A Night to Remember (8 page)

“Are you a seaman?”

“I am a yachtsman.”

“If you’re sailor enough to get out on that fall, you can go down.” Major Arthur Godfrey Peuchen—vice commodore of the Royal Canadian Yacht Club—swung himself out on the forward fall and slid down into the boat. He was the only male passenger Lightoller allowed in a boat that night.

Men had it luckier on the starboard side. Murdoch continued to allow them in if there was room. The French aviator Pierre Maréchal and sculptor Paul Chevré climbed into No. 7. A couple of Gimbel’s buyers reached No. 5. When the time came to lower No. 3, Henry Sleeper Harper not only joined his wife, but he brought along his Pekingese Sun Yat-sen and an Egyptian dragoman named Hamad Hassah, whom he had picked up in Cairo as a sort of joke.

On the same side, Dr. Washington Dodge was standing uncertainly in the shadow of No. 13, when Dining Room Steward Ray noticed him. Ray asked whether the doctor’s wife and son were off, and Dodge said yes. Ray was relieved, because he took a personal interest in them. He had served the Dodges coming over on the
Olympic.
In fact, he had persuaded them to take the
Titanic
back. In a way, he was why the Dodges were on board … It was no time for philosophy—Ray called out, “You had better get in here,” and he pushed the doctor into the boat.

The scene was almost punctilious at No. 1. Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon, his wife and her secretary Miss Francatelli—whom Lady Duff Gordon liked to call Miss Franks—asked Murdoch if they could enter.

“Oh, certainly do; I’ll be very pleased,” Murdoch replied, according to Sir Cosmo. (On the other hand, Lookout George Symons, standing near, thought Murdoch merely said, “Yes, jump in.”) The two Americans, Abraham Solomon and C. E. H. Stengel, came up and were invited in too. Stengel had trouble climbing over the rail; finally got on top of it and rolled into the boat. Murdoch, an agile terrier of a man, laughed pleasantly, “That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen tonight.”

Nobody else seemed to be around—all the nearby boats were gone and the crowd had moved aft. When the five passengers were safely loaded, Murdoch added six stokers, put Lookout Symons in charge and told him, “Stand off from the ship’s side and return when we call you.” Then he waved to the men at the davits, and they lowered No. 1—capacity 40 persons—with exactly 12 people.

As the boat creaked down, Greaser Walter Hurst watched it from the forward well deck. He remembers observing somewhat caustically, “If they are sending the boats away, they might just as well put some people in them.”

Down in Third Class there were those who didn’t even have the opportunity to miss going in No. 1. A swarm of men and women milled around the foot of the main steerage staircase, all the way aft on E Deck. They had been there ever since the stewards got them up. At first there were just women and married couples; but then the men arrived from forward, pouring back along “Scotland Road” with their luggage. Now they were all jammed together—noisy and restless, looking more like inmates than passengers amid the low ceilings, the naked lightbulbs, the scrubbed simplicity of the plain white walls.

Third Class Steward John Edward Hart struggled to get them into life jackets. He didn’t have much luck—partly because he was also assuring them there was no danger, partly because many of them didn’t understand English anyhow. Interpreter Muller did the best he could with the scores of Finns and Swedes, but it was slow going.

At 12:30 orders came down to send the women and children up to the Boat Deck. It was hopeless to expect them to find their way alone through the maze of passages normally sealed off from Third Class; so Hart decided to escort them up in little groups. This took time too, but at last a convoy was organized and started off.

It was a long trip—up the broad stairs to the Third Class lounge on C Deck … across the open well deck … by the Second Class library and into First Class quarters. Then down the long corridor by the surgeon’s office, the private saloon for the maids and valets of First Class passengers, finally up the grand stairway to the Boat Deck.

Hart led his group to Boat No. 8, but even then the job wasn’t over. As fast as he got them in, they would jump out and go inside where it was warm.

It was after one o’clock when Hart got back to E Deck to organize another trip. It was no easier. Many women still refused to go. On the other hand, some of the men now insisted on going. But that was out of the question, according to the orders he had.

Finally he was off again on the same long trek. It was 1:20 by the time he reached the Boat Deck and led the group to No. 15. No time to go back for more. Murdoch ordered him into the boat and off he went with his second batch at about 1:30.

