Titanic, First Accounts

by Tim Maltin

  The only seaman in our boat was the quartermaster. He was at the rudder, and standing much higher than we were. He was shivering like an aspen. As we pulled away from the boat, we heard sounds of firing, and were told later that it was officers shooting as they were letting down the boats from the steamer, trying to prevent those from the lower decks jumping into the lifeboats. Others said it was the boilers.

  The quartermaster in command of our boat burst out in a frightened voice and warned us of the fate that awaited us, telling us our task in rowing away from the sinking ship was futile, as she was so large that in sinking she would draw everything for miles around down with her suction, and if we escaped that the boilers would burst and rip up the bottom of the sea, tearing the icebergs asunder and completely submerge us. We were truly doomed either way. He dwelt on the dire fate awaiting us, narrating at great length the incidents that happened at Liverpool—how two large steamers, the New York and one other, were drawn under and almost capsized, we all the while bending to the oars with a vengeance, tugging on. All occupants of the lifeboats remained as mute as the dead, all standing erect clustered in the middle of the boat.

  Presently we heard shouts and cries of terror from the fast sinking ship. We were told the shouts were from the trunk men on the collapsible boats. Our quartermaster haggled long and loud. The splash of the oars partly drowned the voices of the perishing men on the doomed steamer. The ladies all seemed terrified. Those having husbands, sons or fathers buried their heads on the shoulders of those near them, and moaned and groaned only.

  While my eyes were glued on the fast disappearing ship, I particularly watched the broad promenade deck. It was fully lighted but not one moving object was visible. Suddenly a rift in the water, the sea opened up and the surface foamed like giant arms spread around the ship, and the vessel disappeared from sight, and not a sound was heard.

  When none of the calamities that were predicted by our terrified boatman was experienced, we asked him to return and pick up those in the water. Again we were admonished and told how the frantic drowning victims would grapple the sides of our boat and capsize us. He not yielding to our entreaties, we pulled away vigorously toward the faintly glimmering light on the horizon. After three hours of pulling at the oars, the light grew fainter and then completely disappeared. Then our quartermaster, who stood on his pinnacle trembling, with an attitude like someone preaching to the multitude, fanning the air with his hands, recommenced the tirade of evil foreboding, telling us we were likely to drift for days, all the while reminding us that we were surrounded by icebergs, pointing to a pyramid of ice looming up in the distance, possibly seventy feet high reflected by the myriad stars in the sky, that looked like a black shaft. He most forcibly impressed upon us that there was no water in the casks in the lifeboats and no bread, no compass and no chart. No one answered him. They all seemed to be stricken dumb.

  One of the ladies in the boat had had the presence of mind to procure her silver brandy flask. As she held it in her hand, the silver glittered and he being attracted to it implored her to give it to him, saying he was frozen. She refused the brandy, but removed the steamer blanket and put it around his shoulders, while another lady wrapped a second blanket around his head and limbs, he looking “as snug as a bug in a rug.”

  We asked him to relieve one or the other at the oars, saying to him that we would manage the rudder. He flatly refused and continued to rampoon us at the oars, bursting out, “Here, you fellow on the starboard side, your oar is not being put in the water at the right angle!” No one made any protest to his outbursts, as he broke the monotony, but we continued to pull at the oars, with no goal in sight. Presently he raised his voice, shouting to another lifeboat to pull near and lash to, commanding some of the other ladies to take the light and signal to the other lifeboats. His command was immediately obeyed. That and one other command—that we drop the oars and lie fallow until we were rescued. Some time later, after hearing shouts, a lifeboat hove to and obeyed his orders to throw a rope and be tied to ours. Alongside she dropped oars, and on the cross-seat of that boat stood a man in white pajamas. He looked like a snowman in that icy region. His teeth were chattering, and he appeared quite numb. Seeing his predicament, I told him he had better get to rowing to keep his blood in circulation, which was met with forcible protest from our quartermaster.

