The Titanic Plan

by Michael Bockman

  The crowd was almost exclusively First-Class passengers and they seemed unconcerned about the situation. Their lifebelts were fitted over fine gowns and fur coats. The general mood was that of waiting for the doors of an opera house to open. A flare twisted up into the night and exploded into a starburst of glittering white above the ship. It seemed like the 4th of July or New Year’s Eve.

  There was a real reluctance to board the lifeboats. Even as the Titanic began dipping at the bow, most of the passengers continued to believe that the ship was unsinkable and that it was far safer to remain onboard then to cast onto the cold sea in a tiny lifeboat. Near 12:40 a.m. the first lifeboat was lowered into the ocean. There were 28 people on it; its capacity was 65.

  Making his way onto the upper deck with Henry, Archie was shocked that things were moving so quickly. The officer in charge of the starboard side of the ship, Charles Lightoller, was struggling to fill the boats. No one seemed to be listening to him. “You stay here,” Archie said to Henry, then walked up to Lightoller, who seemed surprised by the sight of Archie in his military uniform. “Can I be of assistance to you?” Archie asked.

  “Thank you, sir, but I think we have it under control,” Lightoller said. “I’ll let you know if we need any help.” Archie retreated. Lightoller began calling for more women and children. Archie moved back to where Henry was waiting. But Henry wasn’t there. Archie quickly perused the crowd that was growing thicker. The boy was nowhere in sight. Just as quickly as Henry had turned up, he was gone again. Disappeared into thin air.

  Sixteen ships received distress signals from the Titanic early that Monday morning. Several radioed back that they would steam to the given coordinates as fast as possible. The closest of the ships was a Cunard liner, the Carpathia. It was 58 miles to the southeast. At full speed, it would reach the Titanic in four hours.

  Archie couldn’t understand what drove Henry to abandon him. What was it in the boy’s make up that made him so unreliable? Growing up on the streets? Fear? Lack of discipline? Lack of trust? Whatever Henry’s problem was, Archie still felt responsible for him. He searched desperately for the boy, first over the Boat Deck, then one deck down, on the A-deck, where many First Class passengers milled about, trying to decide if they should bother to brave the commotion up top.

  In the Smoking Lounge there were a surprising number of men sipping drinks, which were now “on the house.” Archie looked over the room. There was no sign of Henry, but he did see Frank Millet waving to him from a card table. “Archie,” Millet called. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Why would you be waiting for me, Frank?” Archie said, hurrying over to the table.

  “You promised to come back and play a round with us.”

  Arthur Ryerson had dealt four hands of thirteen cards, which were sitting on the table, face down, waiting to be played. “Come on, Arch,” Millet said. “Pull up a chair.”

  Archie looked at the three men as if they were insane. “Frank, do you know this ship is sinking?”

  “That’s fairly obvious,” Millet calmly replied. The men around the table chuckled. Millet lifted his face. Archie could see from Millet’s expression that he was keenly aware of everything that was taking place. But rather than being filled with alarm, Millet’s crinkled face had a serene countenance to it. “One dies as one lives,” Millet said simply.

  “As gentlemen,” Moore added.

  “So, how about it, Arch? If this is the last time, let’s enjoy a round of bridge together.”

  Archie didn’t share Millet’s sense of serenity. Still, he couldn’t refuse his good friend. “One round, Frank. A quick round.”

  “Then pick up your cards,” Millet said.

  Archie did. He was holding a great hand.

  CHAPTER 64

  The Titanic’s eight-member band was serenading passengers in the First Class Lounge when they were asked to move up top to bring a sense of calm to those waiting to board the lifeboats. They hauled their instruments up the Grand Staircase and situated themselves just inside the entrance to the Boat Deck. Their first number was Alexander’s Ragtime Band. They followed it with Great Big Beautiful Doll. As the band’s music floated over the Boat Deck, lifeboats were being swung by rope from their davits over the ship’s side. Because the Titanic was deemed unsinkable, there was little rehearsal for putting the lifeboats in the water, which was a good 75 feet below. With the boats swaying and tilting high above the cold ocean, it seemed far safer to remain onboard and enjoy the lively music. Most of the boats that were being lowered were barely half full.

