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Learning JavaScript Data Structures and Algorithms 2nd
Edition Loiane Groner Digital Instant Download
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Exploring the Variety of Random
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transferred, and finally put aboard the Carpathia, but which was not
Phillips’.
Lightoller testified: “I think there were three or four who died during
the night aboard our boat. The Marconi junior operator told me that
the senior operator was on this boat and died, presumably from
cold.”
But the uncommunicative little member of the crew beside me did
not seem to suffer much. He was like a number of others who were
possessed of hats or caps—his was an outing cap; while those who
sank under water had lost them. The upper part of his body
appeared to be comparatively dry; so I believe he and some others
escaped being drawn under with the Titanic by clinging to the
Engelhardt boat from the outset when it parted company with the
ship and was washed from the deck by the “giant wave.” He seemed
so dry and comfortable while I felt so damp in my waterlogged
clothing, my teeth chattering and my hair wet with the icy water,
that I ventured to request the loan of his dry cap to warm my head
for a short while. “And what wad oi do?” was his curt reply. “Ah,
never mind,” said I, as I thought it would make no difference a
hundred years hence. Poor chap, it would seem that all his
possessions were lost when his kit went down with the ship. Not far
from me and on the starboard side was a more loquacious member
of the crew. I was not near enough, however, to him to indulge in
any imaginary warmth from the fumes of the O-be-joyful spirits
which he gave unmistakable evidence of having indulged in before
leaving the ship. Most of the conversation, as well as excitement,
came from behind me, astern. The names of other survivors who,
besides those mentioned, escaped on the same nearly submerged
life craft with me are recorded in the history of Boat B in Chapter V,
which contains the results of my research work in regard thereto.
After we paddled away free from the wreckage and swimmers in the
water that surrounded us, our undivided attention until the dawn of
the next day was concentrated upon scanning the horizon in every
direction for the lights of a ship that might rescue us before the sea
grew rougher, for the abnormal conditions of wind and weather that
prevailed that night were the causes of the salvation, as well as the
destruction, of those aboard this ill-fated vessel. The absolute calm
of the sea, while it militated against the detection of the iceberg in
our path, at the same time made it possible for all of the lifeboats
lowered from the davits to make their long and dangerous descent
to the water without being smashed against the sides of the ship, or
swamped by the waves breaking against them, for, notwithstanding
newspaper reports to the contrary, there appears no authentic
testimony of any survivor showing that any loaded boat in the act of
being lowered was capsized or suffered injury. On the other hand,
we have the positive statements accounting for each individual
boatload, showing that every one of them was thus lowered in
safety. But it was this very calm of the sea, as has been said, which
encompassed the destruction of the ship. The beatings of the waves
against the iceberg’s sides usually give audible warning miles away
to the approaching vessel, while the white foam at the base, due to
the same cause, is also discernible. But in our case the beautiful
star-lit night and cloudless sky, combined with the glassy sea, further
facilitated the iceberg’s approach without detection, for no
background was afforded against which to silhouette the deadly
outline of this black appearing Protean monster which only looks
white when the sun is shining upon it.
All experienced navigators of the northern seas, as I am informed on
the highest authority, knowing the dangers attending such
conditions, invariably take extra precautions to avoid disaster. The
Titanic’s officers were no novices, and were well trained in the
knowledge of this and all other dangers of the sea. From the Captain
down, they were the pick of the best that the White Star Line had in
its employ. Our Captain, Edward J. Smith, was the one always
selected to “try out” each new ship of the Line, and was regarded,
with his thirty-eight years of service in the company, as both safe
and competent. Did he take any precautions for safety, in view of
the existing dangerous conditions? Alas! no! as appears from the
testimony in regard thereto, taken before the Investigating
Committee and Board in America and in England which we review in
another chapter. And yet, warnings had been received on the
Titanic’s bridge from six different neighboring ships, one in fact
definitely locating the latitude and longitude where the iceberg was
encountered, and that too at a point of time calculated by one of the
Titanic’s officers. Who can satisfactorily explain this heedlessness of
danger?
It was shortly after we had emerged from the horrible scene of men
swimming in the water that I was glad to notice the presence among
us on the upturned boat of the same officer with whom all my work
that night and all my experience was connected in helping to load
and lower the boats on the Titanic’s Boat Deck and Deck “A.” I
identified him at once by his voice and his appearance, but his name
was not learned until I met him again later in my cabin on board the
Carpathia—Charles H. Lightoller. For what he did on the ship that
night whereby six or more boatloads of women and children were
saved and discipline maintained aboard ship, as well as on the
Engelhardt upturned boat, he is entitled to honor and the thanks of
his own countrymen and of us Americans as well. As soon as he was
recognized, the loquacious member of the crew astern, already
referred to, volunteered in our behalf and called out to him “We will
all obey what the officer orders.” The result was at once noticeable.
The presence of a leader among us was now felt, and lent us
purpose and courage. The excitement at the stern was
demonstrated by the frequent suggestion of, “Now boys, all
together”; and then in unison we shouted, “Boat ahoy! Boat ahoy!”
This was kept up for some time until it was seen to be a mere waste
of strength. So it seemed to me, and I decided to husband mine and
make provision for what the future, or the morrow, might require.
After a while Lightoller, myself and others managed with success to
discourage these continuous shouts regarded as a vain hope of
attracting attention.
When the presence of the Marconi boy at the stern was made
known, Lightoller called out, from his position in the bow, questions
which all of us heard, as to the names of the steamships with which
he had been in communication for assistance. We on the boat recall
the names mentioned by Bride—the Baltic, Olympic and Carpathia. It
was then that the Carpathia’s name was heard by us for the first
time, and it was to catch sight of this sturdy little Cunarder that we
strained our eyes in the direction whence she finally appeared.
We had correctly judged that most of the lights seen by us belonged
to our own Titanic’s lifeboats, but Lightoller and all of us were badly
fooled by the green-colored lights and rockets directly ahead of us,
which loomed up especially bright at intervals. This, as will be
noticed in a future chapter, was Third Officer Boxhall’s Emergency
Boat No. 2. We were assured that these were the lights of a ship
and were all glad to believe it. There could be no mistake about it
and our craft was navigated toward it as fast as its propelling
conditions made possible; but it did not take long for us to realize
that this light, whatever it was, was receding instead of approaching
us.
Some of our boatmates on the Titanic’s decks had seen the same
white light to which I have already made reference in Chapter II,
and the argument was now advanced that it must have been a
sailing ship, for a steamer would have soon come to our rescue; but
a sailing ship would be prevented by wind, or lack of facilities in
coming to our aid. I imagined that it was the lights of such a ship
that we again saw on our port side astern in the direction where,
when dawn broke, we saw the icebergs far away on the horizon.
Some time before dawn a call came from the stern of the boat,
“There is a steamer coming behind us.” At the same time a warning
cry was given that we should not all look back at once lest the
equilibrium of our precarious craft might be disturbed. Lightoller took
in the situation and called out, “All you men stand steady and I will
be the one to look astern.” He looked, but there was no responsive
chord that tickled our ears with hope.
PASSENGERS OF THE OLYMPIC AWAITING EVENTS—AN UNUSUAL VIEW OF FOUR
 OF HER DECKS

