have fallen — so low. And it is all since —"

"Since you soured on him? Well, it is no fault of yours, dear. If a man has it in him he'll go to the dogs anyhow. How is his sense of injury? Has he a grievance or a grudge? You're badly upset. What did he say?"

"I don't know — he said nothing — I've always been afraid of him. I've met him three times since then, and he puts such a frightful look in his eyes — and he was so violent, and headstrong, and so terribly angry, — that time. He accused me of leading him on, and playing with him; and he said something about an immutable law of chance, and a governing balance of events — that I couldn't understand, only where he said that for all the suffering we inflict on others, we receive an equal amount ourselves. Then he went away — in such a passion. I've imagined ever since that he would take some revenge — he might steal our Myra — our baby." She strained the smiling child to her breast and went on. "I liked him at first, until I found out that he was an atheist — why, George, he actually denied the existence of God — and to me, a professing Christian."

"He had a wonderful nerve," said the husband, with a smile; "didn't know you very well, I should say."

"He never seemed the same to me after that," she resumed; "I felt as though in the presence of something unclean. Yet I thought how glorious it would be if I could save him to God, and tried to convince him of the loving care of Jesus; but he only ridiculed all I hold sacred, and said, that much as he valued my good opinion, he would not be a hypocrite to gain it, and that he would be honest with himself and others, and express his honest unbelief — the idea; as though one could be honest without God's help — and then, one day, I smelled liquor on his breath — he always smelled of tobacco — and I gave him up. It was then that he — that he broke out."

"Come out and show me this reprobate," said the husband, rising. They went to the door and the young woman peered out. "He is the last man down there — close to the cabin," she said as she drew in. The husband stepped out.

"What! that hang-dog ruffian, scouring the ventilator? So, that's Rowland, of the navy, is it! Well, this is a tumble. Wasn't he broken for conduct unbecoming an officer? Got roaring drunk at the President's levee, didn't he? I think I read of it."

"I know he lost his position and was terribly disgraced," answered the wife.

"Well, Myra, the poor devil is harmless now. We'll be across in a few days, and you needn't meet him on this broad deck. If he hasn't lost all sensibility, he's as embarrassed as you. Better stay in now — it's getting foggy."

Chapter Three

WHEN the watch turned out at midnight, they found a vicious half-gale blowing from the northeast, which, added to the speed of the steamship, made, so far as effects on her deck went, a fairly uncomfortable whole gale of chilly wind. The head sea, choppy as compared with her great length, dealt the Titan successive blows, each one attended by supplementary tremors to the continuous vibrations of the engines — each one sending a cloud of thick spray aloft that reached the crow's-nest on the foremast and battered the pilot-house windows on the bridge in a liquid bombardment that would have broken ordinary glass. A fog-bank, into which the ship had plunged in the afternoon, still enveloped her — damp and impenetrable; and into the gray, ever-receding wall ahead, with two deck officers and three lookouts straining sight and hearing to the utmost, the great racer was charging with undiminished speed.

At a quarter past twelve, two men crawled in from the darkness at the ends of the eighty-foot bridge and shouted to the first officer, who had just taken the deck, the names of the men who had relieved them. Backing up to the pilot-house, the officer repeated the names to a quartermaster within, who entered them in the log-book. Then the men vanished — to their coffee and "watch-below." In a few moments another dripping shape appeared on the bridge and reported the crow's-nest relief.

"Rowland, you say?" bawled the officer above the howling of the wind." Is he the man who was lifted aboard, drunk, yesterday?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he still drunk?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right — that'll do. Enter Rowland in the crow's-nest, quartermaster," said the officer; then, making a funnel of his hands, he roared out: "Crow's-nest, there."

"Sir," came the answer, shrill and clear on the gale.

"Keep your eyes open — keep a sharp lookout."

"Very good, sir."

"Been a man-o'-war's-man, I judge, by his answer. They're no good," muttered the officer. He resumed his position at the forward side of the bridge where the wooden railing afforded some shelter from the raw wind, and began the long vigil which would only end when the second officer relieved him, four hours later. Conversation — except in the line of duty — was forbidden among the bridge officers of the Titan, and his watchmate, the third officer, stood on the other side of the large bridge binnacle, only leaving this position occasionally to glance in at the compass — which seemed to be his sole duty at sea. Sheltered by one of the deck-houses below, the boatswain and the watch paced back and forth, enjoying the only two hours respite which steamship rules afforded, for the day's work had ended with the going down of the other watch, and at two o'clock the washing of the 'tween-deck would begin, as an opening task in the next day's labor.

By the time one bell had sounded, with its repetition from the crow's-nest, followed by a long-drawn cry — "all's well" — from the lookouts, the last of the two thousand passengers had retired, leaving the spacious cabins and steerage in possession of the watchmen; while, sound asleep in his cabin abaft the chart-room was the captain, the commander who never commanded — unless the ship was in danger; for the pilot had charge, making and leaving port, and the officers, at sea.

Two bells were struck and answered; then three, and the boatswain and his men were lighting up for a final smoke, when there rang out overhead a startling cry from the crow's-nest:

"Something ahead, sir — can't make it out."

The first officer sprang to the engine-room telegraph and grasped the lever. "Sing out what you see," he roared.

"Hard aport, sir — ship on the starboard tack — dead ahead" came the cry.

"Port your wheel — hard over," r [...]