The Loss of the S.S. Titanic by Lawrence Beesley (readnow .txt) 📖

THE COLLISION AND EMBARKATION IN LIFEBOATS

I had been fortunate enough to secure a two-berth cabin to myself,—D

56,—quite close to the saloon and most convenient in every way for

getting about the ship; and on a big ship like the Titanic it was

quite a consideration to be on D deck, only three decks below the top

or boatdeck. Below D again were cabins on E and F decks, and to walk

from a cabin on F up to the top deck, climbing five flights of stairs

on the way, was certainly a considerable task for those not able to

take much exercise. The Titanic management has been criticised, among

other things, for supplying the boat with lifts: it has been said they

were an expensive luxury and the room they took up might have been

utilized in some way for more lifesaving appliances. Whatever else

may have been superfluous, lifts certainly were not: old ladies, for

example, in cabins on F deck, would hardly have got to the top deck

during the whole voyage had they not been able to ring for the

lift-boy. Perhaps nothing gave one a greater impression of the size of

the ship than to take the lift from the top and drop slowly down past

the different floors, discharging and taking in passengers just as in

a large hotel. I wonder where the lift-boy was that night. I would

have been glad to find him in our boat, or on the Carpathia when we

took count of the saved. He was quite young,—not more than sixteen, I

think,—a bright-eyed, handsome boy, with a love for the sea and the

games on deck and the view over the ocean—and he did not get any of

them. One day, as he put me out of his lift and saw through the

vestibule windows a game of deck quoits in progress, he said, in a

wistful tone, “My! I wish I could go out there sometimes!” I wished he

could, too, and made a jesting offer to take charge of his lift for an

hour while he went out to watch the game; but he smilingly shook his

head and dropped down in answer to an imperative ring from below. I

think he was not on duty with his lift after the collision, but if he

were, he would smile at his passengers all the time as he took them up

to the boats waiting to leave the sinking ship.

After undressing and climbing into the top berth, I read from about

quarter-past eleven to the time we struck, about quarter to twelve.

During this time I noticed particularly the increased vibration of the

ship, and I assumed that we were going at a higher speed than at any

other time since we sailed from Queenstown. Now I am aware that this

is an important point, and bears strongly on the question of

responsibility for the effects of the collision; but the impression of

increased vibration is fixed in my memory so strongly that it seems

important to record it. Two things led me to this conclusion—first,

that as I sat on the sofa undressing, with bare feet on the floor, the

jar of the vibration came up from the engines below very noticeably;

and second, that as I sat up in the berth reading, the spring mattress

supporting me was vibrating more rapidly than usual: this cradle-like

motion was always noticeable as one lay in bed, but that night there

was certainly a marked increase in the motion. Referring to the plan,

[Footnote: See Figure 2, page 116.] it will be seen that the vibration

must have come almost directly up from below, when it is mentioned

that the saloon was immediately above the engines as shown in the

plan, and my cabin next to the saloon. From these two data, on the

assumption that greater vibration is an indication of higher

speed,—and I suppose it must be,—then I am sure we were going faster

that night at the time we struck the iceberg than we had done before,

i.e., during the hours I was awake and able to take note of anything.

And then, as I read in the quietness of the night, broken only by the

muffled sound that came to me through the ventilators of stewards

talking and moving along the corridors, when nearly all the passengers

were in their cabins, some asleep in bed, others undressing, and

others only just down from the smoking-room and still discussing many

things, there came what seemed to me nothing more than an extra heave

of the engines and a more than usually obvious dancing motion of the

mattress on which I sat. Nothing more than that—no sound of a crash

or of anything else: no sense of shock, no jar that felt like one

heavy body meeting another. And presently the same thing repeated with

about the same intensity. The thought came to me that they must have

still further increased the speed. And all this time the Titanic was

being cut open by the iceberg and water was pouring in her side, and

yet no evidence that would indicate such a disaster had been presented

to us. It fills me with astonishment now to think of it. Consider the

question of list alone. Here was this enormous vessel running

starboard-side on to an iceberg, and a passenger sitting quietly in

bed, reading, felt no motion or list to the opposite or port side, and

this must have been felt had it been more than the usual roll of the

ship—never very much in the calm weather we had all the way. Again,

my bunk was fixed to the wall on the starboard side, and any list to

port would have tended to fling me out on the floor: I am sure I

should have noted it had there been any. And yet the explanation is

simple enough: the Titanic struck the berg with a force of impact of

over a million foot-tons; her plates were less than an inch thick, and

they must have been cut through as a knife cuts paper: there would be

no need to list; it would have been better if she had listed and

thrown us out on the floor, for it would have been an indication that

our plates were strong enough to offer, at any rate, some resistance

to the blow, and we might all have been safe to-day.

And so, with no thought