Unsinkable: The Full Story of the RMS Titanic (22 page)

Embarrassed, Mr. Smith stepped between them, saying, “Never mind, Captain, I’ll see that she gets in a boat.” Then taking his wife by the arm, he guided her down the Boat Deck, explaining, “I never expected to ask you to obey, but this is one time I must. It is only a matter of form to have women and children first. The ship is thoroughly equipped and everyone on her will be saved.” They stopped by Boat 6 and Mrs. Smith asked him if he was being completely truthful. He said yes, they kissed, then she climbed into the boat.

There were sons who sometimes had to be as firm as husbands. When Alexander Compton heard his mother exclaim that she would sooner stay behind than leave her son, he brought her over to Boat 14 and told her, “Don’t be foolish, Mother. You and Sara go in the boat—I’ll look out for myself.” Mrs. Compton gave in and the two women climbed into the boast.
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Some women simply refused to get into the boats without their husbands. Mrs. Hudson Allison clung fiercely to Mr. Allison, and nothing would change her mind. Together they stood on the starboard side of the Boat Deck, their daughter Lorraine sheltered from the cold in her mother’s skirts. Further aft, unknown to the Allisons, their nurse, Alice Cleaver, had managed to get into Boat 11 with the Allison’s infant son Trevor. Alice had deliberately separated Trevor from his parents in an act of desperation: she was terrified that her past, which she had concealed from the Allisons, would catch up to her, and she would be dismissed and then deported from Canada, where she was hoping to make a new life in the Allisons’ service. Three years earlier she had been convicted of murdering her own infant son. After being released on the grounds that it had been an act of desperation after being deserted by her common-law husband, Alice Cleaver had falsely presented herself as a trained nurse to gain her employment with the Allisons. As long as little Trevor remained in her custody, she convinced herself, her situation remained secure, and she would do whatever it took to keep him with her, even if it meant abandoning the rest of the family.
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Despite the new sense of urgency, there still hung over the ship an almost haunting air of formality, as if the manners and genteel conduct of polite Edwardian society were expected even in this eventuality. Miss Marie Young, who had once been the music governess to Theodore Roosevelt’s children, was escorted to Boat 8 by Major Butt who, she later recalled, “wrapped blankets about me and tucked me in as carefully as if we were going on a motor ride.” He then stepped back, and lifting his hat to her, gave her a message for his family. “Goodbye, Miss Young. Good luck to you, and don’t forget to remember me to the folks back home.” Young Victor de Satode Penasco carefully gave his seventeen-year-old bride into the care of the Countess of Rothes, who saw the girl safely into Boat 8.

“The whole thing was so formal,” Mrs. J. J. Brown would later tell the New York Times, “that it was difficult for anyone to realize it was a tragedy. Men and women stood in little groups and talked. Some laughed as the first boats went over the side. All the time the band was playing.... I can see the men up on deck tucking in the women and smiling. It was a strange night. It all seemed like a play, like a dream that was being executed for entertainment. It did not seem real. Men would say ‘After you’ as they made some woman comfortable and stepped back.”
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Sarah Daniels, Mrs. Allison’s maid, had no sooner come on deck than a seaman took her arm and pulled her toward Boat 8. She had returned to the Allison’s cabin on C Deck to persuade Mr. Allison of the seriousness of the situation, but instead all she received for her efforts was an upbraiding from him for disturbing the family a second time. Now as the sailor was helping her into the boat, she began to protest, saying that she must look after her employer’s family. Only when the man assured her he would see to the Allisons’ safety did she relent and climb in the boat. Sarah had no idea that the Allisons were just a few yards away on the other side of the Boat Deck, nor that she would never see them again.
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Quickly now the boats began to fill with women, wives being escorted by their husbands, single women by gentlemen who had offered their services to “unprotected ladies” at the beginning of the voyage. It was this convention that saw Mrs. William Graham, her daughter Margaret, and Margaret’s governess, Elizabeth Shutes, brought up to Boat 8 by Howard Case, the London manager of Vacuum Oil, and Washington Augustus Roebling, the president of the steel-making firm. Likewise, Clinch Smith was careful to see Con-stance Willard safely into Boat 8, while Martin Gallagher was shepherding Mary Glynn into Boat 13.

