Voices from the Titanic (20 page)

An elderly officer, with tears streaming down his cheeks, helped us into one of the lifeboats. He was Captain Smith – the master of that ill-fated vessel. As the lifeboat began to descend, I heard him say: ‘Goodbye, remember you are British.'

We dropped over sixty feet down the side of that huge vessel and it seemed an eternity before the lifeboat reached the water. There were about thirty-five of us in the boat including three of the crew – a seaman, a steward, and a cook. These men had been told to get away from the
Titanic
as quickly as they could, lest the lifeboat be drawn under by the suction of the sinking vessel.

When we were at a safe distance they stopped rowing and we watched the
Titanic
sink rapidly into the black depths. She was ablaze with electric light until the last minute.

Then I heard the terrible last cries of the twelve hundred men, women, and children left aboard her, rising above the din of the explosion of the boilers. For a moment the sky was lighted up, with black masses thrown up into the air, and we saw that dreadful iceberg towering above us, like some grim monster about to devour its prey. Then came the awful silence – more terrible than the sounds that had gone before.

The sea was calm, otherwise no one would have been saved, but by now it was studded with the wreckage and with bodies of the dead and dying. Some poor souls reached the lifeboats, only to be pushed back into the relentless ice-cold sea, for the boats were full and in grave danger of swamping.

We had one loaf of bread in our lifeboat and this had been trampled upon. There was neither drinking water, compass nor clock and our single lamp would not light. Because of this, we drifted away from other lifeboats.

We rowed all through the night, taking turns at the sweep. I took my place and remember that my long hair was very much in the way for it often caught between my hands and the oar and caused me terrible pain. They steered our boat towards the lights of a tramp steamer in the distance, but we had no means of attracting attention and the steamer's lights slowly passed out of sight. The disappearance of the tramp steamer seemed to leave us alone on the ocean – a handful of people in an open boat – and we were faced with a worse fate than drowning. To add to our misery, the sea became rough and our boat was pitching and tossing helplessly.

At last the morning came and we saw several icebergs around us, grim spectres that would crush our frail craft like an eggshell. As our eyes became accustomed to the light, however, we saw that one of the objects that we had taken for an iceberg was a ship – the Cunard liner
Carpathia
– called to our rescue by the heroic wireless operator of the
Titanic
, Mr Phillips, whom we left behind to perish. He stayed in his cabin to the very last, directing vessels to the scene of the disaster.

We soon reached the
Carpathia
and were taken up her great side one more time in a kind of cradle – just a piece of board, strong hands, and willing hands at the top. This was no easy operation, for the lifeboat was being dashed along the
Carpathia
's side and, while waiting to be taken up, we were jerked backwards and forwards by the fury of the waves.

As soon as I reached the deck, kindly hands put a rug around my shoulders and pressed brandy to my trembling lips. I was safe, thank God, and little the worse for my adventure.

As the boat was being loaded, the officer in charge pointed out a light that glowed dimly in the distance on the surface of the sea, and directed our sailors to row to that, land their passengers and return to the
Titanic
for more. As we were rowed away we saw that the great liner was settling. We kept our boat pointed towards the light to which we were to row. As a matter of fact there were two lights, one red and the other white. Sailormen on the
Carpathia
told us subsequently that the lights might have been those of a fishing boat caught in the ice and drifting with it – but who can tell?

After a while our sailors ceased rowing, saying it was of no use to keep on. Then we women tried to row, with the double light our objective. We rowed and rowed, but did not seem to gain on the light, which, like a will-o'-the-wisp, seemed ever to evade us. Finally we gave up and sat huddled in the lifeboat.

Some of the women complained of the cold, but the members of our own party did not suffer, being provided with plenty of wraps.

From the distance of a mile or more we heard the explosion and saw the
Titanic
go down. The lights did not go out all at once. As the ship slowly settled, the rows of lights one after another winked out, disappearing beneath the surface. Finally the ship plunged down bow first and the stern slipped beneath the waves.

Even then we had hoped that all on board might be saved. It was only after we had been taken aboard the
Carpathia
, and saw how few of us there were compared with the great company aboard the
Titanic
, that we got the first glimmer of the appalling reality.

(
New York World
, 20 April 1912)

We were the second boat pushed away from the ship, and we saw nothing that happened after that. We were not near enough. We heard the yells of the steerage passengers as they went down, but we saw none of the harrowing part of it all. The men in our boat were anything but seamen, with the exception of one man. The women all rowed, every one of them. Miss Young rowed every minute. The men could not row. They did not know the first thing about it. Miss Swift, from Brooklyn, rowed every minute, from the steamer to the
Carpathia
. Miss Young rowed every minute also, except when she was throwing up, which she did six or seven times. Countess Rothes stood at the tiller. Where would we have been if it had not been for our women, with such men as that put in charge of the boat? Our head seaman would give an order and those men who knew nothing about the handling of a boat would say, ‘If you don't stop talking through that hole in your face there will be one less in the boat.' We were in the hands of men of that kind. I settled two or three fights between them, and quieted them down. Imagine getting right out there and taking out a pipe and filling it and standing there smoking, with the women rowing.