  We, after the exercise, felt the bluest from the icy fields and demanded that we be allowed to keep warm. Immediately over into our boat jumped a half-frozen stoker, black and covered with coal dust, dressed as he was in thin jumpers. I picked up a large sable stole that I had dropped in the boat, and from his waist down wrapped it around his limbs, tying the tails around his ankles. I handed him an oar and then told the pajama man to cut loose, and a howl arose from our seaman. He moved to prevent it, and I said if he did he would be thrown overboard. Then I felt a hand laid on my shoulder to stay my threats, knowing it would not be necessary to push him over, had I only moved in his direction he would have tumbled into the sea, so paralyzed was he with fright. He had by this time worked himself up to such a pitch of sheer despair, fearing that a scramble of any kind would remove the plug from the bottom of the boat (that it had taken three of us some length of time to feel around, find it and place it in the hole), and if it were displaced the water would sweep in and there was grave danger of filling the boat. The quartermaster became very impertinent and our fur-enveloped stoker, in as broad a cockney as one hears in the Haymarket, shouted, “Soy, don’t you know you are talking to a loidy?”

  For the time being the seaman was silenced, and we again set at our task.

  Two other ladies came to the rescue of those rowing and caught hold of the oars and backed the water. Thus we aimlessly tugged on over the vast waste of water. Lights were flashed from other lifeboats miles away.

  While glancing around, watching the edge of the horizon, the beautiful modulated voice of the young English woman at the oar exclaimed, “There is a flash of light!” All looked in the direction pointed out, and our pessimistic seaman said, “That is a falling star.” It became brighter and later was multiplied by those on the lighted deck. He was convinced then that it was a ship (or said it was the Olympic, as she had to have passed after midnight; the Olympic passed two days later.) Then he gave a sigh of relief and again ordered us to drop the oars.

  We saw this steamer approaching the small lifeboats near her, while we were then possibly six or eight miles off. However, the distance seemed interminable. We saw she was anchored.

  Again a declaration was made that we, regardless of what our quartermaster said, would row toward her. Again the young Englishwoman from the Thames got to work, accompanying her strokes with cheerful words to the wilted occupants of the boat.

  A little while later dawn disclosed our awful situation. There were fields of ice on which, like points on the landscape, rested innumerable pyramids of icy peaks. Seemingly half an hour later the sun, like a ball of molten lead, appeared at its background. The hand of Nature portrayed a scenic effect beyond the ken of the human mind. The heretofore smooth sea became choppy, which seemed to retard our progress. All the while we saw the small lifeboats being hauled aboard.

  By the time we reached the Carpathia a heavy sea was running. Our boat being the last to approach, we found it difficult to get close. Three or four unsuccessful attempts were made. Each time we were dashed against the keel and bounded off like a rubber ball. A rope was then thrown to us, which was spliced in four at the bottom, where a wide board was held in four large knots. Feet first, we got on and sat on the seat that formed a swing. Catching hold of the one thick rope, we were hoisted up to where a dozen of the crew and officers and doctors were waiting. Stimulants were given those who needed them and hot coffee was provided for all the survivors.

  Everything was done for our comfort, the Carpathia passengers sharing their staterooms, clothes and toilet articles, they, then retir
ing to the far corner of the ship where their deck chairs were placed, giving the lounge up completely to the survivors, and the two succeeding foggy murky days, when the deck was too damp to sit out, they remained in their stuffy staterooms rather than use up the space there.

  After picking up the lifeboats, only half filled, the ship reconnoitered for hours around the place where the Titanic had sunk. In doing so they passed fifty miles of icefields, so I was told, endangering their own safety in their endeavor to rescue more.

  On entering the dining salon, I saw in one corner our brave and heroic quartermaster with a cluster of people around him. He was wildly gesticulating, trying to impress upon them what difficulty he had had in disciplining the occupants of his boat. On seeing a few of us near, he did not tarry long but made a hasty retreat.

