The lowering continued and as the boat made her way down the ship’s side, the Titanic’s list returned, causing Collapsible C’s wooden keel to catch on the rows of rivet heads protruding from the hull plates. The passengers desperately pushed the boat away from the side of the ship, using oars as fenders, until Collapsible C reached the water. The falls were quickly freed and the boat drifted off into the night.3
Ismay’s example was ignored by most of the First Class men. A little farther up the Boat Deck, Arthur Ryerson, Major Butt, Clarence Moore, and Walter Douglas, having abandoned their bridge game, stood together talking quietly. Jack Thayer, standing on the starboard side of the Boat Deck with Milton Long, didn’t know that his father, John B. Thayer, was only a few yards away on the other side of the Boat Deck, chatting with George Widener. A dozen or more of the First Class men were helping Lightoller and Murdoch load the lifeboats and free Collapsibles A and B, which were still lashed to the roof of the officers’ quarters.4
On the port side of the Boat Deck, Lightoller was getting Boat 2 ready for loading. After Quartermaster Rowe had finished firing off the rockets, Fourth Officer Boxhall had remained on the bridge waiting for orders. Captain Smith told him to take charge of Boat 2, so Boxhall had crossed to the port side, where Lightoller was getting the boat loaded. Only moments before the second officer had discovered a large group of men—passengers and crewmen—already huddled in Boat 2. Furious, Lightoller drew his revolver and leveled it at them, shouting, “Get out of there, you damned cowards! I’d like to see every one of you overboard!” There was a mad scramble as the men fled the lifeboat: they had no way of knowing that Lightoller’s gun wasn’t even loaded—and they had all heard shots fired further down the deck just a few minutes before! Lightoller moved back to Boat 4 and Boxhall took charge of Boat 2. In short order twenty-five women, one male passenger from steerage, and Boxhall, along with three crewmen, had climbed into the boat. At one point one of the women pleaded with her husband to come with her, but he gently pushed her away, saying “No, I must be a gentleman.” An embarrassed Boxhall witnessed the exchange, then turned and told the men at the davits to lower away. Slowly Boat 2 creaked its way down to the sea.5
Boat 4 had been a problem all night, but now Lightoller had no choice—he had to use it. Originally the plan had been to load the boat from the Promenade Deck, but the windows there had proven particularly difficult to open. Then someone noticed that the Titanic’s sounding spar projected from the hull immediately below the boat. While Seaman Sam Parks and Storekeeper Jack Foley went below to get an axe to chop away the offending spar, Lightoller had moved on to other boats. Now the spar was gone, the windows were opened, and a stack of deck chairs served as makeshift steps to the window sills. Standing with one foot in Boat 4 and one foot on the sill, Lightoller called for the waiting women and children to climb aboard.
They had certainly waited long enough. Among those in the crowd were the Ryerson family, Mrs. Thayer, Mr. and Mrs. Carter, and of course, Colonel and Mrs. Astor. For more than an hour they had shuttled back and forth between the Boat Deck and the Promenade Deck as various plans for loading the boat were made, altered, then discarded. After being ordered up to the Boat Deck a second time, only to have Second Steward Dodd tell them to go back down to A Deck again, they were understandably frustrated. “Just tell us where to go and we will follow!” exclaimed Mrs. Thayer in exasperation. “You ordered us up here and now you are sending us back!”
The shuttling was over now and Boat 4 was being loaded just as quickly as Lightoller, assisted by Clinch Smith and Colonel Gracie, could pass the women and children through the open windows. John Jacob Astor helped his wife negotiate the deck chairs, saying, “Get into the lifeboat, to please me.” He then asked Lightoller if he could join her, explaining that she was “in delicate condition.”
“No, sir,” Lightoller replied firmly, “no men are allowed in these boats until the women are loaded first.”
“Well, what boat is it?”
“Boat 4, sir.” At that Astor turned to his wife and said, “The sea is calm. You’ll be all right. You’re in good hands. I’ll meet you in the morning,” then stepped away and made his way back up to the Boat Deck.
As Arthur Ryerson was helping his wife and their maid, Victorine, across the deck chairs, he noticed that the girl had no lifebelt on. Quickly stripping his off, he fastened it around the frightened young woman, then saw her into the boat. When Jack Ryerson made to follow her, Lightoller suddenly called out, “That boy can’t go!”