The incident just described happened when we were all standing up,
facing forward in column, two abreast. Some time before this, for
some undefined reason, Lightoller had asked the question, “How
many are there of us on this boat?” and someone answered “thirty,
sir.” All testimony on the subject establishes this number. I may cite
Lightoller, who testified: “I should roughly estimate about thirty. She
was packed standing from stem to stern at daylight. We took all on
board that we could. I did not see any effort made by others to get
aboard. There were a great number of people in the water but not
near us. They were some distance away from us.”
Personally, I could not look around to count, but I know that forward
of me there were eight and counting myself and the man abreast
would make two more. As every bit of room on the Engelhardt
bottom was occupied and as the weight aboard nearly submerged it,
I believe that more than half our boatload was behind me. There is a
circumstance that I recall which further establishes how closely
packed we were. When standing up I held on once or twice to the
life-preserver on the back of my boatmate in front in order to
balance myself. At the same time and in the same way the man in
my rear held on to me. This procedure, being objectionable to those
concerned, was promptly discontinued.
It was at quite an early stage that I had seen far in the distance the
unmistakable mast lights of a steamer about four or five points away
on the port side, as our course was directed toward the green-
colored lights of the imaginary ship which we hoped was coming to
our rescue, but which, in fact, was the already-mentioned Titanic
lifeboat of Officer Boxhall. I recall our anxiety, as we had no lights,
that this imaginary ship might not see us and might run over our
craft and swamp us. But my eyes were fixed for hours that night on
the lights of that steamer, far away in the distance, which afterwards
proved to be those of the Carpathia. To my great disappointment,
they seemed to make no progress towards us to our rescue. This we
were told later was due to meeting an iceberg as she was
proceeding full speed toward the scene of the Titanic’s wreck. She
had come to a stop in sight of the lights of our lifeboats (or such as
had them). The first boat to come to her sides was Boxhall’s with its
green lights. Finally dawn appeared and there on the port side of our
upset boat where we had been looking with anxious eyes, glory be
to God, we saw the steamer Carpathia about four or five miles away,
with other Titanic lifeboats rowing towards her. But on our starboard
side, much to our surprise, for we had seen no lights on that quarter,
were four of the Titanic’s lifeboats strung together in line. These
were respectively Numbers 14, 10, 12 and 4, according to testimony
submitted in our next chapter.
Meantime, the water had grown rougher, and, as previously
described, was washing over the keel and we had to make shift to
preserve the equilibrium. Right glad were all of us on our upturned
boat when in that awful hour the break of day brought this glorious
sight to our eyes. Lightoller put his whistle to his cold lips and blew a
shrill blast, attracting the attention of the boats about half a mile
away. “Come over and take us off,” he cried. “Aye, aye, sir,” was the
ready response as two of the boats cast off from the others and
rowed directly towards us. Just before the bows of the two boats
reached us, Lightoller ordered us not to scramble, but each to take
his turn, so that the transfer might be made in safety. When my turn
came, in order not to endanger the lives of the others, or plunge
them into the sea, I went carefully, hands first, into the rescuing
lifeboat. Lightoller remained to the last, lifting a lifeless body into the
boat beside me. I worked over the body for some time, rubbing the
temples and the wrists, but when I turned the neck it was perfectly
stiff. Recognizing that rigor mortis had set in, I knew the man was
dead. He was dressed like a member of the crew, and I recall that
he wore gray woollen socks. His hair was dark. Our lifeboat was so
crowded that I had to rest on this dead body until we reached the
Carpathia, where he was taken aboard and buried. My efforts to
obtain his name have been exhaustive, but futile. Lightoller was
uncertain as to which one he was of two men he had in mind; but
we both know that it was not the body of Phillips, the senior Marconi
operator. In the lifeboat to which we were transferred were said to
be sixty-five or seventy of us. The number was beyond the limit of
safety. The boat sank low in the water, and the sea now became
rougher. Lightoller assumed the command and steered at the stern. I
was glad to recognize young Thayer amidships. There was a French
woman in the bow near us actively ill but brave and considerate. She
was very kind in loaning an extra steamer rug to Barkworth, by my
side, who shared it with a member of the crew (a fireman perhaps)
and myself. That steamer rug was a great comfort as we drew it
over our heads and huddled close together to obtain some warmth.
For a short time another Titanic lifeboat was towed by ours. My
lifebelt was wet and uncomfortable and I threw it overboard.
Fortunately there was no further need of it for the use intended. I
regret I did not preserve it as a relic. When we were first transferred
and only two of the lifeboats came to our rescue, some took it hard
that the other two did not also come to our relief, when we saw how
few these others had aboard; but the officer in command of them,
whom we afterwards knew as Fifth Officer Lowe, had cleverly rigged
up a sail on his boat and, towing another astern, made his way to
the Carpathia a long time ahead of us, but picked up on his way
other unfortunates in another Engelhardt boat, Boat A, which had
shipped considerable water.
My research, particularly the testimony taken before the Senate
Committee, establishes the identity of the Titanic lifeboats to which,
at daydawn, we of the upset boat were transferred. These were
Boats No. 12 and No. 4. The former was the one that Lightoller,
Barkworth, Thayer, Jr., and myself were in. Frederick Clench, able
seaman, was in charge of this boat, and his testimony, as follows, is
interesting:
“I looked along the water’s edge and saw some men on a raft. Then
I heard two whistles blown. I sang out, ‘Aye, aye, I am coming over,’
and we pulled over and found it was not a raft exactly, but an
overturned boat, and Mr. Lightoller was there on that boat and I
thought the wireless operator, too. We took them on board our boat
and shared the amount of room. They were all standing on the
bottom, wet through apparently. Mr. Lightoller took charge of us.
Then we started ahead for the Carpathia. We had to row a tidy
distance to the Carpathia because there were boats ahead of us and
we had a boat in tow, with others besides all the people we had
aboard. We were pretty well full up before, but the additional ones
taken on made about seventy in our boat.”
This corresponds with Lightoller’s testimony on the same point. He
says:
“I counted sixty-five heads, not including myself, and none that were
in the bottom of the boat. I roughly estimated about seventy-five in
the boat, which was dangerously full, and it was all I could do to
nurse her up to the sea.”
From Steward Cunningham’s testimony I found a corroboration of
my estimate of our distance, at daydawn, from the Carpathia. This
he says “was about four or five miles.”
Another seaman, Samuel S. Hemming, who was in Boat No. 4,
commanded by Quartermaster Perkis, also gave his testimony as
follows:
“As day broke we heard some hollering going on and we saw some
men standing on what we thought was ice about half a mile away,
but we found them on the bottom of an upturned boat. Two boats
cast off and we pulled to them and took them in our two boats.
There were no women or children on this boat, and I heard there
was one dead body. Second Officer Lightoller was on the overturned
boat. He did not get into our boat. Only about four or five got into
ours and the balance of them went into the other boat.”
 THE OVERTURNED ENGELHARDT BOAT B