Colonel Gracie was a busy man: Mrs. E. D. Appleton, Mrs. R. C. Cornell, Mrs. J. Murray Brown, and Miss Edith Evans were all under his care, and he couldn’t find any of them. Perhaps he was too distracted by his search for Mrs. Candee, who he was also unable to find.

When Edward Kent found Mrs. Candee shortly after the collision, she had given him an ivory miniature of her mother for safekeeping and assured him that she was all right. A short time later Hugh Woolner and Bjorn Stef fanson, the dashing Swedish army lieutenant, escorted her into Boat 6. As the boat was being lowered Woolner waved goodbye and assured her that he and Lieutenant Steffanson would be waiting to assist her back on board as soon as the Titanic “steadied herself.” Moments later Colonel Gracie, along with Clinch Smith, rushed up, still looking for Mrs. Candee, and Woolner promptly informed them that the lady had already been seen safely into a boat. Gracie nodded absently, then rushed off to look for the rest of his charges.
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The slant of the decks began to grow more ominous as the bow continued to fill. Gus Cohen went forward to fetch his few valuables from his Third Class cabin on D Deck and found his room already under water. The same thing happened to Celiney Yasbeck. Lightoller was using a long, narrow staircase that ran along the funnel trunking from the Boat Deck down to E Deck—it was an emergency escape route for the boiler room crew—to gauge how fast the ship was sinking: the foot of the staircase was completely under water and the sea was rising past D Deck. It made for an eerie sight: the lights, enclosed in protective waterproof housings, still glowed brightly under the rising water. To Lightoller, time was getting short.
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Thomas Andrews clearly was of the same mind. Moving from boat to boat, always with a sense of quiet urgency he continued to yell for the women to hurry, repeating to them, “Ladies, you must get in at once! There is not a moment to lose! You cannot pick and choose your boat! Don’t hesitate, get in!” His exasperation was understandable. At Boat 9 an elderly lady caused a scene as she was being helped into the boat by pulling away from her assistants and running away from the boat altogether. Steward Witter tried helping a woman into Boat 11, but the woman became hysterical, lost her footing, and knocked Witter into the boat, falling heavily on top of him. While waiting to climb into Boat 8 a young girl suddenly cried out, “I’ve forgotten Jack’s picture! I must go back and get it!” Despite the protests of the those around her she quickly ran below, returning moments later, picture clutched in her hands, to be unceremoniously hustled into the lifeboat.
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On the port side, at Boat 6, Major Peuchen had lent a hand clearing away the mast and spars, then stepped back onto the deck. Lightoller quickly put all the women he could into the boat, put quartermaster Hitchens in charge and at 12:55 ordered it lowered. One of the women who hadn’t yet made up her mind about getting into a boat was Molly Brown, who was standing to one side watching Boat 6 being put down. Suddenly she felt a pair of strong hands on her shoulders and heard someone she couldn’t see saying “You are going, too.” Propelled forward, speechless for probably the only time in her life, Mrs. Brown abruptly dropped four feet into the slowly descending lifeboat.

Lightoller turned toward Boat 8, then spun around again as a woman’s voice called up from Boat 6, “We’ve only one seaman in the boat!”

Lightoller was short of seamen, and had none to spare for Boat 6, so he called into the crowd, “Any seamen there?” Major Peuchen, stepped forward.

“I will go, if you like,” he said.

“Are you a seaman?”

“I am a yachtsman.”

“Well, if you’re seaman enough to get out on that fall, you can go.” At that, Major Peuchen climbed over the railing, leaned out to catch the forward fall and lowered himself down into Boat 6. Once he had reached the boat, Hitchens told him to find the drain plug and make sure it was tapped firmly in place. While Peuchen was fumbling about in the dark at the bottom of the boat, Hitchens shouted, “Hurry up! This boat is going to founder!” Peuchen thought he meant the lifeboat—Hitchens meant the
Titanic.
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Lightoller’s shortage of proper seamen had come about because of a plan to have some of the portside boats stand by the lower gangways after they were lowered, and complete the loading from there: Lightoller, it seems, was as concerned about the lifeboats buckling while being lowered as Murdoch, and just as much in the dark about the Harland and Wolff tests. Ismay could have informed the Second Officer that the boats were tested and sound, as could Andrews, but Ismay was on the other side of the Boat Deck and Andrews was somewhere farther aft, so Lightoller went ahead and sent the boat away only half-filled.