There was no hard-and-fast policy. One way or another, many of the steerage passengers avoided the
cul de sac
on E Deck and got topside. There they stood waiting, nobody to guide or help them. A few of the barriers that marked off their quarters were down. Those who came across these openings wandered into other parts of the ship. Some eventually found their way to the Boat Deck.

But most of the barriers were not down, and the steerage passengers who sensed danger and aimed for the boats were strictly on their own resources.

Like a stream of ants, a thin line of them curled their way up a crane in the after well deck, crawled along the boom to the First Class quarters, then over the railing and on up to the Boat Deck.

Some slipped under a rope that had been stretched across the after well deck, penning them even further to the stern than the regular barrier. But once through, it was fairly easy to get to the Second Class stairway and on up to the boats.

Others somehow reached the Second Class promenade space on B Deck, then couldn’t find their way any further. In desperation they turned to an emergency ladder meant for the crew’s use. This ladder was near the brightly lit windows of the First Class
à la carte
restaurant, and as Anna Sjoblom prepared to climb up with another girl, they looked in. They marveled at the tables beautifully set with silver and china for the following day. The other girl had an impulse to kick the window out and go inside, but Anna persuaded her that the company might make them pay for the damage.

Many of the steerage men climbed another emergency ladder from the forward well deck, and then up the regular First Class companionway to the boats.

Others beat on the barriers, demanding to be let through. As Third Class passenger Daniel Buckley climbed some steps leading to a gate to First Class, the man ahead of him was chucked down by a seaman standing guard. Furious, the passenger jumped to his feet and raced up the steps again. The seaman took one look, locked the gate and fled. The passenger smashed the lock and dashed through, howling what he would do if he caught the sailor. With the gate down, Buckley and dozens of others swarmed into First Class.

At another barrier a seaman held back Kathy Gilnagh, Kate Mullins and Kate Murphy. (On the
Titanic
all Irish girls seemed to be named Katherine.) Suddenly steerage passenger Jim Farrell, a strapping Irishman from the girls’ home county, barged up. “Great God, man!” he roared. “Open the gate and let the girls through!” It was a superb demonstration of sheer voice power. To the girls’ astonishment the sailor meekly complied.

But for every steerage passenger who found a way up, hundreds milled aimlessly around the forward well deck … the after poop deck … or the foot of the E Deck staircase. Some holed up in their cabins—that’s where Mary Agatha Glynn and four discouraged roommates were found by young Martin Gallagher. He quickly escorted them to Boat 13 and stepped back on the deck again. Others turned to prayer. When steerage passenger Gus Cohen passed the Third Class dining saloon about an hour after the crash, he saw quite a number gathered there, many with rosaries in their hands.

The staff of the First Class
à la carte
restaurant were having the hardest time of all. They were neither fish nor fowl. Obviously they weren’t passengers, but technically they weren’t crew either. The restaurant was not run by the White Star Line but by Monsieur Gatti as a concession.

Thus, the employees had no status at all. And to make matters worse, they were French and Italian—objects of deep Anglo-Saxon suspicion at a time like this in 1912.

From the very start they never had a chance. Steward Johnson remembered seeing them herded together down by their quarters on E Deck aft. Manager Gatti, his Chef and the Chefs Assistant, Paul Maugé, were the only ones who made it to the Boat Deck. They got through because they happened to be in civilian clothes; the crew thought they were passengers.

Down in the engine room no one even thought of getting away. Men struggled desperately to keep the steam up … the lights lit … the pumps going. Chief Engineer Bell had all the watertight doors raised aft of Boiler Room No. 4—when the water reached here they could be lowered again; meanwhile it would be easier to move around.

Greaser Fred Scott worked to free a shipmate trapped in the after tunnel behind one of the doors. Greaser Thomas Ranger turned off the last of the 45 ventilating fans—they used too much electricity. Trimmer Thomas Patrick Dillon helped drag long sections of pipe from the aft compartments, to get more volume out of the suction pump in Boiler Room No. 4.