It seemed to me an interminable time before we reached the

Carpathia. Ranged along her sides were others of the Titanic’s
lifeboats which had been rowed to the Cunarder and had been
emptied of their loads of survivors. In one of these boats on the port
side, standing up, I noticed my friend, Third Officer H. J. Pitman,
with whom I had made my trip eastward on the Atlantic on board
the Oceanic. All along the sides of the Carpathia were strung rope
ladders. There were no persons about me needing my assistance, so
I mounted the ladder, and, for the purpose of testing my strength, I
ran up as fast as I could and experienced no difficulty or feeling of
exhaustion. I entered the first hatchway I came to and felt like
falling down on my knees and kissing the deck in gratitude for the
preservation of my life. I made my way to the second cabin
dispensary, where I was handed a hot drink. I then went to the deck
above and was met with a warm reception in the dining saloon.
Nothing could exceed the kindness of the ladies, who did everything
possible for my comfort. All my wet clothing, overcoat and shoes,
were sent down to the bake-oven to be dried. Being thus in lack of
clothing, I lay down on the lounge in the dining saloon corner to the
right of the entrance under rugs and blankets, waiting for a
complete outfit of dry clothing.
I am particularly grateful to a number of kind people on the
Carpathia who helped replenish my wardrobe, but especially to Mr.
Louis M. Ogden, a family connection and old friend. To Mrs. Ogden
and to Mr. and Mrs. Spedden, who were on the Titanic, and to their
boy’s trained nurse, I am also most grateful. They gave me hot
cordials and hot coffee which soon warmed me up and dispersed the
cold. Among the Carpathia’s passengers, bound for the
Mediterranean, I discovered a number of friends of Mrs. Gracie’s and
mine—Miss K. Steele, sister of Charles Steele, of New York, Mr. and
Mrs. Charles H. Marshall and Miss Marshall, of New York. Leaning
over the rail of the port side I saw anxiously gazing down upon us
many familiar faces of fellow survivors, and, among them, friends
and acquaintances to whom I waved my hand as I stood up in the
bow of my boat. This boat No. 12 was the last to reach the
Carpathia and her passengers transferred about 8.30 a. m.
 CHAPTER VI

THE PORT SIDE: WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST

Foreword

T HE previous chapters, describing my personal experience on

board the Titanic and remarkable escape from death in the icy
waters of the middle Atlantic, were written some months ago.
In the interim I have received the pamphlets, printed in convenient
form, containing the hearings of both the American and British
Courts of Inquiry, and have given them considerable study.
These official sources of information have added materially to my
store of knowledge concerning the shipwreck, and corroborate to a
marked degree the description from my personal viewpoint, all the
salient points of which were written before our arrival in New York,
and on the S. S. Carpathia, under circumstances which will be
related in a future chapter.
During the same interval, by correspondence with survivors and by
reading all available printed matter in books, magazine articles and
newspapers, I have become still more conversant with the story of
this, the greatest of maritime disasters, which caused more
excitement in our country than any other single event that has
occurred in its history within a generation.
The adopted standard by which I propose to measure the truth of all
statements in this book is the evidence obtained from these Courts
of Inquiry, after it has been subjected to careful and impartial
analysis. All accounts of the disaster, from newspapers and individual
sources, for which no basis can be found after submission to this
refining process, will find no place or mention herein. In the
discussion of points of historical interest or of individual conduct,
where such are matters of public record, I shall endeavor to present
them fairly before the reader, who can pass thereon his or her own
opinion after a study of the testimony bearing on both sides of any
controversy. In connection with such discussion where the reflections
cast upon individuals in the sworn testimony of witnesses have
already gained publicity, I claim immunity from any real or imaginary
animadversions which may be provoked by my impartial reference
thereto.
I have already recorded my personal observation of how strictly the
rule of human nature, “Women and Children First,” was enforced on
