Although boats and falls were all brand new, it is a risky business at the best of times to attempt to lower a boat between seventy and eighty feet at night time, filled with people who are not “boatwise.” It is, unfortunately, the rule rather than the exception for some mishap to occur in lowering boats loaded with people who, through no fault of their own, lack this boat sense. In addition, the strain is almost too much to expect of boats and falls under ordinary conditions.
However, having got Captain Smith’s sanction, I indicated to the Bosun’s Mate, and we lowered down the first boat level with the boat deck, and, just at this time, thank heaven, the frightful din of escaping steam suddenly stopped, and there was a death-like silence a thousand times more exaggerated, fore and aft the ship. It was almost startling to hear one’s own voice again after the appalling din of the last half hour or so.
I got just on forty people into No 4 boat, and gave the order to “lower away,” and for the boat to “go up to the gangway door” with the idea of filling each boat as it became afloat, to its full capacity. At the same time I told the Bosun’s Mate to take six hands and open the port lower-deck gangway door, which was abreast of No. 2 hatch. He took his men and proceeded to carry out the order, but neither he or the men were seen again. One can only suppose that they gave their lives endeavouring to carry out this order, probably they were trapped in the alley-way by a rush of water, but by this time the fo’c’sle head was within about ten feet of the water. Yet I still had hope that we should save her.
Passing along to No 6 boat to load and lower, I could hear the band playing cheery sort of music. I don’t like jazz music as a rule, but I was glad to hear it that night. I think it helped us all.
Wireless signals for help had been broadcast over the ocean ever since the first impact, and ships were coming to our aid. It was excusable that in some cases the Officer of the Watch on some ships could hardly credit his senses, or believe the wireless operator when told that the Titanic — -that wonder of all mercantile wonders was sinking in mid-Atlantic, and sending out calls for assistance.
The wireless operator of the Virginian told me that when he reported the fact to this Officer of the Watch, he was literally chucked off the bridge, for trying to play what the O.O.W. was a practical joke; it was only as he was being pushed past the chart-room door, preparatory to being shot down the bridge ladder, that he landed out with his foot, and gave a terrific kick on the panel of the door. The wireless operator knew that the Captain was asleep in the chart-room, and that this crash would bring him out with a jump. The Officer of the Watch also realised when the report was officially made to the Captain, that it was no joke, and that the Titanic was truly in a bad way. They at once altered course and made all speed towards us.
On the Titanic passengers naturally kept coming up and asking, did I consider the situation serious. In all cases I tried to cheer them up, by telling them “No,” but that it was a matter of precaution to get the boats in the water, ready for any emergency. That in any case that they were perfectly safe, as there was a ship not more than a few miles away, and I pointed out the lights on the port bow which they could see as well as I could.
At this time we were firing rocket distress signals, which explode with a loud report a couple of hundred feet in the air. Every minute or two one of these went up, bursting overhead with a cascade of stars.
“Why were we firing these signals, if there was no danger:” was the question, to which I replied that we were trying to call the attention of the ship nearby, as we could not get her with wireless. That ship was the “Californian.”; Here again we were to see exemplified what has become almost proverbial at sea, that in cases of disaster, one ship, the first on the scene, will be in a position to rescue, and yet, through some circumstance or combination of circumstances, fails to make that rescue.
The distress signals we fired were seen by the Officer of the Watch on the Californian, also be several members of her crew. Even the flashes from our Morse lamp were seen but finally judged to be “Just the mast-head light flickering.” Though at one time the thought evidently did arise that we were trying to call them
To let pass the possibility of a ship calling by Morse, in the existing circumstances then surrounding her was bad enough; but to mistake distress signals was inexcusable, and to ignore them, criminal. In point of fact, the O.O.W. alone saw and counted, five distress signals (or, as he reported them to Captain Lord, “five white rockets”). Evidently the Captain’s curiosity was more than a little aroused for him to ask, “Are they company’s signals?” To which the O.O.W. replied that he did not know, but that they “Appear to me to be white rockets.” Captain Lord merely told him to “go on Morsing,” and if he received any further information to send it down to him.
It is an unqualified fact that every single one of our distress signals — unmistakable and urgent calls for help, were clearly seen by the Californian. These signals are never made, except in cases of dire necessity. The O.O.W. of the Californian fully appreciated this fact as was evidenced by his remark to the Apprentice on watch with him, “A ship is not going to fire rockets at sea for nothing.”
Shortly after counting eight “rockets” he again sent down word to the Captain, with the added rider to the Apprentice, “be sure to wake him and tell him that altogether we have seen eight of these white lights, like rockets, in the direction of this other steamer.”
Precisely at 2:40 a.m. this Officer of the Watch again called Captain Lord, this time by voice pipe, and told him that the ship from which he had seen the rockets, had disappeared.
He spoke truly. A great sea tragedy had been consummated before his very eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
WOMEN AND CHILDREN — ONLY
The quiet orderliness amongst the passengers, and the discipline amongst the crew, is a thing never to be forgotten. Many of the former came quietly with offers of help. The Bosun’s Mate and six of the watch having been lost to me, the work had become very heavy, and still heavier, as I detailed two of the remaining Watch to go away with each boat as it was lowered. The practice was, to lower each boat until the gunwale was level with the boat deck, then, standing with one foot on the deck and one in the boat, the women just held out their right hand, the wrist of which I grabbed with my right hand, hooking my left arm underneath their arm, and so practically lifted them over the gap between the boat’s gunwale and the ship’s side, from the boat.
Between one boat being lowered away and the next boat being prepared, I usually nipped along to have a look down the very long emergency staircase leading direct from the boat deck down to “C” deck. Actually built as a short cut for the crew, it served my purpose now to gauge the speed with which the water was rising, and how high it had got. By now the fore deck was below the surface. That cold, green water, crawling its ghostly way up that staircase, was a sight that stamped itself indelibly on my memory. Step by step, it made its way up, covering the electric lights, one after the other, which, for a time, shone under the surface, with a horribly weird effect.