  On the swivel chairs in the dining salon were seated the Titanic survivors. They were speechless, half-clad, their eyes protruding, hair streaming down those who, only twelve hours before, were immaculately groomed and richly gowned and furred — evidence of “Vanity, vanity, all is vanity.” Here they sat, shaven and shorn and in utter hopelessness and despair, almost all bereft of husbands and sons, fathers and brothers. Unable to grasp the situation, they sat moist, not being able to realize in the one short hour between a quarter of twelve, when the boat struck, and somewhat after one, when she sank, that their dear ones were swallowed up in the jaws of death.

  Sprinkled among the affluent were our sisters of the second class, and for a time there was that social leveling caused only by the close proximity of death.

  While getting the addresses from many of the survivors of their relatives that they might be apprised by Marconi of their safety, I was grappled by a poor woman of the second class, who held in her closed hand long strands of hair she had pulled from her head. Holding them on high, as though measuring them with her eyes, she frantically shouted to me to find her baby. I promised her I would. Seeing she was mentally unbalanced, a doctor was called and she was put under opiates. When she had gotten into the boat her baby was being handed to her and somehow was dropped into the sea and drowned.

  Fortunately the Carpathia was carrying something more than half she usually accommodates so the second morning found a greater number of the Titanic survivors provided for. The overflow beds were made on the couches in the lounge, and pallets of blankets were made on the floor. The first night many of the men slept on the deck in steamer chairs, others slept in the smoking room and dining salon. The Captain gave up his stateroom, it accommodating four of the socially representative ladies.

  The barber, fortunately, had in stock a few dozen toothbrushes, combs and other toilet articles. The Carpathia’s objective points being ports on the Mediterranean, she was carrying on an extra large supply of food. In that line there was nothing left to be desired.

  On reaching the Carpathia the first thing found necessary to be done was to relieve the anxiety of relatives of the survivors. Immediately on obtaining the addresses, I visited the Marconi quarters and left the written messages that had to be paid before sending, though there were many who had little or no funds.

  The system was so glutted in sending messages of the wreck and names of surviving passengers, it was the third day before the private ones could be sent, their Marconi system being limited, so I was told, to 250 miles.

  The kindly spirit and tender solicitation of officers, crew and passengers elicited the thought that we, the survivors, should in some substantial way express our gratitude to the Captain to the form of a loving-cup and to compensate the crew for their efficiency and double hours of labor on our behalf.

  At breakfast the second morning, when I suggested to the gentlemen at the table that immediate action should be taken, I found they were eager to express gratitude but made a protest at funds being collected. A committee was later formed, and a typed notice was tacked up that a meeting of the survivors would be held in the dining salon at three in the afternoon. Almost the full list of survivors were present. Resolutions of gratitude, first to God, and then to the captain and officers, were framed and read.

  A subscription list was immediately started, and about $4,000 was subscribed in money and checks. The names and amounts subscribed were typed and tacked on the wall at the foot of the stairs and an open list for those not having yet given in their names and amounts. The day before reaching New York the fund was augmented to the extent of $10,000 so I was informed by the Secretary.

  The gravity of the situation was there and then relieved, if the expression on faces was any criterion. The tense mental anxiety was perceptibly mitigated. A large number of the passengers living out of New York were momentarily embarrassed for funds and only needed enough to tide them over. The Committee waited upon the owner; the survivors’ demands being made known, he conceded all. The demand was that the White Star Line furnish transportation and other necessities to their destination.

  The second officer, who acted as spokesman for the crew of the Titanic, stated that their services were at an end when the Titanic sank, and upon reaching New York they would be set adrift. It was immediately seen to that their transportation to England would be given, and also employment on reaching there.

  The three succeeding days were spent among the passengers, listing their needs and making provision in the way of clothes, as many escaped in their night-clothing, over which was drawn a cloak. A number who were in our boat had only sandals on and no stockings.

