The Loss of the S. S. Titanic - Its Story and Its Lessons (12 page)

There were those, on the other hand, who did not fail to say
emphatically that indifference to the rights and feelings of others,
blindness to duty towards our fellow men and women, was in the last
analysis the cause of most of the human misery in the world. And it
should undoubtedly appeal more to our sense of justice to attribute
these things to our own lack of consideration for others than to shift
the responsibility on to a Power whom we first postulate as being
All-wise and All-loving.

All the boats were lowered and sent away by about 2 A.M., and by this
time the ship was very low in the water, the forecastle deck
completely submerged, and the sea creeping steadily up to the bridge
and probably only a few yards away.

No one on the ship can have had any doubt now as to her ultimate fate,
and yet the fifteen hundred passengers and crew on board made no
demonstration, and not a sound came from them as they stood quietly on
the decks or went about their duties below. It seems incredible, and
yet if it was a continuation of the same feeling that existed on deck
before the boats left,—and I have no doubt it was,—the explanation
is straightforward and reasonable in its simplicity. An attempt is
made in the last chapter to show why the attitude of the crowd was so
quietly courageous. There are accounts which picture excited crowds
running about the deck in terror, fighting and struggling, but two of
the most accurate observers, Colonel Gracie and Mr. Lightoller, affirm
that this was not so, that absolute order and quietness prevailed. The
band still played to cheer the hearts of all near; the engineers and
their crew—I have never heard any one speak of a single engineer
being seen on deck—still worked at the electric light engines, far
away below, keeping them going until no human being could do so a
second longer, right until the ship tilted on end and the engines
broke loose and fell down. The light failed then only because the
engines were no longer there to produce light, not because the men who
worked them were not standing by them to do their duty. To be down in
the bowels of the ship, far away from the deck where at any rate there
was a chance of a dive and a swim and a possible rescue; to know that
when the ship went—as they knew it must soon—there could be no
possible hope of climbing up in time to reach the sea; to know all
these things and yet to keep the engines going that the decks might be
lighted to the last moment, required sublime courage.

But this courage is required of every engineer and it is not called by
that name: it is called "duty." To stand by his engines to the last
possible moment is his duty. There could be no better example of the
supremest courage being but duty well done than to remember the
engineers of the Titanic still at work as she heeled over and flung
them with their engines down the length of the ship. The simple
statement that the lights kept on to the last is really their epitaph,
but Lowell's words would seem to apply to them with peculiar force—

"The longer on this earth we live
And weigh the various qualities of men—
The more we feel the high, stern-featured beauty
Of plain devotedness to duty.
Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise,
But finding amplest recompense
For life's ungarlanded expense
In work done squarely and unwasted days."

For some time before she sank, the Titanic had a considerable list to
port, so much so that one boat at any rate swung so far away from the
side that difficulty was experienced in getting passengers in. This
list was increased towards the end, and Colonel Gracie relates that
Mr. Lightoller, who has a deep, powerful voice, ordered all passengers
to the starboard side. This was close before the end. They crossed
over, and as they did so a crowd of steerage passengers rushed up and
filled the decks so full that there was barely room to move. Soon
afterwards the great vessel swung slowly, stern in the air, the lights
went out, and while some were flung into the water and others dived
off, the great majority still clung to the rails, to the sides and
roofs of deck-structures, lying prone on the deck. And in this
position they were when, a few minutes later, the enormous vessel
dived obliquely downwards. As she went, no doubt many still clung to
the rails, but most would do their best to get away from her and jump
as she slid forwards and downwards. Whatever they did, there can be
little question that most of them would be taken down by suction, to
come up again a few moments later and to fill the air with those
heartrending cries which fell on the ears of those in the lifeboats
with such amazement. Another survivor, on the other hand, relates that
he had dived from the stern before she heeled over, and swam round
under her enormous triple screws lifted by now high out of the water
as she stood on end. Fascinated by the extraordinary sight, he watched
them up above his head, but presently realizing the necessity of
getting away as quickly as possible, he started to swim from the ship,
but as he did she dived forward, the screws passing near his head. His
experience is that not only was no suction present, but even a wave
was created which washed him away from the place where she had gone
down.

Of all those fifteen hundred people, flung into the sea as the Titanic
went down, innocent victims of thoughtlessness and apathy of those
responsible for their safety, only a very few found their way to the
Carpathia. It will serve no good purpose to dwell any longer on the
scene of helpless men and women struggling in the water. The heart of
everyone who has read of their helplessness has gone out to them in
deepest love and sympathy; and the knowledge that their struggle in
the water was in most cases short and not physically painful because
of the low temperature—the evidence seems to show that few lost their
lives by drowning—is some consolation.

If everyone sees to it that his sympathy with them is so practical as
to force him to follow up the question of reforms personally, not
leaving it to experts alone, then he will have at any rate done
something to atone for the loss of so many valuable lives.

We had now better follow the adventures of those who were rescued from
the final event in the disaster. Two accounts—those of Colonel Gracie
and Mr. Lightoller—agree very closely. The former went down clinging
to a rail, the latter dived before the ship went right under, but was
sucked down and held against one of the blowers. They were both
carried down for what seemed a long distance, but Mr. Lightoller was
finally blown up again by a "terrific gust" that came up the blower
and forced him clear. Colonel Gracie came to the surface after holding
his breath for what seemed an eternity, and they both swam about
holding on to any wreckage they could find. Finally they saw an
upturned collapsible boat and climbed on it in company with twenty
other men, among them Bride the Marconi operator. After remaining thus
for some hours, with the sea washing them to the waist, they stood up
as day broke, in two rows, back to back, balancing themselves as well
as they could, and afraid to turn lest the boat should roll over.
Finally a lifeboat saw them and took them off, an operation attended
with the greatest difficulty, and they reached the Carpathia in the
early dawn. Not many people have gone through such an experience as
those men did, lying all night on an overturned, ill-balanced boat,
and praying together, as they did all the time, for the day and a ship
to take them off.