  Panic was beginning to sweep through the lower regions of the Titanic. Unlike the passengers in the decks above, who were feeling a slight list to the ship, the passengers in Third Class were being flooded out. Water was roaring into the front berths and sending those passengers, many of them immigrants and laborers, to clamor into the corridors and stairwells. But the stairwells were locked. Third Class passengers were trapped behind steel gates, not allowed to climb to the waiting lifeboats on the Boat Deck. Many crowded into their dining saloon, where prayers in a number of languages were now growing louder and more desperate. Others crammed into the stairwells, demanding that the gates be opened. Anxious stewards stood on the other side of the steel gates, urging the restless passengers to keep calm, but sensing that all hell could break loose at any moment.

  Benjamin Guggenheim was extremely uncomfortable in the life jacket that was fastened under his bulky sweater. He walked his French mistress, Léontine Aubart, and her maid, to a lifeboat and helped them in, then waved goodbye and watched the boat descend to the water. Guggenheim then retreated to his cabin. Twenty minutes later he and his valet reappeared in the First Class Smoking Lounge, both dressed in their finest white tie evening wear, without their life jackets. A steward ordered them to put the life jackets back on. Guggenheim refused. “We’ve dressed in our best and are prepared to go down like gentlemen,” Guggenheim said, then went on acting the heroic bon vivant, saying very loudly so all could hear, “Do tell my wife that I played the game out straight and to the end. No woman shall be left aboard this ship because Ben Guggenheim was a coward.”

  On the far end of the A-Deck Promenade, a number of men and women, all First Class passengers, were told to wait for a lifeboat to be lowered from the Boat Deck to them. After much trouble, a lifeboat finally arrived. Eleanor Widener was led into the boat by her son Harry and husband George, who kissed her goodbye. Marian Thayer was assisted into the boat by her husband John. Madeline Astor, who had dressed for the occasion in a long coat with a sable collar, a diamond strand around her neck and her hands stuffed in a fur muff, was reluctant to leave Astor’s side. “I won’t go if you can’t come,” Madeleine cried, clutching her husband.

  “Get into the lifeboat, my darling,” Astor spoke sweetly to Madeleine. “To please me. I will get another boat.” He took off his gloves and tossed them to her, then turned to Lightoller. “My wife is with child and in a very delicate condition. I believe it would be wise if I accompanied her.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, women and children only,” Lightoller replied, sticking strictly to the rule, even though twenty seats on the boat were unoccupied.

  “Well, tell me the number of the boat, so I may find my wife afterward.”

  “Boat number 4,” Lightoller said.

  “The sea is calm,” Astor called to Madeleine as they began to lower the boat. “You’re in good hands. I’ll meet you in the morning.” Astor stepped back, lit a cigarette and watched the boat splash into the water.

  After his one quick game with Millet, Archie bid his friends goodbye then raced from the card table to go up top. Things had gone from bad to worse. The bow of the ship was tilting at such a degree that it was only ten feet above the waterline. Panic was overtaking those who were calmly debating whether to go or stay only a few minutes earlier. The hard reality hit Archie full on: he was likely facing a watery death very soon. He remembered that the last time he confronted his m
ortality, he broke down sobbing in a Filipino slaughterhouse. He would not repeat that episode. So when a wave of fear rippled through him, he glanced around the deck looking for someone to save other than himself. And there, amid the growing chaos, was a plainly dressed woman, obviously a third-class passenger, who appeared frightened and lost. Pushing his way to her, he held out his hand. “This way, ma’am,” Archie said gently, and then led her through a group of agitated men to the lifeboat.

  From that moment, Archie became a dervish, herding as many women and children to the boats as possible. Irene Harris, a woman whom Archie shepherded to a lifeboat, described him in action: “Major Butt…was here and there and everywhere, giving words of encouragement to weeping women and children, and uttering, when necessary, commands to keep the weak-kneed men from giving in and rendering the awful situation even more terrible… But, oh, this whole world should rise in praise of Major Butt. You would have thought he was at a White House reception, so cool and calm was he.”

