The Titanic Plan (60 page)

CHAPTER 65

T
he
Carpathia
sped toward the coordinates it had received at 17 knots, some 3 knots faster than it had ever gone. At 4 a.m., a green flare from a lifeboat was spotted; it was just over an hour and a half after the
Titanic
plunged beneath the ocean’s surface. The lifeboat was secured 10 minutes later, its passengers rescued as dawn was beginning to brighten the sky. When the sun finally rose, the entire scene seemed hauntingly unreal. There was little debris – a deckchair or two, some cork, only one body. What were abundant were icebergs, a minefield of more than two dozen of them, some towering 100 feet above the water.

It took four hours to locate and secure all the lifeboats. By 8:10 in the morning the last survivor of the
Titanic
, the man who was in charge of loading the lifeboats, Second Officer Charles Lightoller, climbed up a netting along the side of the
Carpathia
, to safety.

Collapsible lifeboat D, Henry’s lifeboat, had tied itself to several others within an hour of the sinking. The collection of lifeboats floated aimlessly until the
Carpathia
hauled each boat from the sea. Later, the names of those in the lifeboats were taken and checked against a passenger manifest. Henry’s name was not on the manifest and he did not bother to explain how he came to be traveling on the
Titanic
. Because of this, he was listed only as “stowaway.”

From the moment the saga of the
Titanic
became known, the world was caught up in the drama. Reporters besieged the
White Star Line
offices in Manhattan and London. At first, the company’s vice president, Phillip Franklin, denied there had been an accident or loss of life, even though he knew differently. It wasn’t until late Monday that
White Star
confirmed the sinking, but not the magnitude of the disaster.

In Aix-les-Bains, J. Pierpont Morgan was preparing for the celebration of his 75th birthday, which was to take place on Wednesday, April 17, when he got word of the catastrophe. He wired the
White Star
office that he was “greatly upset by loss of Titanic.”

A reporter from the
New York Times
who was sent to cover the birthday celebration, caught up with Morgan that same day and reported, “Mr. Morgan was looking wonderfully well and very sun burnt… At present he is taking sulfur baths and massages every morning, and occasionally the Nauheim treatment, which is given here.”

When President Taft found out about the sinking, he became distraught and grew desperate for information, especially about Archie. He sent a personal wire to the
White Star Line
: “
Have you any information concerning Major Butt? If you communicate at once I will greatly appreciate it. WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT.
”

White Star’s
Phillip Franklin wired back: “
Sorry to say we have no definite information. Soon as we receive it, will notify you
.”

By April 16, over 15,000 people had gathered outside the
White Star
offices at 9 Broadway. There was still no definitive list of victims or survivors. By April 17, the crowd had grown to 30,000 – relatives, friends, politicians, reporters, photographers, onlookers – it seemed like all of New York was besieging the office.

Florette Guggenheim visited the
White Star
offices each of those days, demanding information and threatening lawsuits if she wasn’t informed of Benjamin’s fate. She was told nothing – especially not the fact that Benjamin was last seen putting his mistress in a lifeboat. The only information anyone got was that the
Carpathia
had been delayed by squalls and fog, and would not arrive in New York harbor until the next day.

Thursday, April 18, was a wet, miserable day. New York City braced itself for an onslaught of crowds, the size of which had not been seen since the funeral procession for the victims of the
Triangle
fire. Only the immediate relatives were allowed into the special landing terminal. Reporters tried working a variety of schemes to wheedle their way into the restricted area.

The
Carpathia
entered the port of New York in the early evening. Thousands stood in the rain at Battery Park and watched her being escorted by a small armada of boats to the mid-Manhattan docks. The ship stopped briefly at
White Star’s
pier 59 and unloaded the
Titanic’s
lifeboats, then proceeded to the
Cunard
pier where she docked in the darkness. It was 9:30 at night.

After the
Carpathia’s
passengers left the ship, the
Titanic’s
surviving 1st class passengers came down the forward gangway and stepped into the
Cunard
terminal, which was under extremely tight security. They were met by shouts and tears from their waiting relatives. They were followed by Second, then Third Class passengers. Outside the terminal were an estimated 30,000 people eager to get a glimpse of the world’s most famous survivors. As they were escorted into public view, the survivors were besieged by shouted questions from an aggressive press corps that was held at bay behind a rope. Most of the First and Second class passengers had accommodations already arranged. Those without a place to stay were provided rooms in hostels, courtesy of New York City.