Mr. Ryerson bristled. Placing his arm around Jack’s shoulders he said, “Of course the boy goes with his mother—he’s only thirteen.” Jack climbed through the window into the boat, leaving Lightoller muttering, “No more boys.” He didn’t notice ten-year-old Billy Carter, Jr., wearing a girl’s hat, climb past him as Mrs. Carter got in the boat. Ryerson, like Colonel Astor, returned to the Boat Deck.
Just then Colonel Gracie noticed a young woman standing off to one side, holding a baby. Who she was he had no idea, but from the expression on her face, she was clearly frightened of going near the edge of the deck but was equally terrified of being left behind. Gracie assured her that he would hold her child while she climbed into the boat and the woman accepted his help. No sooner had she taken her seat than she cried out, “Where’s my baby?”
“Here’s your baby, miss,” Gracie said gently, and handed the child over. Gracie never forgot his own fear at that moment, worried that the boat might be lowered before he could return the infant, and wondering how he would manage in the water with a child in his arms.6
From up on the Boat Deck a voice called down, “How many women are there in the boat? ”
Lightoller did a quick count and called back, “Twenty-four.”
“That’s enough, lower away.” At 1:55 Boat 4 dropped to the water—just fifteen feet below.7
It was clear now to those in the lifeboats that, no matter what they had believed or hoped before, the Titanic was doomed. The ship was visibly moving now, and from somewhere inside her a series of intermittent crashes began, sounding like huge stacks of china being shattered. First Officer Murdoch was finally convinced that it was hopeless. As he watched Collapsible C pull away from the ship, he turned to Steward John Hardy and said quietly, “I believe she’s gone, Hardy.”8
Lightoller had been convinced of it for some time: each glance down that emergency stairway showed the sea rising steadily higher. Now it was up to C Deck. Despite the bitter cold, Lightoller’s exertions had worked him into quite a sweat, and great beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. Gone was his greatcoat—working now in only his pajamas he supervised the crewmen who were slinging Collapsible D in Boat 2’s now empty davits. Assistant Surgeon Simpson, seeing that the second officer was wringing wet with sweat, couldn’t resist a good-natured, if ill-timed, jibe, calling out, “Hello, Lights, are you warm?” Lightoller ignored him.9
It’s uncertain whether or not Lightoller had been aware of the discrepancy between the number of people aboard the Titanic and the capacity of the lifeboats she carried; or, if he was aware of it, if he had thought of it in anything more than terms of abstract numbers. Whatever the case, the awful truth of that disparity was driven home to him now. Before him, on the Titanic’s decks, were more than 1,500 people; behind him was the last lifeboat, with seats for forty-seven. Recalling that when the crowd had rushed Boats 14 and 15 as well as Collapsible C, they had barely been held back, Lightoller took no chances: gathering all the crewmen he could find, plus a few trusted passengers, he had them form a ring around Collapsible D, arms locked together. Only women and children would be allowed through.
Winnie Troutt had been watching the boats being lowered for some time without making the slightest move to get into one herself She felt she had seen too many husbands and wives forcibly separated so that single women such as herself could be given preference in the boats. At least, she thought, her family would be spared the cost of a funer
al for her.
Suddenly a man she had never seen before came up to her and held out a baby to her, saying, “I don’t want to be saved, but will you save this baby?” Winnie took the child, then realizing that now she had to find a place in one of the boats, she headed for Collapsible D. The men forming the barricade around the boat let her pass through, but as she did so, a woman Winnie didn’t know looked at her and the baby and cried out, “Oh, you[’re] so fool[ish]! The ship’s about to sink.”
“Why, you nasty thing!” Winnie snapped furiously. She turned to a crewman and asked, “What will become of us?”
“Don’t worry, madam, the White Star Line will take care of you.” Satisfied, Miss Troutt climbed into Collapsible D.
A man who had been calling himself “Mr. Louis Hoffman” during the voyage brought two small boys to the ring and passed them through. His name was actually Michel Navatril, and he had kidnapped the boys—his sons, Edmond, just two, and Michel, not quite four—from his estranged wife, hoping to escape to America where she would never find them. As he let go of Michel’s hand, he said, “Tell your mother I love her.” Right behind him came Colonel Gracie with Mrs. John Murray Brown on one arm and Miss Edith Evans on the other. Henry B. Harris brought his wife Renee up to the ring, passed her through, and was told he could not follow. “I know,” he sighed, “I’ll stay.”