  Edwin Wheeler’s identity papers said he was from Bath, England, born in 1886. The story went that he had worked for Vanderbilt for 12 years. The actual fact was Edwin Wheeler was “engaged” only days before the Titanic’s departure. He supposedly boarded with Vanderbilt’s luggage, when, oddly, Vanderbilt had already sailed days earlier, traveling with his luggage and his actual longtime valet.

  This puzzling information would have probably been lost to the world had not Henry seen Wheeler walk across the empty forecastle deck toward the bow of the ship right when Archie was first approaching Lightoller to offer his assistance. At that moment, Henry had to make a split-second decision: to obey Archie’s orders and wait for him, or to follow Wheeler. Henry took off.

  Limping painfully down two deck levels, Henry had to force himself through clumps of passengers who were shoving and flailing in a desperate attempt to climb to the lifeboats. When he finally reached the B-Deck and hobbled out to the forecastle, he couldn’t see anyone. The deck appeared deserted. A cacophony of noise eerily descended over the emptiness – panicked shouts mixed with the strains of ragtime and the steaming hiss from the funnels. Henry inched along the deck, staying in the shadows, so as not to be spotted. But Wheeler, if he was still on this deck, was invisible as well. Henry was about to give up and go back up to Archie when he caught a whiff of something. He sniffed the cold air. It smelled like…a cigar. He closed his eyes and sniffed again, trying to determine where the scent was coming from. Shifting his head, he honed in on the odor, then opened his eyes. There, at the rail near the front bow of the ship, was the red glow from the tip of a cigar. Henry stared through the darkness at the gleaming point. At first, all he saw was the shadowy silhouette of a man – a large, hulking man with jutting ears. Wheeler was casually leaning against the rail, looking to be without a care in the world. He smoked his cigar slowly and serenely, savoring the taste.

  Henry waited, his gaze fixed on Wheeler, as the bow of the ship sank lower toward the water. Wheeler opened his pocket watch and checked it, all the while observing the lifeboats descending past him. Henry was puzzled by Wheeler’s lack of concern. Minutes ticked by. The water kept getting closer to the bow, so close that Henry could see each small ripple over the ocean’s mirror smooth surface.

  Two flares rocketed high into the sky and exploded over the bow. In the flash of brightness, Henry caught sight of the huge man gazing up to the chaos that now engulfed the Boat Deck. Wheeler took a puff of his cigar then made a sudden, sweeping wave of his arm. Henry whirled to see to whom Wheeler was signaling. It was a man, a mustachioed man with a life belt over his suit. He too was lit up by the brightness from the flares and was waving back to Wheeler. It was Ismay. Wheeler flicked the stub of his cigar into the ocean and took off for the stairwell. Henry hung back a moment before following.

  Going past the band, which was still playing cheery songs, Henry emerged onto the Boat Deck. It was pandemonium. Men, mostly Third Class passengers, were crowding toward the remaining lifeboats, trying to get on. They were being held back by a handful of crewmen brandishing guns. Ismay stood near a collapsible lifeboat, waving to Wheeler. “Let him pass,” Ismay shouted. Wheeler shoved his way through the crowd, most of whom angrily shoved back and moved closer to the lifeboat, screaming to be let on. A crewman standing beside Ismay fired twice into the air. The crowd stepped back. Wheeler broke into the clear. “Come now,” Ismay said. “It’s time to leave.” But just as the two men began stepping into the boat, Henry squirted through the throng, screaming “Women and children only! Women and children only!”

  Ismay ignored Henry, but Wheeler paused just long enough for Henry to grab him around the thigh while continuing to scream, “Women and children only!”

  “Get in the boat,” Ismay yelled to Wheeler. But Wheeler could not shake Henry away.

  “Get off me,” Wheeler shouted and grabbed Henry around the throat. Henry squirmed under Wheeler’s grip then snapped open his mouth and bit into Wheeler’s forearm. Furious, Wheeler wrapped his arms around the boy’s waist to hurl him off when Henry swung his knee up and struck Wheeler square between the legs. Wheeler screamed and tumbled forward into the crowd of passengers who descended on him like a wolf pack.

  “Lower the boat,” Ismay commanded.

