Voices from the Titanic (38 page)

The Allan liner
Tunisian
on arriving at Liverpool yesterday from Canada reported that on Saturday midnight she spoke to the
Titanic
by wireless, sending the message: ‘Good luck!'

To this the reply came: ‘Many thanks, goodbye.'

The
Tunisian
, when 887 miles east of St John's, entered a huge icefield, through which she carefully picked her way for 24 hours, then stopped all night, and eventually turned 60 miles south. No fewer than 200 icebergs were seen.

The commander was on the bridge for a 36 hours' spell.

Still another wireless message from the
Titanic
was received on Sunday at 9pm by the United States Hydrographic Office at Baltimore. This read:

‘German steamer
Amerika
reports passing two large icebergs, latitude 41.27, longitude 50.8.'

The wireless operator of the cable steamer
Minia
reports having received a message announcing that 250 of the
Titanic
's passengers are on board the
Baltic
.

The message did not come from the
Baltic
direct, and the name of the steamer through which this news was re-transmitted is not known, but the same message states that the
Carpathia
had 760 survivors on board.

Captain De Carteret, of the
Minia
, confirms the operator's report about the picking up of the message, but does not vouch for its authenticity.

It should be added that it is not credited in New York.

A cablegram from Montreal received in London last night by the Allan Line says that the
Parisian
is delayed by fog. The captain reports that no
Titanic
passengers are on board, and he thinks that all the survivors are on board the
Carpathia
.

Captain Haddock, the commander of the
Olympic
, has sent to New York the following wireless message:

‘Please allay rumours that the
Virginian
has any of the
Titanic
's passengers. The
Tunisian
also has none, and I believe the only survivors are those on board the
Carpathia
.

‘The Second, Third, Fourth and Fifth Officers and the second Marconi operator are the only officers reported to have been saved.'

(
Daily Graphic
, 18 April 1912)

Southampton, Wednesday night The shadow of death has hung over Southampton today like a black thunder cloud.

As the hours passed from dawn to midday-gloom of the eclipse, and soon to sunset and night, it ever became lower and blacker. In Canute Road, that street of tragedy, a common grief has made us all friends. Those who come and go from the White Star offices are questioned with pathetic eagerness. Four times today one woman, who has kept vigil with two tiny children for eight hours, asked me for news.

‘Is there any hope?' she pleaded a few minutes ago. ‘They must know something, those gentlemen in the office.'

‘They know nothing,' I said. ‘The moment they do they will tell you.'

She gave a pitiful little moan and turned away.

Early this afternoon the White Star Company, to obviate any danger of a crush when the names arrived, put up a great board outside the offices, and the centre of interest was immediately transferred here. From the dock gates a great crowd of men, women, and children hurried eagerly down the road. Something was being done. There must be news. But still the hours passed and the board remained bare. As afternoon grew to dusk an electric light was attached, and a shudder went round. ‘It isn't coming till tonight, that message,' cried an elderly woman, and suddenly fell fainting.

Canute Road is dark now. The boys selling papers disturb a tragic stillness. No one speaks aloud near the fateful board. The looming shadow of death awes everyone to a whisper, but the tragedy is not over yet. We still wait. We still hope.

At the White Star offices in Cockspur Street there was again a steady stream of inquirers yesterday. Women in furs and velvet rubbed shoulders with others whose clothes were almost thread-bare. They were united in the common anxiety.

The clerks at the counter were seldom appealed to. The callers simply walked up to the notice board, and when they saw that no fresh news had come through they sat down to wait. Outside in Cockspur Street the police kept a large crowd on the move.

As soon as the City offices of the line were opened yesterday the telephone bell began ringing, and the clerks' voices were heard repeating again and again the sad and by now monotonous phrase, ‘His name is not on the list.'

On the desks were to be seen prepaid telegraph forms, already filled in, which the officials, who throughout have shown the utmost sympathy with inquirers, had undertaken to dispatch directly the required name was received as that of a survivor.

(
Daily Graphic
, 18 April 1912)

A peculiarly sad phase of the
Titanic
disaster is the number of honeymoon couples or newly married people on board. Among these were:

Col. and Mrs J. J. Astor, who were returning from their honeymoon tour in Egypt. Mrs Astor is reported to have been saved, while her husband is among the missing.

Mr and Mrs D. W. Marvin, returning to America after a three months' honeymoon tour in England. Mrs Marvin was rescued, but her husband, the son of the head of a large cinematograph firm, is believed to have drowned.

Mr and Mrs Beane, married at Norwich three days before
Titanic
sailed. Both saved.

Mr Sedgwick, an engineer, of St Helens, Lancs, married a week before leaving England to take up an appointment in South America. His bride was to have followed later. Not in the list of survivors.

Mr and Mrs McNamee, married a month ago, and neither in the list of survivors. Mr McNamee, one of the branch managers of Liptons, was on his way to take up a post in New York.

Mr and Mrs Marshall, on a honeymoon trip to California. Mr Marshall was a partner in a big boot business in Scotland.

Mr Alfred Davis [sic], of West Bromwich, married two days before the boat left. He was accompanied by his brother and his brother-in-law.

The Rev T. R. D. Byles, of Leeds, sailed in the
Titanic
for the purpose of officiating at the wedding of his brother which had been arranged to take place in New York on Sunday.

(
Nottingham Evening News
, 18 April 1912)

New York, 18 April

‘The
Carpathia
is a ship of sorrow, with a company almost mad with grief,' said Mr Franklin, Vice-President of White Star Line today at noon, after having received messages from the Cunarder which is bringing to this city the survivors of the
Titanic
.