  The day before landing three Irish girls were found in the steerage, they having kept their berths since the rescue, having no clothes and refusing to rise with blankets only to wrap around them, they were among the passengers going to New York.

  As the Carpathia was nearing the harbor, it was surrounded by smaller boats that went out to meet it, in which were newspaper men and photographers to take flashlights. They impeded the progress of the Carpathia. The excitement of this and the Captain calling through a megaphone to the pilot to disperse the drafts or he would be unable to reach the dock, and the seeing and hearing of the multitude of humanity on the wharf so frightened these women that they refused to quit the ship and go with the ladies of the Travelers Aid Society, who came on to take them to a place of safety until friends were found and arrangements were made for them to either return to their homes in Europe, or other destinations in America. Feeling it a duty to remain with those, and after the army of Red Cross doctors and nurses, White Star Line officials and general Aid Corps, had taken leave of the ship, we found it was necessary to improvise beds in the lounge, so I remained with them on board all night. There were many who had friends on the dock but did not know them, so with each one was sent an escort and the names called out, and there, finding their friends, would return to the ship and report, and we kept a list of their whereabouts. For some of those remaining, telegrams were sent that night and the next morning. Friends of many came aboard, and the others, less fortunate, consented to go with the ladies of the Travelers Aid conditionally that they would be allowed to see me at the Ritz-Carleton, where I would be, and I promised to have their various consuls there and we would try to find their friends, whose addresses their husbands had when the ship sank. This took some days afterwards.

  The next morning, on the ship, I was joined with five members of the committee, who brought on $5,000 so they said, in funds to be distributed among the much overworked crew of the Carpathia. This being done, an order was given for the loving-cup to be presented to the captain on the return of his ship from Naples. Having taken a list of those of the survivors who were to be assisted, a copy was made and given to the White Star agents who came on the boat.

  The further work of the committee of the survivors of the Titanic was to see, by keeping check, that the company were keeping their promise and that all were cared for.

  The only comment that could be made was that the Carpathia did not follow the customary procedure on b
oats. Where there is death on board, they usually bury them at night in place of adding to the horror of passengers by burying the men who died on board after being rescued from the collapsible boat at the hour of four in the afternoon when the passengers were around. They possibly may have had a good and sufficient reason for such a departure from the usual procedure. The men who died were rescued by the lifeboat in which were the four prominent lady personages.

  In rescuing these, the plug in their lifeboat was dislodged and a foot of water covered the bottom of their boat, which, to prevent the filling of the boat, it was needful that they bail it out with a large dipper hanging from the seat. In the boat two of the men rescued, I was told, died and lay for hours in the bottom of the boat during the six hours on the open sea before the passengers were rescued by the Carpathia.

  It was very apparent that the consideration and solicitation shown toward the unfortunate survivors had been taken exception to from some sources. On one occasion, when ladies of the committee stopped to inquire the way to reach the second and third class, they were intercepted by the doctor as he emerged from the quarters of the secluded plutocrat. He approached one of the ladies and said, “Madam, we have the situation under perfect control. Blankets have been cut up and we are having clothes made. Cutting up blankets would not soothe their tortured minds.” Then and there we were more determined, and a notice was posted that the hours of eleven to one and three to six the committee would be in the dining salon. During those hours the survivors came in twos and fours and poured out their grief and story of distress. Between flows of tears they unburdened their sorrows that lay like a weight upon their breasts. The gratitude shown by these people and the evidence that the great mental strain they were under was partly relieved when they knew that someone was interested in their welfare, was proof conclusive to the committee that they were working along the right lines regardless of how the doctor felt in the matter, feeling that he was voicing only the sentiment of the secluded autocrat, as a number of these foreign women of the first and second class were told that now they had no funds, their arrival in America would be under the Allen Law. They were terrified at their being subject to such humiliation. They were fully convinced that such was not the case that they would be provided with means and transportation. They arose and said their lodestone was then and there lifted and their minds were very much relieved.