the port side of the great steamship, whence no man escaped alive
who made his station on this quarter and bade good-bye to wife,
mother or sister.
I have done my best, during the limited time allowed, to exhaust all
the above-defined sources of information, in an effort to preserve as
complete a list as possible of those comrades of mine who, from first
to last, on this port side of the ship, helped to preserve order and
discipline, upholding the courage of women and children, until all the
boats had left the Titanic, and who then sank with the ship when
she went down.
I shall now present the record and story of each lifeboat, on both
port and starboard sides of the ship, giving so far as I have been
able to obtain them the names of persons loaded aboard each boat,
passengers and crew; those picked up out of the water; the
stowaways found concealed beneath the thwarts, and those men
who, without orders, jumped from the deck into boats being
lowered, injuring the occupants and endangering the lives of women
and children. At the same time will be described the conditions
existing when each boat was loaded and lowered, and whatever
incidents occurred in the transfer of passengers to the rescuing
steamer Carpathia.
The general testimony of record, covering the conduct which was
exhibited on the port side of the ship, is contained in the careful
statements of that splendid officer, Charles H. Lightoller, before the
United States Senate Committee: (Am. Inq., p. 88.)
Senator Smith: From what you have said, you discriminated entirely in
the interest of the passengers—first women and children—in filling
these lifeboats?
Mr. Lightoller: Yes, sir.
Senator Smith: Why did you do that? Because of the captain’s orders,
or because of the rule of the sea?
Mr. Lightoller: The rule of human nature.
And also in his testimony before the British Inquiry (p. 71):
“I asked the captain on the Boat Deck, ‘Shall I get women and
children in the boats?’ The captain replied, ‘Yes, and lower away.’ I
was carrying out his orders. I am speaking of the port side of the
ship. I was running the port side only. All the boats on this side were
lowered except the last, which was stowed on top of the officers’
quarters. This was the surf boat—the Engelhardt boat (A). We had
not time to launch it, nor yet to open it.”
(Br. Inq.) “I had no difficulty in filling the boat. The people were
perfectly ready and quiet. There was no jostling or pushing or
crowding whatever. The men all refrained from asserting their
strength and from crowding back the women and children. They
could not have stood quieter if they had been in church.”
And referring to the last boats that left the ship (Br. Inq., p. 83):
“When we were lowering the women, there were any amount of
Americans standing near who gave me every assistance they could.”
The crow’s nest on the foremast was just about level with the water
when the bridge was submerged. The people left on the ship, or that
part which was not submerged, did not make any demonstration.
There was not a sign of any lamentation.
On the port side on deck I can say, as far as my own observations
went, from my own endeavor and that of others to obtain women,
there were none left on the deck.
My testimony on the same point before the United States Senate
Committee (Am. Inq., p. 992) was as follows:
“I want to say that there was nothing but the most heroic conduct
on the part of all men and women at that time where I was at the
bow on the port side. There was no man who asked to get in a boat
with the single exception that I have already mentioned. (Referring
to Col. Astor’s request to go aboard to protect his wife. Am. Inq., p.
991.) No women even sobbed or wrung their hands, and everything
appeared perfectly orderly. Lightoller was splendid in his conduct
with the crew, and the crew did their duty. It seemed to me it was a
little bit more difficult than it should have been to launch the boats
alongside the ship. I do not know the cause of that. I know I had to
use my muscle as best I could in trying to push those boats so as to
get them over the gunwale. I refer to these in a general way as to
its being difficult in trying to lift them and push them over. (As was
the case with the Engelhardt “D.”) The crew, at first, sort of resented
my working with them, but they were very glad when I worked with
them later on. Every opportunity I got to help, I helped.”
How these statements are corroborated by the testimony of others is
recorded in the detailed description of each boat that left the ship on
the port side as follows:

