The Loss of the S. S. Titanic - Its Story and Its Lessons (14 page)

During the day, the bodies of eight of the crew were committed to the
deep: four of them had been taken out of the boats dead and four died
during the day. The engines were stopped and all passengers on deck
bared their heads while a short service was read; when it was over the
ship steamed on again to carry the living back to land.

The passengers on the Carpathia were by now hard at work finding
clothing for the survivors: the barber's shop was raided for ties,
collars, hair-pins, combs, etc., of which it happened there was a
large stock in hand; one good Samaritan went round the ship with a box
of tooth-brushes offering them indiscriminately to all. In some cases,
clothing could not be found for the ladies and they spent the rest of
the time on board in their dressing-gowns and cloaks in which they
came away from the Titanic. They even slept in them, for, in the
absence of berths, women had to sleep on the floor of the saloons and
in the library each night on straw
paillasses
, and here it was
not possible to undress properly. The men were given the smoking-room
floor and a supply of blankets, but the room was small, and some
elected to sleep out on deck. I found a pile of towels on the bathroom
floor ready for next morning's baths, and made up a very comfortable
bed on these. Later I was waked in the middle of the night by a man
offering me a berth in his four-berth cabin: another occupant was
unable to leave his berth for physical reasons, and so the cabin could
not be given up to ladies.

On Tuesday the survivors met in the saloon and formed a committee
among themselves to collect subscriptions for a general fund, out of
which it was resolved by vote to provide as far as possible for the
destitute among the steerage passengers, to present a loving cup to
Captain Rostron and medals to the officers and crew of the Carpathia,
and to divide any surplus among the crew of the Titanic. The work of
this committee is not yet (June 1st) at an end, but all the
resolutions except the last one have been acted upon, and that is now
receiving the attention of the committee. The presentations to the
captain and crew were made the day the Carpathia returned to New York
from her Mediterranean trip, and it is a pleasure to all the survivors
to know that the United States Senate has recognized the service
rendered to humanity by the Carpathia and has voted Captain Rostron a
gold medal commemorative of the rescue. On the afternoon of Tuesday, I
visited the steerage in company with a fellow-passenger, to take
down the names of all who were saved. We grouped them into
nationalities,—English Irish, and Swedish mostly,—and learnt from
them their names and homes, the amount of money they possessed, and
whether they had friends in America. The Irish girls almost
universally had no money rescued from the wreck, and were going to
friends in New York or places near, while the Swedish passengers,
among whom were a considerable number of men, had saved the greater
part of their money and in addition had railway tickets through to
their destinations inland. The saving of their money marked a curious
racial difference, for which I can offer no explanation: no doubt the
Irish girls never had very much but they must have had the necessary
amount fixed by the immigration laws. There were some pitiful cases of
women with children and the husband lost; some with one or two
children saved and the others lost; in one case, a whole family was
missing, and only a friend left to tell of them. Among the Irish group
was one girl of really remarkable beauty, black hair and deep violet
eyes with long lashes, and perfectly shaped features, and quite young,
not more than eighteen or twenty; I think she lost no relatives on the
Titanic.

The following letter to the London "Times" is reproduced here to show
something of what our feeling was on board the Carpathia towards the
loss of the Titanic. It was written soon after we had the definite
information on the Wednesday that ice warnings had been sent to the
Titanic, and when we all felt that something must be done to awaken
public opinion to safeguard ocean travel in the future. We were not
aware, of course, how much the outside world knew, and it seemed well
to do something to inform the English public of what had happened at
as early an opportunity as possible. I have not had occasion to change
any of the opinions expressed in this letter.

SIR:—

As one of few surviving Englishmen from the steamship Titanic, which
sank in mid-Atlantic on Monday morning last, I am asking you to lay
before your readers a few facts concerning the disaster, in the hope
that something may be done in the near future to ensure the safety of
that portion of the travelling public who use the Atlantic highway for
business or pleasure.

I wish to dissociate myself entirely from any report that would seek
to fix the responsibility on any person or persons or body of people,
and by simply calling attention to matters of fact the authenticity of
which is, I think, beyond question and can be established in any Court
of Inquiry, to allow your readers to draw their own conclusions as to
the responsibility for the collision.

First, that it was known to those in charge of the Titanic that we
were in the iceberg region; that the atmospheric and temperature
conditions suggested the near presence of icebergs; that a wireless
message was received from a ship ahead of us warning us that they had
been seen in the locality of which latitude and longitude were given.

Second, that at the time of the collision the Titanic was running at a
high rate of speed.

Third, that the accommodation for saving passengers and crew was
totally inadequate, being sufficient only for a total of about 950.
This gave, with the highest possible complement of 3400, a less than
one in three chance of being saved in the case of accident.

Fourth, that the number landed in the Carpathia, approximately 700, is
a high percentage of the possible 950, and bears excellent testimony
to the courage, resource, and devotion to duty of the officers and
crew of the vessel; many instances of their nobility and personal
self-sacrifice are within our possession, and we know that they did
all they could do with the means at their disposal.

Fifth, that the practice of running mail and passenger vessels through
fog and iceberg regions at a high speed is a common one; they are
timed to run almost as an express train is run, and they cannot,
therefore, slow down more than a few knots in time of possible danger.

I have neither knowledge nor experience to say what remedies I
consider should be applied; but, perhaps, the following suggestions
may serve as a help:—

First, that no vessel should be allowed to leave a British port
without sufficient boat and other accommodation to allow each
passenger and member of the crew a seat; and that at the time of
booking this fact should be pointed out to a passenger, and the number
of the seat in the particular boat allotted to him then.

