Still, it served a very good purpose, and enabled me to form an accurate judgment as to how far she had gone, and how quickly she was going down. Dynamos were still running, and deck lights on, which, though dim, helped considerably with the work; more than could be said of one very good lady who achieved fame by waving an electric light and successfully blinding us as we worked on the boats. It puzzled me until I found she had it installed in the head of her walking stick! I am afraid she was rather disappointed on finding out that her precious light was not a bit appreciated. Arriving in safety on board the Carpathia, she tried to make out that someone had stolen her wretched stick, whereas it had been merely taken from her, in response to my request that someone would throw the damn thing overboard.
It had now become apparent that the ship was doomed, and in consequence, I began to load the boats to the utmost capacity that I dared. My scheme for filling up at the lower deck doors had gone by the board — they were under water.
Many were the incidents of calm courage.
One young couple walked steadily up and down the boat deck throughout pretty well the whole of the proceedings. Once or twice the young chap asked if he could help. He was a tall, clean-bred Britisher, on his honeymoon, I should say. The girl — she was little more — never made the slightest attempt to come towards the boats, much less to be taken on board, although I looked towards her several times with a sort of silent invitation, but no, she was not going to be parted from her man.
The order implicitly obeyed was, “Women and children only.” The very highest tribute that is was possible for a human being to pay would hardly do justice to or give the praise due to the sheer courage shown by most women and children amongst the passengers on that ship, individually and collectively. It made me unutterably proud of the English speaking race. The conditions were all strange; the ship was sinking and the boats were leaving, yet, neither man nor woman attempted to get into a boat without being ordered.
In the case of a Major Peuchen, a Canadian by birth, who sent away in one of the boats, unwarrantable blame was attached, at a later date.
I was reduced to sending one seaman away in a boat, and on an occasion, after ordering away a sailor to take charge, I turned round to find that there was only one left to attend the boat falls, for lowering away.
“Someone for that fall,” I called, and the next thing a man who had sailed with me for many years, Hemming by name, replied, “Aye, aye, sir! All ready.” Unknown to me he had stepped out of the boat, back on board, to carry out what he considered the more important duty. Bravery and self-sacrifice such as this was of common occurrence throughout the night.
The boat was half way down when someone hailed me, saying, “We’ve no seaman in this boat, “and at that moment I had no one available. I called to the people standing around, “Any seaman there:” No reply, and it was then that Major Peuchen, when he saw that there were none of the ship’s crew available, said, “I’m not a seaman, but I’m a yachtsman, if I can be of any use to you.”
The boat’s falls, or ropes, by which the boat is lowered, hang up and down from the davit head, about nine or ten feet from the ship’s side. I said to him, “If you’re seaman enough to get out on those falls, and get down into the boat, you may go ahead.” He did, and has been very unfairly criticised for carrying out what was a direct order.
It was about this time that the Chief Officer came over from the starboard side and asked, did I know where the firearms were?
As I pointed out before, it was the First Officer’s responsibility to receive firearms, navigation instruments, and so forth. I have also said firearms on merchant ships are looked on as ornamental more than useful, and as First Officer I had simply hove the lot into a locker, in my original cabin, a locker that was of little use owing to its inaccessibility.
Then, later on, had come the “general post,” whereby Murdoch who was now First Officer, knew nothing about the firearms, and couldn’t find them when they were wanted — I say wanted, rather than needed, because I still don’t believe they were actually needed.
I told the Chief Officer, “Yes, I know where they are. Come along and I’ll get them for you,” and into the First Officer’s cabin we went — the Chief, Murdoch, the Captain and myself — where I hauled them out, still in all their pristine newness and grease.
I was going out when the Chief shoved one of the revolvers into my hands, with a handful of ammunition, and said, “Here you are, you may need it.” On the impulse, I just slipped it into my pocket, along with the cartridges, and returned to the boats. The whole incident had not taken more than three minutes, though it seemed barely worth that precious time.
As I returned along the deck, I passed Mr. and Mrs. Strauss (sic) leaning up against the deck house chatting quite cheerily. I stopped and asked Mrs. Strauss, “Can I take you along to the boats?” She replied, “I think I’ll stay here for the present.” Mr. Strauss, calling her by her Christian name said, smilingly, “Why don’t you go along with him, dear?” She just smiled, and said, “No, not yet.” I left them, and they went down together. To another couple, evidently from the Western States, that I found sitting on a fan casing I asked the girl, “Won’t you let me put you in one of the boats?” She replied with a very frank smile, “Not on your life. We started together, and if need be, we’ll finish together.” It was typical of the spirit throughout.
Boat after boat was safely lowered into the water, with its human freight of women and children, each with an ever-increasing cargo as it became more apparent that the Titanic was doomed, and that the ship to which we had looked for immediate help, was also a false hope. Time and again I had used her lights as a means to buoy up the hopes of the many that I now knew only too well, were soon to find themselves struggling in that icy water.
Why couldn’t she hear our wireless calls? Why couldn’t her Officer of the Watch or some one of her crew, see our distress signals with their showers of stars, visible for miles and miles around? — a signal that is never used except when a ship is in dire need of assistance. What wouldn’t I have given for a six inch gun and a couple of shells to wake them up I had assured and reassured the passengers throughout those anxious hours, “She cannot help but see those signals, and must soon steam over and pick everyone up.” And what an absolutely unique opportunity Captain Lord of the Californian had that night of rendering aid and saving close on 1,500 lives. Nothing could have been easier than to have laid his ship actually alongside the Titanic and taken every soul on board. Yet, not a thing was done, not even their wireless operator roused to see if there were any distress calls.
There are no police, fire brigades or lifeboats out at sea, therefore it becomes nothing less than a fetish — the tenet above all tenets in the religion among sailors that absolutely no effort shall be spared in an endeavour to save life at sea. A man must even be prepared to hazard his ship and his life.
Just before launching the last two lifeboats, I had made my final hurried visit to the stairway. It was then conclusively evident that not only was she going , but that she was going very soon, and if we were to avoid the unutterable disgrace of going down with lifeboats still hanging to the davits, there was not one single moment to lose.
Hurrying back to the two remaining lifeboats still hanging in their davits, I met the Purser, Assistant Purser, and the Senior and Junior surgeons — the latter a noted wag — even in the face of tragedy, couldn’t resist his last mild joke, “Hello, Lights, are you warm?” The idea of anyone being warm in that temperature was a joke in itself, and I suppose it struck him as odd to meet me wearing a sweater, no coat or overcoat. I had long since discarded my great coat, even in pants and sweater over pyjamas alone I was in a bath of perspiration. There was only time to pass a few words, then they all shook hands and said, “Good-bye.” Frankly, I didn’t feel at all like “Good-bye,” although I knew we shouldn’t have the ship under us much longer. The thing was to get these boats away at all costs. Eventually, and to my great relief, they were all loaded and safely lowered into the water.