  “But it’s not yet full, sir,” a crewman answered.

  “Do you see any women or children in sight?”

  The crewman quickly scanned the rabid crowd of men. “No sir, I don’t.”

  “Then lower the boat and get in if you’d like.”

  “Lower the boat,” the crewman called, then stepped back and watched Ismay leave in the last lifeboat on the starboard side.

  By 2 a.m., the waterline had reached the bow of the Titanic. The ocean was flooding over the forecastle of Deck B. In the Marconi Room, radioman Jack Phillips was still at the wireless, communicating with the Carpathia, updating the rescue ship on what was transpiring. His partner, Harold Bride, was securing the lifebelts on both of them. The door opened and Captain Smith, who had not been seen or heard from for over an hour, poked his head in. “Men, you have done your full duty. You can do no more. Abandon your cabin. I release you. Now it’s every man for himself.” With that, Smith stepped out of the room. He said similar words to some crewmen outside then walked up into the ship’s bridge and was never seen again.

  As the water began to flood into Promenade Deck, those in the Smoking Lounge decided to carry on up top. The men of The Plan – John Astor, Charles Hays, Benjamin Guggenheim, John Thayer, Isador Strauss, George Widener and his son Harry, and Washington Roebling III – who only hours earlier were toasting to the success of a project that was to lead them to the pinnacle of wealth and power in America, were now all on the Boat Deck, facing extinction. All the money and influence they possessed couldn’t keep a 46,000-ton ship afloat. Those with wives had already seen them off, with the exception of Isador Strauss, whose beloved Ida chose to stay with him aboard the Titanic until the end. They drew together into a group because they were, in a sense, brothers, bound not by blood, but by wealth, class and ambition. There wasn’t much to say; they all tried to keep up the façade of their class by acting as unflappable as possible when all around the deck, panic and chaos prevailed.

  “Gentlemen,” John Astor said. “Perhaps we should assist Major Butt with the loading of women and children, as befits our station.” But no one in the group made a move. There was only one collapsible lifeboat left to be filled and Archie was taking care of that, escorting the few Third Class women passengers in sight through the desperate throng of men who were threatening to rush the boat. The situation had become so charged that Lightoller organized a group of crewmen to lock arms in order to hold the mob off.

  Archie had just placed a young woman on one of the lifeboat’s small seats when he heard a familiar voice cutting through the din: “Captain!” Archie turned. All he saw was the thick cluster of frantic men within feet of him. “Captain!” he heard the voice again. Archie rose onto
his toes and looked over the crowd. There was Henry, waving to him. Archie pushed his way to the boy and scooped him up in his arms, enwrapping him in a long embrace. “You keep leaving me, Henry,” was all Archie said.

  “Wheeler,” Henry huffed, out of breath. “He tried to get away. Mr. Ismay was leavin’ in a boat and he tried gettin’ in with him.”

  “So he’s gone?”

  “Nah,” Henry smiled his gap toothed grin. “He weren’t goin’ nowhere if I could help it. Ismay got away though.”

  An angry roar suddenly erupted from the throng of men. Something set them off. Archie could see Lightoller waving his gun. “Come on,” Archie said to Henry and led him back toward the lifeboat. He quickly saw the reason for the men’s anger: there was Wheeler, stepping into the lifeboat and looking for a place to sit.

  “What’s he doing in there?” Archie yelled at Lightoller.

  “He’s authorized.”

  “Authorized? By whom?!”

  Wheeler flipped opened his wallet. His badge glinted in the light. “United States Justice Department,” Wheeler said.

  “Get out of the boat,” Archie commanded.

  “It is on authority of the executive branch of the United States government that I return....”

  Archie pulled the revolver from his holster and pointed it at him. “Get out of the boat,” he repeated.

  “I will not. I have a direct order from the Director of the Bureau of Investigation of the United States to report any…

  Blam. Archie fired into the air. “The next one goes through your heart,” Archie yelled, “Now get out of the boat.” The Titanic shuddered, then lurched headlong. Screams erupted. People in the lifeboat started shouting at Archie: “Let him be;” “There’s room enough;” “Just launch the boat.”