Senator William Alden Smith met Bruce Ismay almost the moment he stepped off the
Carpathia
. It was not a gracious welcome. For escaping in a lifeboat while hundreds of men, women and children died, Ismay was portrayed as a villain in newspapers around the world. Just two days after the disaster, the United States Senate created a sub-committee to immediately investigate the sinking. Ismay had originally arranged for the crew of the
Titanic
to be sent back to Great Britain the morning after the
Carpathia
docked. For many, this appeared hasty, as if Ismay was trying to hide something. So Smith subpoenaed Ismay and the crew to appear at the hearing, which, for convenience’s sake, was to convene the next day in the East Room of the
Waldorf-Astoria
. The irony of meeting at that grand hotel, built and owned by John Astor, was lost on most everyone.

Without papers or parents, Custom Officers took Henry Kosinski to a New York hostel with the other steerage passengers. Because he was listed as a stowaway, he was locked and secured in a room through the night, to be picked up the next morning for further processing. That never happened. When the door was unlocked at 6 a.m., officials found an empty room and a sheet rope hanging through the open third floor window.

For three agonizing days President Taft used every means available to find out Archie’s fate. An April 17
New York Times
article was headlined:
Chance of Major’s Safety a Faint One, but President Holds to It.

It wasn’t until the
Carpathia
docked in New York and the revised list of survivors was released that Taft finally came to grips with the fact that his closest friend and confidant was gone. The President issued a long statement on April 19, which, in part, read: “
Major Archie Butt was my military aide. He was like a member of my family, and I feel his loss as if he had been a younger brother. The chief trait of his character was loyalty to his ideals, his cloth, and his friends…He was gentle and considerate to everyone, high and low. He was a soldier, every inch of him …He leaves the widest circle of friends, whose memory of him is sweet in every particular
.”

From the campaign trail in Lindsberg, Kansas, where he was campaigning against Taft, Theodore Roosevelt released his own statement: “
Major Butt was the highest type of officer and gentleman. He met his end as an officer and gentleman, giving up his own life that others might be saved. I and my family all loved him sincerely.
”

The next Sunday, April 22, there was a disturbance at the
All Souls Unitarian Church
when Taft made his weekly church visit. As usual, a crowd of parishioners waited at the Church’s entrance to greet the President with applause. When the Presidential car rolled to the curbside, Jimmie Sloan, the head of the Secret Service detail, helped Taft out of the car. As Sloan escorted the President into the church, a young boy in ill-fitting clothes emerged from the crowd and rushed toward the President. A journalist for the
Washington Herald
, who was a member of the church, reported that Sloan grabbed the boy before he could reach the President and pushed him aside. He quickly frisked the boy and pulled a gun from the boy’s pocket.

The boy began emphatically explaining something when, according to the reporter, he called out the name “Archie Butt” to the President. Whatever more the boy said, it stopped Taft in his tracks. He signaled to Sloan to let the boy approach and, after a few more words were exchanged, the President draped his arm over the boy’s shoulder and led him to a far corner of the church’s vestibule.

While the rest of the congregation filed into the church, the reporter hung back, watching Taft and the boy engage in what appeared to be a very emotion filled conversation. The reporter tried to angle close, but was shooed away by Sloan. After fifteen minutes, the boy went back to Sloan, grabbed his gun and advanced on the President. He did it so quickly that there was a sudden moment of tension, broken only when the boy put the gun in the President’s hand. Taft began to cry and embraced the boy. After a few long, tearful moments, the boy stepped back from the President, who was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, and headed out of the church.

The reporter called out to the boy and asked to speak to him. The boy turned for just an instant, flashed a gap-toothed grin, and then ran away, limping in obvious pain, before disappearing into the cloud-filled Washington morning.

EPILOGUE

I
n late April of 1912, Director Stanley Finch was summoned to a meeting with President Taft at the White House. Hours later, the first head of the FBI abruptly resigned his prestigious position. Finch was initially given a job as the Special Commissioner for the Suppression of White Slavery. Within a year, he was out of government, manufacturing novelties.

J. Pierpont Morgan remained in Europe through July of 1912, safely away from new and aggressive government investigations into him and his business practices. Upon his return to America, Morgan was subpoenaed to appear before Congress to testify about a host of dealings – including the
TC&I
deal that ended the Panic of 1907. In late December, 1912, Morgan made a much publicized appearance before the Pujo Committee, a House subcommittee that was investigating America’s “Money trust” (i.e. Wall Street bankers and Morgan) and the influence and control these financiers had over America. Morgan’s allies judged his testimony to be one of his finest hours, as he successfully parried every hostile question with concise, insightful, if not combative, answers. The committee felt differently, and in its majority report pointed a finger at a cabal of bankers, led by Morgan, who abused the public trust by attempting to monopolize industries and gain a controlling influence over the nation’s financial sector.