Some account must now be attempted of the journey of the fleet of
boats to the Carpathia, but it must necessarily be very brief.
Experiences differed considerably: some had no encounters at all with
icebergs, no lack of men to row, discovered lights and food and water,
were picked up after only a few hours' exposure, and suffered very
little discomfort; others seemed to see icebergs round them all night
long and to be always rowing round them; others had so few men
aboard—in some cases only two or three—that ladies had to row and in
one case to steer, found no lights, food or water, and were adrift
many hours, in some cases nearly eight.

The first boat to be picked up by the Carpathia was one in charge of
Mr. Boxhall. There was only one other man rowing and ladies worked at
the oars. A green light burning in this boat all night was the
greatest comfort to the rest of us who had nothing to steer by:
although it meant little in the way of safety in itself, it was a
point to which we could look. The green light was the first intimation
Captain Rostron had of our position, and he steered for it and picked
up its passengers first.

Mr. Pitman was sent by First Officer Murdock in charge of boat 5, with
forty passengers and five of the crew. It would have held more, but no
women could be found at the time it was lowered. Mr. Pitman says that
after leaving the ship he felt confident she would float and they
would all return. A passenger in this boat relates that men could not
be induced to embark when she went down, and made appointments for the
next morning with him. Tied to boat 5 was boat 7, one of those that
contained few people: a few were transferred from number 5, but it
would have held many more.

Fifth Officer Lowe was in charge of boat 14, with fifty-five women and
children, and some of the crew. So full was the boat that as she went
down Mr. Lowe had to fire his revolver along the ship's side to
prevent any more climbing in and causing her to buckle. This boat,
like boat 13, was difficult to release from the lowering tackle, and
had to be cut away after reaching the sea. Mr. Lowe took in charge
four other boats, tied them together with lines, found some of them
not full, and transferred all his passengers to these, distributing
them in the darkness as well as he could. Then returning to the place
where the Titanic had sunk, he picked up some of those swimming in the
water and went back to the four boats. On the way to the Carpathia he
encountered one of the collapsible boats, and took aboard all those in
her, as she seemed to be sinking.

Boat 12 was one of the four tied together, and the seaman in charge
testified that he tried to row to the drowning, but with forty women
and children and only one other man to row, it was not possible to
pull such a heavy boat to the scene of the wreck.

Boat 2 was a small ship's boat and had four or five passengers and
seven of the crew. Boat 4 was one of the last to leave on the port
side, and by this time there was such a list that deck chairs had to
bridge the gap between the boat and the deck. When lowered, it
remained for some time still attached to the ropes, and as the Titanic
was rapidly sinking it seemed she would be pulled under. The boat was
full of women, who besought the sailors to leave the ship, but in
obedience to orders from the captain to stand by the cargo port, they
remained near; so near, in fact, that they heard china falling and
smashing as the ship went down by the head, and were nearly hit by
wreckage thrown overboard by some of the officers and crew and
intended to serve as rafts. They got clear finally, and were only a
short distance away when the ship sank, so that they were able to pull
some men aboard as they came to the surface.

This boat had an unpleasant experience in the night with icebergs;
many were seen and avoided with difficulty.

Quartermaster Hickens was in charge of boat 6, and in the absence of
sailors Major Peuchen was sent to help to man her. They were told to
make for the light of the steamer seen on the port side, and followed
it until it disappeared. There were forty women and children here.

Boat 8 had only one seaman, and as Captain Smith had enforced the rule
of "Women and children only," ladies had to row. Later in the night,
when little progress had been made, the seaman took an oar and put a
lady in charge of the tiller. This boat again was in the midst of
icebergs.

Of the four collapsible boats—although collapsible is not really the
correct term, for only a small portion collapses, the canvas edge;
"surf boats" is really their name—one was launched at the last moment
by being pushed over as the sea rose to the edge of the deck, and was
never righted. This is the one twenty men climbed on. Another was
caught up by Mr. Lowe and the passengers transferred, with the
exception of three men who had perished from the effects of immersion.
The boat was allowed to drift away and was found more than a month
later by the Celtic in just the same condition. It is interesting to
note how long this boat had remained afloat after she was supposed to
be no longer seaworthy. A curious coincidence arose from the fact that
one of my brothers happened to be travelling on the Celtic, and
looking over the side, saw adrift on the sea a boat belonging to the
Titanic in which I had been wrecked.

The two other collapsible boats came to the Carpathia carrying full
loads of passengers: in one, the forward starboard boat and one of the
last to leave, was Mr. Ismay. Here four Chinamen were concealed under
the feet of the passengers. How they got there no one knew—or indeed
how they happened to be on the Titanic, for by the immigration laws of
the United States they are not allowed to enter her ports.

It must be said, in conclusion, that there is the greatest cause for
gratitude that all the boats launched carried their passengers safely
to the rescue ship. It would not be right to accept this fact without
calling attention to it: it would be easy to enumerate many things
which might have been present as elements of danger.

The journey of the Carpathia from the time she caught the "C.Q.D."
from the Titanic at about 12.30 A.M. on Monday morning and turned
swiftly about to her rescue, until she arrived at New York on the
following Thursday at 8.30 P.M. was one that demanded of the captain,
officers and crew of the vessel the most exact knowledge of
navigation, the utmost vigilance in every department both before and
after the rescue, and a capacity for organization that must sometimes
have been taxed to the breaking point.