The Goldsmiths came up to the ring and stopped. Mr. and Mrs. Goldsmith said a quiet goodbye, then Mr. Goldsmith gave nine-year-old Franky an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, saying, “So long, Franky. I’ll see you later.” A traveling companion gave Mrs. Goldsmith his wedding band, remarking, “If I don’t see you in New York, see that my wife gets this.” A steward pulled Mrs. Goldsmith and her son toward the boat, then turned to sixteen-year-old Alfred Rush. “No!” the lad cried, “I’m going to stay with the men!” Just behind Mrs. Goldsmith and Franky a talkative group of Syrian women, many with babies, climbed into the boat.
Lightoller and Hardy were helping the women make the climb over the railing into the boat. The boat was about half full when Chief Officer Wilde strolled over from the starboard bridge wing and called out, “You go with her, Lightoller.”10
“Not damn likely,” the second officer shot back, and continued to help women into the boat. Somehow in the shuffle Mrs. Brown and Miss Evans hadn’t yet gotten into the boat. When they finally reached the railing there was only one seat left. Miss Evans turned to Mrs. Brown and said simply, “You go first. You have children waiting for you.” Mrs. Brown climbed aboard and Lightoller called out to lower away.
One deck below, at the forward end of the Promenade Deck, Hugh Woolner and Bjorn Steffanson began to realize just how tight their situation was. They had spent the past hour and a half rushing to and fro about the Boat Deck and the Promenade Deck, helping with loading and launching the boats, dealing with those cowards in Collapsible C, making sure the women in their charge were seen safely aboard the lifeboats. Now the rising sea was only a few feet away, and the last lifeboats were leaving. Just as they were resigning themselves to their fate, they saw Collapsible D being lowered right beside them. Steffanson thought there was enough room in the bow and jumped for it, followed seconds later by Woolner, who landed half in, half out of the boat. Steffanson pulled him aboard. An instant later, the boat hit the water. As the falls were freed and the boat began pulling away from the Titanic, Seaman William Lucas looked up at Edith Evans and called out, “There is another boat going to be put down for you.” It was 2:05 A.M.11
With all the boats gone and the ship obviously only moments away from foundering, there was one last, painful duty for Captain Smith to perform. First he walked up the port side of the Boat Deck to the wireless shack, where he found Phillips still hunched over his key, tapping away. Quietly, Smith told Phillips and Bride, “Men, you have done your full duty. You can do no more. Abandon your cabin. Now it’s every man for himself.” Phillips glanced up at him, then went back to Morsing. The Captain continued: “You look out for yourselves, I release you. That’s the way of it at this kind of time.” Then he turned and left the wireless shack for the last time. Without a word Phillips continued to tap out his distress call. 12
Now Captain Smith moved about the Boat Deck, speaking quietly to whatever crew members he found. To the knot of men struggling atop the officers’ quarters to release Collapsibles A and B, he called up, “You’ve done your duty, men. Now it’s every man for himself.” To a small group of stewards gathered near the First Class entrance he said, “Men, do your best for the women and children, and look out for yourselves.” And again, to some of the boiler room crew that made it to the Boat Deck, he said, “Well men, I guess it’s every man for himself.”13
The boiler room crews had been released by Chief Engineer Bell. He had told his engineers that they were released too, but in their determination to keep the lights burning and power supplied to the wireless, none of them left the engine room. By now it was too late, and Bell and his men would remain at their posts until the end. 14
It would be interesting to know what his second officer thought of the Captain’s sentiments. There were two collapsibles, A and B, lashed upside down to the roof of the officers’ quarters, and as long as there was a lifeboat to fill, Lightoller wasn’t about to give up. Quickly mustering the nearby crewmen and a few willing passengers such as Colonel Gracie, he set some of them to untie the lashings holding the boats in place, while others set up makeshift ramps of oars and planking to slide the boats down from the roof. Among them was Trimmer Hemming, who Lightoller recalled having told to go with Boat 6.