The idea of loading passengers from the gangways never had a chance: the boats that were supposed to stand by instead rowed off into the darkness, and the gangway doors were never opened. When a number of passengers went down to one of the gangways to be used on C Deck, they nearly became trapped there when a crewman who didn’t know of the plan locked a companionway door behind them. Fortunately they were released a few moments later, but it had been a terrifying experience.

Something similar must have happened to a group of a half-dozen seamen, led by “Big Neck” Nichols, the bosun. They were sent below by Lightoller to open the gangway doors and were never seen again. This was a grievous loss to Lightoller, who was forced to start rationing his remaining crewmen.

Victorine Chandowson, the Ryersons’ maid, was nearly trapped in the same way. Returning to her cabin, she had been hurriedly gathering up her few valuables when she suddenly heard the “click” of a key turning in her cabin door: a steward was locking the doors to prevent looting and didn’t know she was inside. Her shriek of terror kept the man from locking her in. Enough was enough, she decided, and empty handed she ran back up to the Boat Deck.
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The starboard side of the Boat Deck seemed less frantic. The band had come out on deck, still playing dance tunes. One passenger was overheard remarking that he had been told by an officer that the ship wouldn’t sink for at least eight or ten hours, and by then the Titanic would be ringed by rescue ships. While Lightoller was strictly enforcing the Captain’s “Women and children first” order on the port side, on the starboard side First Officer Murdoch was a little more accommodating: women and children first, then if there were no more ladies, married couples and single men. Mrs. Graham watched as Henry Harper carefully climbed into Boat 3, accompanied by not only his valet and his dragoman, but Harper was also carrying his Pekinese, Sun Yat Sen. At 1:00 A.M. Boat 3 was lowered, with the same jerky motion that Boat 5 had experienced. Like Boat 5, Boat 3 had a capacity of sixty-five persons, but also like Boat 5, she was loaded with less than half that number.
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Right aft, down on E Deck, a growing crowd of Third Class passengers gathered at the foot of the main steerage staircase, which led to the after well deck. They had been there ever since their stewards had begun rousing them shortly after midnight. At first the crowd consisted of mainly families and single women but its ranks were soon swelled by growing numbers of single men and married couples fleeing the rapidly flooding Third Class accommodations forward. As the crowd grew so did the noise, and a rising babel of voices speaking a half dozen different languages made it difficult for the stewards to relay instructions. Interpreter Muller was doing his best with the Germans and Scandinavians, but it was slow going.

The rising clamor attracted the attention of Minnie Coutts. A young mother traveling in Third Class with her two small boys, eleven-year-old William and eight-year-old Leslie, to join her husband in New York, she had felt only the slightest tremor when the Titanic hit the iceberg and paid little attention to it. It was not until the mass exodus of steerage passengers from up forward began passing her cabin that she took notice and became somewhat alarmed. Careful not to disturb her sons, who were fast asleep, she stepped out into the corridor and stopped a passing steward, inquiring about the cause of the commotion and was told that the ship was in no danger. Nearly an hour would pass before another steward finally came along with the order for everyone to put on their lifebelts.

At this Mrs. Coutts found herself in an awkward strait: there were only two lifebelts in her cabin, and she couldn’t find a third, since all of the other Third Class passengers seemed to be looking for lifebelts as well. She began frantically asking every person who passed by if they knew of any extra lifebelts, but no one did. One crewman frankly informed her that there were no extra lifebelts available anywhere. In the hope that something would turn up, she quickly dressed her sons, strapping a lifebelt onto each of them, then stepped back out in the corridor and ran into the same crewman who had just moments before told her there were no more lifebelts. Desperately she explained her predicament and this time the man calmly replied, “Follow me.”

He led the three of them forward through a maze of passageways, through First Class and into the crews’ quarters. There, he took his own lifebelt, fastened it around her and said quietly, “There, now, if the ship goes down, you’ll remember me.” Minnie asked if the situation was really that dangerous and the crewman replied that it was. He then gave her directions to the boat deck and left.