BOAT NO. 6.[6]

 [6] British Report (p. 38) puts this boat first to leave port side at 12.55.
Lightoller’s testimony shows it could not have been the first.

No male passengers.
Passengers: Miss Bowerman, Mrs. J. J. Brown, Mrs. Candee, Mrs.
Cavendish and her maid (Miss Barber), Mrs. Meyer, Miss Norton, Mrs.
Rothschild, Mrs. L. P. Smith, Mrs. Stone and her maid (Miss Icard).
Ordered in to supply lack of crew: Major A. G. Peuchen.
Said good-bye to wives and sank with ship: Messrs. Cavendish,
Meyer, Rothschild and L. P. Smith.
Crew: Hitchens, Q. M. (in charge). Seaman Fleet. (One fireman
transferred from No. 16 to row.) Also a boy with injured arm whom
Captain Smith had ordered in.
Total: 28. (Br. Inq.)

INCIDENTS

Lightoller’s testimony (Am. Inq., p. 79):

I was calling for seamen and one of the seamen jumped out of the
boat and started to lower away. The boat was half way down when a
woman called out that there was only one man in it. I had only two
seamen and could not part with them, and was in rather a fix to
know what to do when a passenger called out: “If you like, I will go.”
This was a first-class passenger, Major Peuchen, of Toronto. I said:
“Are you a seaman?” and he said: “I am a yachtsman.” I said: “If
you are sailor enough to get out on that fall—that is a difficult thing
to get to over the ship’s side, eight feet away, and means a long
swing, on a dark night—if you are sailor enough to get out there,
you can go down”; and he proved he was, by going down.

F. Fleet, L. O. (Am. Inq., p. 363) and (Br. Inq.):

Witness says there were twenty-three women, Major Peuchen and
Seamen Hitchens and himself. As he left the deck he heard Mr.
Lightoller shouting: “Any more women?” No. 6 and one other cut
adrift after reaching the Carpathia.

Major Arthur Godfrey Peuchen, Manufacturing Chemist, Toronto,

Canada, and Major of Toronto’s crack regiment, The Queen’s Own
Rifles (Am. Inq., p. 334), testified:
I was standing on the Boat Deck, port side, near the second officer
and the captain. One of them said: “We must get these masts and
sails out of these boats; you might give us a hand.” I jumped in, and
with a knife cut the lashings of the mast and sail and moved the
mast out of the boat. Only women were allowed in, and the men
had to stand back. This was the order, and the second officer stood
there and carried it out to the limit. He allowed no men, except
sailors who were manning the boat. I did not see one single male
passenger get in or attempt to get in. I never saw such perfect
order. The discipline was perfect. I did not see a cowardly act by any
man.
When I first came on this upper deck there were about 100 stokers
coming up with their dunnage bags and they seemed to crowd this
whole deck in front of the boats. One of the officers, I don’t know
which one, a very powerful man, came along and drove these men
right off this deck like a lot of sheep. They did not put up any
resistance. I admired him for it. Later, there were counted 20
women, one quartermaster, one sailor and one stowaway, before I
was ordered in.
In getting into the boat I went aft and said to the quartermaster:
“What do you want me to do?” “Get down and put that plug in,” he
answered. I made a dive down for the plug. The ladies were all
sitting pretty well aft and I could not see at all. It was dark down
there. I felt with my hands and then said it would be better for him
to do it and me do his work. I said, “Now, you get down and put in
the plug and I will undo the shackles,” that is, take the blocks off, so
he dropped the blocks and got down to fix the plug, and then he
came back to assist me saying, “Hurry up.” He said: “This boat is
going to founder.” I thought he meant our lifeboat was going to
founder, but he meant the large boat, and that we were to hurry up
and get away from it, so we got the rudder in and he told me to go
forward and take an oar. I did so, and got an oar on the port side.
Sailor Fleet was on my left on the starboard side. The quartermaster
told us to row as hard as we could to get away from the suction. We
got a short distance away when an Italian, a stowaway, made his
appearance. He had a broken wrist or arm, and was of no use to
row. He was stowed away under the boat where we could not see
him.
Toward morning we tied up to another boat (No. 16) for fifteen
minutes. We said to those in the other boat: “Surely you can spare
us one man if you have so many.” One man, a fireman, was
accordingly transferred, who assisted in rowing on the starboard
side. The women helped with the oars, and very pluckily too.[7]
[7] “An English girl (Miss Norton) and I rowed for four hours and a
half.”—Mrs. Meyer in New York Times, April 14th, 1912.

