The Loss of the S.S. Titanic by Lawrence Beesley (readnow .txt) đź“–
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would be impossible, I think, in practice. To quote Mr. Lightoller
again in his evidence before the United States Senate Committee,—when
asked if it was a rule of the sea that women and children be saved
first, he replied, “No, it is a rule of human nature.” That is no
doubt the real reason for its existence.
But the selective process of circumstances brought about results that
were very bitter to some. It was heartrending for ladies who had lost
all they held dearest in the world to hear that in one boat was a
stoker picked up out of the sea so drunk that he stood up and
brandished his arms about, and had to be thrown down by ladies and sat
upon to keep him quiet. If comparisons can be drawn, it did seem
better that an educated, refined man should be saved than one who had
flown to drink as his refuge in time of danger.
These discussions turned sometimes to the old enquiry—“What is the
purpose of all this? Why the disaster? Why this man saved and that man
lost? Who has arranged that my husband should live a few short happy
years in the world, and the happiest days in those years with me these
last few weeks, and then be taken from me?” I heard no one attribute
all this to a Divine Power who ordains and arranges the lives of men,
and as part of a definite scheme sends such calamity and misery in
order to purify, to teach, to spiritualize. I do not say there were
not people who thought and said they saw Divine Wisdom in it all,—so
inscrutable that we in our ignorance saw it not; but I did not hear it
expressed, and this book is intended to be no more than a partial
chronicle of the many different experiences and convictions.
There were those, on the other hand, who did not fail to say
emphatically that indifference to the rights and feelings of others,
blindness to duty towards our fellow men and women, was in the last
analysis the cause of most of the human misery in the world. And it
should undoubtedly appeal more to our sense of justice to attribute
these things to our own lack of consideration for others than to shift
the responsibility on to a Power whom we first postulate as being
All-wise and All-loving.
All the boats were lowered and sent away by about 2 A.M., and by this
time the ship was very low in the water, the forecastle deck
completely submerged, and the sea creeping steadily up to the bridge
and probably only a few yards away.
No one on the ship can have had any doubt now as to her ultimate fate,
and yet the fifteen hundred passengers and crew on board made no
demonstration, and not a sound came from them as they stood quietly on
the decks or went about their duties below. It seems incredible, and
yet if it was a continuation of the same feeling that existed on deck
before the boats left,—and I have no doubt it was,—the explanation
is straightforward and reasonable in its simplicity. An attempt is
made in the last chapter to show why the attitude of the crowd was so
quietly courageous. There are accounts which picture excited crowds
running about the deck in terror, fighting and struggling, but two of
the most accurate observers, Colonel Gracie and Mr. Lightoller, affirm
that this was not so, that absolute order and quietness prevailed. The
band still played to cheer the hearts of all near; the engineers and
their crew—I have never heard any one speak of a single engineer
being seen on deck—still worked at the electric light engines, far
away below, keeping them going until no human being could do so a
second longer, right until the ship tilted on end and the engines
broke loose and fell down. The light failed then only because the
engines were no longer there to produce light, not because the men who
worked them were not standing by them to do their duty. To be down in
the bowels of the ship, far away from the deck where at any rate there
was a chance of a dive and a swim and a possible rescue; to know that
when the ship went—as they knew it must soon—there could be no
possible hope of climbing up in time to reach the sea; to know all
these things and yet to keep the engines going that the decks might be
lighted to the last moment, required sublime courage.
But this courage is required of every engineer and it is not called by
that name: it is called “duty.” To stand by his engines to the last
possible moment is his duty. There could be no better example of the
supremest courage being but duty well done than to remember the
engineers of the Titanic still at work as she heeled over and flung
them with their engines down the length of the ship. The simple
statement that the lights kept on to the last is really their epitaph,
but Lowell’s words would seem to apply to them with peculiar force—
“The longer on this earth we live
And weigh the various qualities of men—
The more we feel the high, stern-featured beauty
Of plain devotedness to duty.
Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise,
But finding amplest recompense
For life’s ungarlanded expense
In work done squarely and unwasted days.”