“Why haven’t you gone yet, Hemming?”
“Oh, plenty of time yet, sir.”
Lightoller’s efforts weren’t entirely successful. The men were able to get Collapsible A to slide down the improvised ramp, and were hurriedly trying to fit the falls from Boat Number 1’s davits to her, but Collapsible B broke through its ramp and landed on the Boat Deck upside down. Each collapsible weighed more than two tons and Lightoller just didn’t have the manpower to right it.15
In the wireless shack Bride took Captain Smith at his word and had gathered up all the papers and the wireless log. Just after the Captain left, a woman who had fainted was brought into the shack and placed in a chair. A moment or two later she revived and left with her husband. The lights were starting to take on an orange glow as the power began slowly fading. Phillips was tinkering with the set, trying to adjust the spark to make it stronger. At 2:10 he sent out two “V”s, which were picked up faintly by the Virginian; they were the last transmission anyone heard from the Titanic.
Slipping behind the green curtain to gather up his money and a few personal belongings, Bride stepped back into the wireless room to find a stoker bending over Phillips. Phillips, headphones still on his head, was lost in intense concentration, totally unaware that the stoker was surreptitiously unfastening his lifebelt. With a shout Bride leaped at the stoker.
Phillips, startled, jumped up and the three men grappled. After a brief scuffle, Bride was able to pin the stoker’s arms while Phillips beat the man senseless. Dropping the unconscious man to the floor, Bride reached for the logbook, but Phillips shouted, “Let’s get out of here!” and dashed out the door, Bride hard on his heels. Phillips ran aft, while Bride turned and made his way forward. 16
Back at the base of the second funnel, on the roof of the First Class Lounge, Bandmaster Hartley tapped his bow against his violin and the ragtime ceased. A moment later the solemn strains of the hymn “Nearer, My God, to Thee” began drifting across the water. It was with a perhaps unintended irony that Hartley chose a hymn pleading for the mercy of the Almighty, as the ultimate material conceit of the Edwardian Age, the ship that “God Himself couldn’t sink,” foundered beneath his feet. As the band played, the slant of the deck grew steeper, while from within the hull came a rapidly increasing number of thuds, bangs, and crashes as interior furnishings broke loose and walls and partitions collapsed. 17
Higher and higher the Titanic’s stern rose out of the water, until the great bronze propellers, motionless now, slowly emerged from the sea. As the stern rose, the liner seemed to begin to sluggishly move forward, as with a series of dull booms (mistaken by some passengers for exploding boilers) the watertight bulkheads began to give way under the inexorable pressure of the inrushing sea. Within the ship the emptiness of the public rooms was almost oppressive—it seemed unreal for all the smoking rooms, saloons, and lounges to be deserted.
But they weren’t entirely empty. The foursome in the First Class Lounge had returned to their bridge game and were still doggedly playing, seemingly oblivious to the increasingly steep slant of the table top. Around 2:10 Steward John Stewart glanced inside the First Class Smoking Room and was astonished to see Thomas Andrews standing in the center of the room with his arms folded across his chest. At last the tremendous drive and energy were gone, and he stood motionless before the fireplace, his face devoid of expression. Puzzled, Stewart called out, “Aren’t you even going to try for it, Mr. Andrews?”
Andrews never replied—he simply continued to gaze at a painting before him, “The Approach to Plymouth Harbour,” as if he never heard the question. His lifebelt lay carelessly tossed across a green-topped card table apparently forgotten. 18
At 2:15 the bridge dipped under, sweeping Captain Smith into the sea. A wave of water rushed back along the Boat Deck as the Titanic began to pivot on a point somewhere just aft of amidships. The calm dignity of “Nearer, My God, to Thee” began to be lost in the clamor of a great ship entering her death throes. Just as the sea washed over the bridge, the superstructure gave a sickening lurch, momentarily interrupting the music, when the forward expansion joint collapsed. Running athwart the superstructure even with the positions of Boats 5 and 6, the joint gave way as the ship’s center of gravity shifted. The two aftermost stays supporting the forward funnel, anchored aft of the joint, now went slack, and the remaining eight stays were suddenly forced to carry the weight of the huge funnel in an attitude for which they were never designed.19
Unsinkable: The Full Story of the RMS Titanic Page 20