We were to the weather of the Carpathia, and so she stayed there

until we all came down on her. I looked at my watch and it was
something after eight o’clock.

Mrs. Candee’s account of her experience is as follows:

She last saw Mr. Kent in the companionway between Decks A and B.
He took charge of an ivory miniature of her mother, etc., which
afterwards were found on his body when brought into Halifax. He
appeared at the time to hesitate accepting her valuables, seeming to
have a premonition of his fate.
She witnessed the same incident described by Major Peuchen, when
a group of firemen came up on deck and were ordered by the officer
to return below. She, however, gives praise to these men. They
obeyed like soldiers, and without a murmur or a protest, though
they knew better than anyone else on the ship that they were going
straight to their death. No boats had been lowered when these
firemen first appeared upon the Boat Deck, and it would have been
an easy matter for them to have “rushed” the boats.
Her stateroom steward also gave an exhibition of courage. After he
had tied on her life preserver and had locked her room as a
precaution against looters, which she believed was done all through
the deck, she said to this brave man: “It is time for you to look out
for yourself,” to which the steward replied, “Oh, plenty of time for
that, Madam, plenty of time for that.” He was lost.
As she got into boat No. 6, it being dark and not seeing where she
stepped, her foot encountered the oars lying lengthwise in the boat
and her ankle was thus twisted and broken.
Just before her boat was lowered away a man’s voice said: “Captain,
we have no seaman.” Captain Smith then seized a boy by the arm
and said: “Here’s one.” The boy went into the boat as ordered by the
captain, but afterwards he was found to be disabled. She does not
think he was an Italian.
Her impression is that there were other boats in the water which had
been lowered before hers. There was a French woman about fifty
years of age in the boat who was constantly calling for her son. Mrs.
Candee sat near her. After arrival on the Carpathia this French
woman became hysterical.
Notwithstanding Hitchens’ statements, she says that there was
absolutely no upset feeling on the women’s part at any time, even
when the boat, as it was being lowered, on several occasions hung
at a dangerous angle—sometimes bow up and sometimes stern up.
The lowering process seemed to be done by jerks. She herself called
out to the men lowering the boat and gave instructions: otherwise
they would have been swamped.
The Italian boy who was in the boat was not a stowaway, he was
ordered in by the captain as already related. Neither did he refuse to
row. When he tried to do so, it was futile, because of an injury to his
arm or wrist.