(US Inquiry, 2 May 1912)

I was stationed at No. 7, but they did not want me for that boat. They had sufficient men to man the boat. Then I went aft to No. 9 boat and assisted to take the canvas cover off her. Then we lowered her down to level with the boat deck, and a sailor came along with a bag and threw it in the boat. This man said he had been sent down to take charge of the boat by the captain. The boatswain's mate, Haines, was there, and he ordered this man out of the boat, and the man got out again.

A few minutes later, either Purser McElroy or Mr Murdoch said: ‘Pass the women and children that are here into that boat.' There were several men standing around, and they fell back. There was quite a quantity of women and children helped into the boat. One old lady made a great fuss about it and absolutely refused to get into the boat. She went back to the companionway and would not get into the boat.

There were several men in the boat then to assist in getting the women in. One woman – a French lady – had already fallen and hurt herself a little. The purser told two more men to get in and assist these women down into the boat. From the rail of the boat it is quite a step down to the bottom of the boat, and in the dark they could not see where they were stepping. Then the purser told me to get into the boat and take an oar. I did so, and we still waited there and asked if there were any more women. There were none coming along.

Then they took about three or four men into the boat, and the officers that were standing there thought there was quite sufficient in it to lower away with safety, and we lowered down to the water, everything running very smoothly.

When we lowered boat No. 9 the
Titanic
was not listing at all. She was down by the head, but not listing. She went very gradually for a while. We could just see the ports as she dipped. We could see the light in the ports, and the water seemed to come very slowly up to them. She did not appear to be going fast, and I was of the opinion then that she would not go. I thought we were only out there as a matter of precaution and would certainly go back to the ship. I was still of the opinion she would float.

Then she gave a kind of sudden lurch forward, and I heard a couple of reports, more like a volley of musketry than anything else. It did not seem to me like an explosion at all.

There were four of us rowed all night. There were more men in the boat, but some of them had not been to sea before and did not know the first thing about an oar, or know the bow from the stern. The boat was pretty well packed. We had not room to pull the oars. The women had to move their bodies with us when we were rowing.

We partially rowed to the
Carpathia
and she partially came some of the way. We saw her at a distance. She was headed our way. She stopped and slewed around a little, and we surmised that she was then picking up a boat. It was hardly light enough to see at the time. It was just breaking day, but we could see her lights. Then we started to pull towards her. I think we were about the fourth or fifth boat to be picked up.

(US Inquiry, 25 April 1912)

Mr Murdoch was standing there, and I lowered the boat with the assistance of a steward. The Chief Officer said, ‘What are you, Evans?' I said, ‘A seaman, sir.' He said: ‘All right. Get into that boat with the other seamen.'

I got into the bows of this boat, and a young ship's baker was getting the children and chucking them into the boat, and the women were jumping. Mr Murdoch made them jump across into the boat. It was about two and a half feet. He was making the women jump across, and the children he was chucking across, along with this baker. He threw them onto the women, and he was catching the children by their dresses and chucking them in. One or two women refused in the first place to jump but, after he told them, they finally went.

One woman in a black dress slipped and fell. She seemed nervous and did not like to jump at first. When she did jump, she did not go far enough. Her heel must have caught on the rail of the deck, and she fell down and someone on the deck below caught her and pulled her up. Back on the boat deck, she took another jump and landed safely in the boat.

As this boat was being lowered, this foreigner must have jumped from A deck into the boat. He deliberately jumped across into the boat and saved himself.

Later we tied up to No. 12. We gave the man our painter and made fast, and we stopped there. The Fifth Officer, Mr Lowe, came over in No. 14 and said: ‘Are there any seamen there?' We said, ‘Yes, sir.' He said: ‘You will have to distribute these passengers among these boats. Tie them all together and come into my boat to go over into the wreckage and pick up anyone that is alive there.' We picked up four persons alive, one of whom died on the way back. There were plenty of dead bodies about us, mostly men.

We picked up a collapsible boat that had some women and children in it and we sailed to the
Carpathia
with this collapsible boat in tow. One of the ladies there passed over a flask of whisky to the people who were all wet through.

(US Inquiry, 25 April 1912)

A steward brought Mrs Parrish and Mrs Shelley each a lifebelt and showed them how to tie them on. They were told to go to the top deck, the boat deck. As Mrs Shelley was very weak, it took several minutes to reach the upper deck. Mr and Mrs Isidor Straus, who had known of Mrs Shelley being so ill, met them on the way and helped them to the upper deck, where they found a chair for her and made her sit down.

After sitting in the chair for about five minutes one of the sailors ran to Mrs Shelley and implored her to get in the lifeboat that was then being launched. He informed Mrs Shelley that it was the last boat on the ship, and that unless she got into this one she would have to take her chances on the steamer, and that as she had been so sick she ought to take to the boat and make sure.

Mrs Straus advised taking to the boats, and, pushing her mother towards the sailor, Mrs Shelley made for the davits where the boat hung. It was found impossible to swing the davits in, which left a space of between four and five feet between the edge of the deck and the suspended boat. The sailor picked up Mrs Parrish and threw her bodily into the boat. Mrs Shelley jumped and landed safely.

On trying to lower the boat, the tackle refused to work and it took considerable time, about fifteen minutes, to reach the water. On reaching the water, the casting-off apparatus would not work and the ropes had to be cut.

Just as they reached the water a crazed Italian jumped from the deck into the lifeboat, landing on Mrs Parrish, severely bruising her right side and leg.

(US Inquiry, 25 May 1912)