Here, Trimmer George Cavell was busy drawing the fires. This meant even less power, but there must be no explosion when the sea reached No. 4. It was about 1:20 and the job was almost done when he noticed the water seeping up through the metal floor plates. Cavell worked faster. When it reached his knees, he had enough. He was almost at the top of the escape ladder when he began to feel he had quit on his mates. Down again, only to find they were gone too. His conscience clear, he climbed back up, this time for good.

Most of the boats were now gone. One by one they rowed slowly away from the
Titanic,
oars bumping and splashing in the glass-smooth sea.

“I never had an oar in my hand before, but I think I can row,” a steward told Mrs. J. Stuart White, as No. 8 set out.

In every boat all eyes were glued on the
Titanic.
Her tall masts, the four big funnels stood out sharp and black in the clear blue night. The bright promenade decks, the long rows of portholes all blazed with light. From the boats they could see the people lining the rails; they could hear the ragtime in the still night air. It seemed impossible that anything could be wrong with this great ship: yet there they were out on the sea, and there she was, well down at the head. Brilliantly lit from stem to stern, she looked like a sagging birthday cake.

Clumsily the boats moved further away. Those told to stand by now lay on their oars. Others, told to make for the steamer whose lights shone in the distance, began their painful journey.

The steamer seemed agonizingly near. So near that Captain Smith told the people in Boat 8 to go over, land its passengers and come back for more. About the same time he asked Quartermaster Rowe at the rocket gun if he could Morse. Rowe replied he could a little, and the Captain said, “Call that ship up and when she replies, tell her, ‘We are the
Titanic
sinking, please have all your boats ready.’ ”

Boxhall had already tried to reach her, but Rowe was more than eager to try his own luck; so in between rocket firing he called her again and again. Still no answer. Then Rowe told Captain Smith he thought he saw another light on the starboard quarter. The old skipper squinted through his glasses, courteously told Rowe that it was a planet. But he liked the eagerness of his young Quartermaster, and he lent Rowe the glasses to see for himself.

Meanwhile Boxhall continued firing rockets. Sooner or later, somehow they would wake up the stranger.

On the bridge of the
Californian,
Second Officer Stone and Apprentice Gibson counted the rockets—five by 12:55. Gibson tried his Morse lamp again, and at one o’clock lifted his glasses for another look. He was just in time to see a sixth rocket.

At 1:10 Stone whistled down the speaking tube to the chart room and told Captain Lord. He called back, “Are they company signals?”

“I don’t know,” Stone answered, “but they appear to me to be white rockets.”

The Captain advised him to go on Morsing.

A little later Stone handed his glasses to Gibson, remarking: “Have a look at her now. She looks very queer out of the water—her lights look queer.”

Gibson studied the ship carefully. She seemed to be listing. She had, as he called it, “a big side out of the water.” And Stone, standing beside him, noticed that her red side light had disappeared.

T
HE OTHER SHIPS JUST
didn’t seem to understand. At 1:25 the
Olympic
asked, “Are you steering south to meet us?” Phillips patiently explained, “We are putting the women off in the boats.”

Then the
Frankfort:
“Are there any ships around you already?” Phillips ignored this one. Again the
Frankfort,
asking for more details. This was too much. He jumped up, almost screaming: “The damn fool! He says, ‘What’s up, old man?’ ” Then he angrily tapped back: “You fool, stand by and keep out.”

From time to time Captain Smith dropped in—once to warn that the power was fading … again to say she couldn’t last much longer … later to report that the water had reached the engine room. At 1:45, Phillips begged the
Carpathia:
“Come as quickly as possible, old man; engine room filled up to the boilers.”

Meanwhile Bride draped an overcoat over Phillips’ shoulders, then managed to strap a life belt on him. The problem of getting him into his boots was more complicated. Phillips asked whether any boats were left—maybe the boots wouldn’t be needed.

Once he turned the set over to Bride, he went out to see what was happening. He returned shaking his head: “Things look very queer.”

They looked queer indeed. The sea now slopped over the
Titanic
’s forward well deck … rippled around the cranes, the hatches, the foot of the mast … washed against the base of the white superstructure. The roar of steam had died, the nerve-racking rockets had stopped—but the slant of the deck was steeper and there was an ugly list to port.