Through the courtesy of another fellow passenger, Mrs. J. J. Brown,

of Denver, Colorado, I am able to give her experiences in boat No. 6,
told in a delightful, graphic manner; so much so that I would like to
insert it all did not space prevent:
In telling of the people she conversed with, that Sunday evening,
she refers to an exceedingly intellectual and much-travelled
acquaintance, Mrs. Bucknell, whose husband had founded the
Bucknell University of Philadelphia; also to another passenger from
the same city, Dr. Brewe, who had done much in scientific research.
During her conversation with Mrs. Bucknell, the latter reiterated a
statement previously made on the tender at Cherbourg while waiting
for the Titanic. She said she feared boarding the ship because she
had evil forebodings that something might happen. Mrs. Brown
laughed at her premonitions and shortly afterwards sought her
quarters.
Instead of retiring to slumber, Mrs. Brown was absorbed in reading
and gave little thought to the crash at her window overhead which
threw her to the floor. Picking herself up she proceeded to see what
the steamer had struck; but thinking nothing serious had occurred,
though realizing that the engines had stopped immediately after the
crash and the boat was at a standstill, she picked up her book and
began reading again. Finally she saw her curtains moving while she
was reading, but no one was visible. She again looked out and saw a
man whose face was blanched, his eyes protruding, wearing the look
of a haunted creature. He was gasping for breath and in an
undertone gasped, “Get your life preserver.” He was one of the
buyers for Gimbel Bros., of Paris and New York.
She got down her life preserver, snatched up her furs and hurriedly
mounted the stairs to A Deck, where she found passengers putting
on lifebelts like hers. Mrs. Bucknell approached and whispered,
“Didn’t I tell you something was going to happen?” She found the
lifeboats lowered from the falls and made flush with the deck.
Madame de Villiers appeared from below in a nightdress and evening
slippers, with no stockings. She wore a long woollen motorcoat.
Touching Mrs. Brown’s arm, in a terrified voice she said she was
going below for her money and valuables. After much persuasion
Mrs. Brown prevailed upon her not to do so, but to get into the boat.
She hesitated and became very much excited, but was finally
prevailed upon to enter the lifeboat. Mrs. Brown was walking away,
eager to see what was being done elsewhere. Suddenly she saw a
shadow and a few seconds later someone seized her, saying: “You
are going, too,” and she was dropped fully four feet into the lowering
lifeboat. There was but one man in charge of the boat. As it was
lowered by jerks by an officer above, she discovered that a great
gush of water was spouting through the porthole from D Deck, and
the lifeboat was in grave danger of being submerged. She
immediately grasped an oar and held the lifeboat away from the
ship.
When the sea was reached, smooth as glass, she looked up and saw
the benign, resigned countenance, the venerable white hair and the
Chesterfieldian bearing of the beloved Captain Smith with whom she
had crossed twice before, and only three months previous on the
Olympic. He peered down upon those in the boat, like a solicitous
father, and directed them to row to the light in the distance—all
boats keeping together.
Because of the fewness of men in the boat she found it necessary
for someone to bend to the oars. She placed her oar in an oarlock
and asked a young woman nearby to hold one while she placed the
other on the further side. To Mrs. Brown’s surprise, the young lady
(who must have been Miss Norton, spoken of elsewhere),
immediately began to row like a galley slave, every stroke counting.
Together they managed to pull away from the steamer.
By this time E and C Decks were completely submerged. Those
ladies who had husbands, sons or fathers on the doomed steamer
buried their heads on the shoulders of those near them and moaned
and groaned. Mrs. Brown’s eyes were glued on the fast-disappearing
ship. Suddenly there was a rift in the water, the sea opened up and
the surface foamed like giant arms and spread around the ship and
the vessel disappeared from sight, and not a sound was heard.
Then follows Mrs. Brown’s account of the conduct of the
quartermaster in the boat which will be found under the heading
presently given, and it will be noticed that her statements
correspond with those of all others in the boat.
The dawn disclosed the awful situation. There were fields of ice on
which, like points on the landscape, rested innumerable pyramids of
ice. Seemingly a half hour later, the sun, like a ball of molten lead,
appeared in the background. The hand of nature portrayed a scenic
effect beyond the ken of the human mind. The heretofore smooth
sea became choppy and retarded their progress. All the while the
people in boat No. 6 saw the other small lifeboats being hauled
aboard the Carpathia. By the time their boat reached the Carpathia a
heavy sea was running, and, No. 6 boat being among the last to
approach, it was found difficult to get close to the ship. Three or
four unsuccessful attempts were made. Each time they were dashed
against the keel, and bounded off like a rubber ball. A rope was then
thrown down, which was spliced in four at the bottom, and a Jacob’s
ladder was made. Catching hold, they were hoisted up, where a
dozen of the crew and officers and doctors were waiting. They were
caught and handled as tenderly as though they were children.

HITCHENS’ CONDUCT

Major Peuchen (Am. Inq., p. 334) continued:

There was an officers’ call, sort of a whistle, calling us to come back
to the boat. The quartermaster told us to stop rowing. We all
thought we ought to go back to the ship, but the quartermaster said
“No, we are not going back to the boat; it is our lives now, not
theirs.” It was the women who rebelled against this action. I asked
him to assist us in rowing and let some of the women steer the boat,
as it was a perfectly calm night and no skill was required. He
refused, and told me he was in command of that boat and that I
was to row.
He imagined he saw a light. I have done a great deal of yachting in
my life. I have owned a yacht for six years. I saw a reflection. He
thought it was a boat of some kind; probably it might be a buoy, and
he called out to the next boat asking them if they knew any buoys
were around there. This struck me as being perfectly absurd.
I heard what seemed to be one, two, three rumbling sounds; then
the lights of the ship went out. Then the terrible cries and calls for
help—moaning and crying. It affected all the women in our boat
whose husbands were among those in the water. This went on for
some time, gradually getting fainter and fainter. At first it was
horrible to listen to. We must have been five-eighths of a mile away
when this took place. There were only two of us rowing a very heavy
boat with a good many people in it, and I do not think we covered
very much ground. Some of the women in the boat urged the
quartermaster to return. He said there was no use going back,—that
there were only a “lot of stiffs there.” The women resented it very
much.

Seaman Fleet (Am. Inq., p. 363):