For some time before she sank, the Titanic had a considerable list to
port, so much so that one boat at any rate swung so far away from the
side that difficulty was experienced in getting passengers in. This
list was increased towards the end, and Colonel Gracie relates that
Mr. Lightoller, who has a deep, powerful voice, ordered all passengers
to the starboard side. This was close before the end. They crossed
over, and as they did so a crowd of steerage passengers rushed up and
filled the decks so full that there was barely room to move. Soon
afterwards the great vessel swung slowly, stern in the air, the lights
went out, and while some were flung into the water and others dived
off, the great majority still clung to the rails, to the sides and
roofs of deck-structures, lying prone on the deck. And in this
position they were when, a few minutes later, the enormous vessel
dived obliquely downwards. As she went, no doubt many still clung to
the rails, but most would do their best to get away from her and jump
as she slid forwards and downwards. Whatever they did, there can be
little question that most of them would be taken down by suction, to
come up again a few moments later and to fill the air with those
heartrending cries which fell on the ears of those in the lifeboats
with such amazement. Another survivor, on the other hand, relates that
he had dived from the stern before she heeled over, and swam round
under her enormous triple screws lifted by now high out of the water
as she stood on end. Fascinated by the extraordinary sight, he watched
them up above his head, but presently realizing the necessity of
getting away as quickly as possible, he started to swim from the ship,
but as he did she dived forward, the screws passing near his head. His
experience is that not only was no suction present, but even a wave
was created which washed him away from the place where she had gone
down.
Of all those fifteen hundred people, flung into the sea as the Titanic
went down, innocent victims of thoughtlessness and apathy of those
responsible for their safety, only a very few found their way to the
Carpathia. It will serve no good purpose to dwell any longer on the
scene of helpless men and women struggling in the water. The heart of
everyone who has read of their helplessness has gone out to them in
deepest love and sympathy; and the knowledge that their struggle in
the water was in most cases short and not physically painful because
of the low temperature—the evidence seems to show that few lost their
lives by drowning—is some consolation.
If everyone sees to it that his sympathy with them is so practical as
to force him to follow up the question of reforms personally, not
leaving it to experts alone, then he will have at any rate done
something to atone for the loss of so many valuable lives.
We had now better follow the adventures of those who were rescued from
the final event in the disaster. Two accounts—those of Colonel Gracie
and Mr. Lightoller—agree very closely. The former went down clinging
to a rail, the latter dived before the ship went right under, but was
sucked down and held against one of the blowers. They were both
carried down for what seemed a long distance, but Mr. Lightoller was
finally blown up again by a “terrific gust” that came up the blower
and forced him clear. Colonel Gracie came to the surface after holding
his breath for what seemed an eternity, and they both swam about
holding on to any wreckage they could find. Finally they saw an
upturned collapsible boat and climbed on it in company with twenty
other men, among them Bride the Marconi operator. After remaining thus
for some hours, with the sea washing them to the waist, they stood up
as day broke, in two rows, back to back, balancing themselves as well
as they could, and afraid to turn lest the boat should roll over.
Finally a lifeboat saw them and took them off, an operation attended
with the greatest difficulty, and they reached the Carpathia in the
early dawn. Not many people have gone through such an experience as
those men did, lying all night on an overturned, ill-balanced boat,
and praying together, as they did all the time, for the day and a ship
to take them off.
Some account must now be attempted of the journey of the fleet of
boats to the Carpathia, but it must necessarily be very brief.
Experiences differed considerably: some had no encounters at all with
icebergs, no lack of men to row, discovered lights and food and water,
were picked up after only a few hours’ exposure, and suffered very
little discomfort; others seemed to see icebergs round them all night
long and to be always rowing round them; others had so few men
aboard—in some cases only two or three—that ladies had to row and in
one case to steer, found no lights, food or water, and were adrift
many hours, in some cases nearly eight.
The first boat to be picked up by the Carpathia was one in charge of
Mr. Boxhall. There was only one other man rowing and ladies worked at
the oars. A green light burning in this boat all night was the
greatest comfort to the rest of us who had nothing to steer by:
although it meant little in the way of safety in itself, it was a
point to which we could look. The green light was the first intimation
Captain Rostron had of our position, and he steered for it and picked
up its passengers first.
Mr. Pitman was sent by First Officer Murdock in charge of boat 5, with
forty passengers and five of the crew. It would have held more, but no
women could be found at the time it was lowered. Mr. Pitman says that
after leaving the ship he felt confident she would float and they
would all return. A passenger in this boat relates that men could not
be induced to embark when she went down, and made appointments for the
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