Second, that as soon as is practicable after sailing each passenger
should go through boat drill in company with the crew assigned to his
boat.

Third, that each passenger boat engaged in the Transatlantic service
should be instructed to slow down to a few knots when in the iceberg
region, and should be fitted with an efficient searchlight.

Yours faithfully,

LAWRENCE BEESLEY.

It seemed well, too, while on the Carpathia to prepare as accurate an
account as possible of the disaster and to have this ready for the
press, in order to calm public opinion and to forestall the incorrect
and hysterical accounts which some American reporters are in the habit
of preparing on occasions of this kind. The first impression is often
the most permanent, and in a disaster of this magnitude, where exact
and accurate information is so necessary, preparation of a report was
essential. It was written in odd corners of the deck and saloon of the
Carpathia, and fell, it seemed very happily, into the hands of the one
reporter who could best deal with it, the Associated Press. I
understand it was the first report that came through and had a good
deal of the effect intended.

The Carpathia returned to New York in almost every kind of climatic
conditions: icebergs, ice-fields and bitter cold to commence with;
brilliant warm sun, thunder and lightning in the middle of one night
(and so closely did the peal follow the flash that women in the saloon
leaped up in alarm saying rockets were being sent up again); cold
winds most of the time; fogs every morning and during a good part of
one day, with the foghorn blowing constantly; rain; choppy sea with
the spray blowing overboard and coming in through the saloon windows;
we said we had almost everything but hot weather and stormy seas. So
that when we were told that Nantucket Lightship had been sighted on
Thursday morning from the bridge, a great sigh of relief went round to
think New York and land would be reached before next morning.

There is no doubt that a good many felt the waiting period of those
four days very trying: the ship crowded far beyond its limits of
comfort, the want of necessities of clothing and toilet, and above all
the anticipation of meeting with relatives on the pier, with, in many
cases, the knowledge that other friends were left behind and would not
return home again. A few looked forward to meeting on the pier their
friends to whom they had said au revoir on the Titanic's deck, brought
there by a faster boat, they said, or at any rate to hear that they
were following behind us in another boat: a very few, indeed, for the
thought of the icy water and the many hours' immersion seemed to weigh
against such a possibility; but we encouraged them to hope the
Californian and the Birma had picked some up; stranger things have
happened, and we had all been through strange experiences. But in the
midst of this rather tense feeling, one fact stands out as
remarkable—no one was ill. Captain Rostron testified that on Tuesday
the doctor reported a clean bill of health, except for frost-bites and
shaken nerves. There were none of the illnesses supposed to follow
from exposure for hours in the cold night—and, it must be remembered,
a considerable number swam about for some time when the Titanic sank,
and then either sat for hours in their wet things or lay flat on an
upturned boat with the sea water washing partly over them until they
were taken off in a lifeboat; no scenes of women weeping and brooding
over their losses hour by hour until they were driven mad with
grief—yet all this has been reported to the press by people on board
the Carpathia. These women met their sorrow with the sublimest
courage, came on deck and talked with their fellow-men and women face
to face, and in the midst of their loss did not forget to rejoice with
those who had joined their friends on the Carpathia's deck or come
with them in a boat. There was no need for those ashore to call the
Carpathia a "death-ship," or to send coroners and coffins to the pier
to meet her: her passengers were generally in good health and they did
not pretend they were not.

Presently land came in sight, and very good it was to see it again: it
was eight days since we left Southampton, but the time seemed to have
"stretched out to the crack of doom," and to have become eight weeks
instead. So many dramatic incidents had been crowded into the last few
days that the first four peaceful, uneventful days, marked by nothing
that seared the memory, had faded almost out of recollection. It
needed an effort to return to Southampton, Cherbourg and Queenstown,
as though returning to some event of last year. I think we all
realized that time may be measured more by events than by seconds and
minutes: what the astronomer would call "2.20 A.M. April 15th, 1912,"
the survivors called "the sinking of the Titanic"; the "hours" that
followed were designated "being adrift in an open sea," and "4.30
A.M." was "being rescued by the Carpathia." The clock was a mental
one, and the hours, minutes and seconds marked deeply on its face were
emotions, strong and silent.

Surrounded by tugs of every kind, from which (as well as from every
available building near the river) magnesium bombs were shot off by
photographers, while reporters shouted for news of the disaster and
photographs of passengers, the Carpathia drew slowly to her station at
the Cunard pier, the gangways were pushed across, and we set foot at
last on American soil, very thankful, grateful people.

The mental and physical condition of the rescued as they came ashore
has, here again, been greatly exaggerated—one description says we
were "half-fainting, half-hysterical, bordering on hallucination, only
now beginning to realize the horror." It is unfortunate such pictures
should be presented to the world. There were some painful scenes of
meeting between relatives of those who were lost, but once again women
showed their self-control and went through the ordeal in most cases
with extraordinary calm. It is well to record that the same account
added: "A few, strangely enough, are calm and lucid"; if for "few" we
read "a large majority," it will be much nearer the true description
of the landing on the Cunard pier in New York. There seems to be no
adequate reason why a report of such a scene should depict mainly the
sorrow and grief, should seek for every detail to satisfy the horrible
and the morbid in the human mind. The first questions the excited
crowds of reporters asked as they crowded round were whether it was
true that officers shot passengers, and then themselves; whether
passengers shot each other; whether any scenes of horror had been
noticed, and what they were.