‘Definite information,' said Mr Franklin, ‘concerning the sinking of the vessel is absolutely unavailable. Many messages have been sent to the
Carpathia
, but we could get no response to our inquiries.

‘I have received absolutely no details of the actual loss of the vessel, and we know nothing about what has happened, except such scrappy information as has been contained in the few authentic wireless messages received and already made public.

‘Everyone on board the
Carpathia
is so overcome that no connected story can be obtained. I have had a code message from Mr Bruce Ismay but it relates to business and throws no light whatever on the tragedy.

‘It has been stated that Mr Ismay would probably return by the
Cedric
, which now will sail tomorrow, instead of today, but I have no reason to believe that he intends to sail on the
Cedric
.'

(
Daily Chronicle
, 19 April 1912)

Lifted from the gates of death, the 705 survivors of the
Titanic
were landed last night by the
Carpathia
, which rescued them two hours and a half after the great White Star liner hurled itself against an iceberg last Sunday night. Disfigured by calamity and misery and oppressed by awful sorrow the women and children and the few men who escaped from the world's greatest marine disaster were in better physical condition than the most optimistic had hoped for.

Out of the great company that waited for hours in bitter cold among the grinding bergs, many of them thinly clad, many bruised and hurt by the collision which destroyed their ship, few needed the ministrations of physicians when they came out in sight of the vast crowd that had been waiting in almost unbearable uncertainty. Many, it is true, were weak and nervous and hysterical from an experience that had left the world cold and empty for them. But – and thousands thanked God for it as they watched – the majority of the saddened, bereaved company were well in body.

The unhappy company so marvellously torn from the grip of the sea was received solemnly and with remarkable quiet by the enormous crowd which gathered near the Cunard piers and by the few hundreds that penetrated by right of relation or friendship of merciful business to the interior of the pier. There was no cheering, no upraising of voices in salute of the living, for the thought of the dead was in their minds.

Only one of the
Titanic
's survivors died while the
Carpathia
was driving through fogs and storms to this port.

The tragedy of the
Titanic
was written on the faces of nearly all of her survivors. Some, it is true, who were saved with their families, could not repress the joy and thankfulness that filled their hearts, but they were very few compared to the number of the rescued. These others bore the impress of their time of darkness when their people passed in an accident that seemed like an insane vision of the night. Their faces were swollen with weeping. They had drunk as deeply of sorrow as is ever given to human-kind. But many, whose spirits were fainting from despair, walked firmly enough down the gangplank.

It was with difficulty that the tongues of many were loosened to speak of the scenes of agony and fear that fell over the
Titanic
's peaceful company when it became swiftly known that the ship must go down. Some told haltingly, with dread still frozen in their eyes, of men who strove and struggled against women for the lifeboats and of officers shooting them down.

One woman saw an officer shoot two men, she said, and other passengers recalled how officers had stood with drawn pistols while the women and children were being guided into the boats. No one seemed to know of the exact fate of the
Titanic
's captain, E.J. Smith. There was a story that he had committed suicide, but the
Carpathia
's passengers did not know that was true.

(
New York Call
, 19 April 1912)

New York

At 8.20 p.m. last night the
Carpathia
had arrived opposite her dock. It was a wild night outside the harbour and a heavy fog hung over the bay as the rescue ship hurried up the channel. It was raining drearily, and at intervals lightning lit up the big vessel with vivid flashes.

The crowd began to gather in the vicinity of the Cunard docks before dark, and as the hours wore on it became larger and larger.

Police Insp. McCluskey was in command, and he had at his disposal 300 men. Ropes were stretched across all the streets leading to the pier and the crowd was halted at Eleventh Avenue. Eleventh, Twelfth, Thirteenth and Fourteenth streets were blocked off.

Inside of the lines were grouped many automobiles, ambulances, and patrol wagons in readiness for use.

Relatives of the survivors gathered on the pier early. By direction of the Customs men, they arranged themselves in alphabetical sections so that there would be no confusion.

It was a sorrowful assembly. There was little talking and the only noise was the beating of the rain on the covered roof and the swishing of the tide as it ran strongly into the great slips on each side.

In one corner was a little knot of embalmers, sent under orders. White-uniformed ambulance surgeons were scattered here and there, their cases of instruments in their hands, prepared to minister to any sufferer.

When the news came that the
Carpathia
had passed the Battery, there was an air of tense expectancy, but no one moved from the place assigned to them.

Half a hundred black-garbed Sisters of Mercy were in the fore-front of the crowd. There were a score of priests.

At 9.55 the first passenger walked down the gang plank. Three women were first off
Carpathia
. They did not wait for the boat to stop, but climbed down ladders and went through the freight elevator.

After the women came a sailor. He was followed by a man in a big brown raincoat and a soft hat. Next came a woman, who looked around as if startled. Then she screamed several times: ‘Helen, Helen.'

Then followed other survivors. It was plain from the appearance of the survivors that they had lost all their clothing and had been fitted by the
Carpathia
's passengers. Clothes did not fit and in many instances women wore sweaters. One wore an opera hat on her head and an old skirt that had several rents in it. She was immediately surrounded by several fashionably dressed women who assisted her from the dock.

Two women apparently violently insane were carried from the steamer, while there were scores of women in a state of coma and plainly mentally unsettled.

People on the dock surged forward as soon as the plank was made fast and the police were forced literally to fight them back. Most of the passengers who came now were plainly hysterical.

When Mrs John Jacob Astor left the ship she was at once taken in charge by the family physician, members of her family and the Astor family. She was assisted into an automobile and driven to the Astor home on Fifth Avenue. Mrs Astor left the automobile and walked into the house, unassisted. Once within the house, it was reported at midnight by members of the family that she collapsed, but rallied in a few moments.