All the women asked us to pull to the place where the Titanic went
down, but the quartermaster, who was at the tiller all the time,
would not allow it. They asked him, but he would not hear of it.
Mrs. Candee continues:
Hitchens was cowardly and almost crazed with fear all the time.
After we left the ship he thought he heard the captain say: “Come
alongside,” and was for turning back until reminded by the
passengers that the captain’s final orders were: “Keep boats
together and row away from the ship.” She heard this order given.
After that he constantly reminded us who were at the oars that if we
did not make better speed with our rowing we would all be sucked
under the water by the foundering of the ship. This he repeated
whenever our muscles flagged.
Directly the Titanic had foundered a discussion arose as to whether
we should return. Hitchens said our boat would immediately be
swamped if we went into the confusion. The reason for this was that
our boat was not manned with enough oars.
Then after the sinking of the Titanic Hitchens reminded us frequently
that we were hundreds of miles from land, without water, without
food, without protection against cold, and if a storm should come up
that we would be helpless. Therefore, we faced death by starvation
or by drowning. He said we did not even know the direction in which
we were rowing. I corrected him by pointing to the north star
immediately over our bow.
When our boat came alongside No. 16, Hitchens immediately
ordered the boats lashed together. He resigned the helm and settled
down to rest. When the Carpathia hove in sight he ordered that we
drift. Addressing the people in both boats Mrs. Candee said: “Where
those lights are lies our salvation; shall we not go towards them?”
The reply was a murmur of approval and immediate recourse to the
oars.
Hitchens was requested to assist in the toilsome rowing. Women
tried to taunt and provoke him into activity. When it was suggested
that he permit the injured boy to take the tiller and that Hitchens
should row, he declined, and in every case he refused labor. He
spoke with such uncivility to one of the ladies that a man’s voice was
heard in rebuke: “You are speaking to a lady,” to which he replied: “I
know whom I am speaking to, and I am commanding this boat.”
When asked if the Carpathia would come and pick us up he replied:
“No, she is not going to pick us up; she is to pick up bodies.” This
when said to wives and mothers of the dead men was needlessly
brutal.
When we neared the Carpathia he refused to go round on the
smooth side because it necessitated keeping longer in the rough
sea, so we made a difficult landing.

In Mrs. Brown’s account of her experience she relates the following

about the conduct of the quartermaster in charge of the boat in
which she was:
He, Quartermaster Hitchens, was at the rudder and standing much
higher than we were, shivering like an aspen. As they rowed away
from the ship he burst out in a frightened voice and warned them of
the fate that awaited them, saying that the task in rowing away from
the sinking ship was futile, as she was so large that in sinking she
would draw everything for miles around down with her suction, and,
if they escaped that, the boilers would burst and rip up the bottom
of the sea, tearing the icebergs asunder and completely submerging
them. They were truly doomed either way. He dwelt upon the dire
fate awaiting them, describing the accident that happened to the
S. S. New York when the Titanic left the docks at Southampton.
Photograph by Brown Bros., New York
THE TITANIC NARROWLY ESCAPES COLLISION AT SOUTHAMPTON

After the ship had sunk and none of the calamities that were
predicted by the terrified quartermaster were experienced, he was
asked to return and pick up those in the water. Again the people in
the boat were admonished and told how the frantic drowning victims
would grapple the sides of the boat and capsize it. He not yielding to
the entreaties, those at the oars pulled away vigorously towards a
faintly glimmering light on the horizon. After three hours of pulling
the light grew fainter, and then completely disappeared. Then this
quartermaster, who stood on his pinnacle trembling, with an attitude
like some one preaching to the multitude, fanning the air with his
hands, recommenced his tirade of awful forebodings, telling those in
the boat that they were likely to drift for days, all the while
reminding them that they were surrounded by icebergs, as he
pointed to a pyramid of ice looming up in the distance, possibly
seventy feet high. He forcibly impressed upon them that there was
no water in the casks in the lifeboats, and no bread, no compass and
no chart. No one answered him. All seemed to be stricken dumb.
One of the ladies in the boat had had the presence of mind to
procure her silver brandy flask. As she held it in her hand the silver
glittered and he being attracted to it implored her to give it to him,
saying that he was frozen. She refused the brandy, but removed her
steamer blanket and placed it around his shoulders, while another
lady wrapped a second blanket around his waist and limbs, he
looking “as snug as a bug in a rug.”
The quartermaster was then asked to relieve one or the other of
those struggling at the oars, as someone else could manage the
rudder while he rowed. He flatly refused and continued to lampoon
them, shouting: “Here, you fellow on the starboard side, your oar is
not being put in the water at the right angle.” No one made any
protest to his outbursts, as he broke the monotony, but they
continued to pull at the oars with no goal in sight. Presently he
raised his voice and shouted to another lifeboat to pull near and lash
alongside, commanding some of the other ladies to take the light
and signal to the other lifeboats. His command was immediately
obeyed. He also gave another command to drop the oars and lay to.
Some time later, after more shouts, a lifeboat hove to and obeyed
his orders to throw a rope, and was tied alongside. On the cross-
seat of that boat stood a man in white pajamas, looking like a snow
man in that icy region. His teeth were chattering and he appeared
quite numb. Seeing his predicament, Mrs. Brown told him he had
better get to rowing and keep his blood in circulation. But the
suggestion met with a forcible protest from the quartermaster in
charge. Mrs. Brown and her companions at the oars, after their
exercise, felt the blasts from the ice-fields and demanded that they
should be allowed to row to keep warm.
Over into their boat jumped a half-frozen stoker, black and covered
with dust. As he was dressed in thin jumpers, she picked up a large
sable stole which she had dropped into the boat and wrapped it
around his limbs from his waist down and tied the tails around his
ankles. She handed him an oar and told the pajama man to cut
loose. A howl arose from the quartermaster in charge. He moved to
prevent it, and Mrs. Brown told him if he did he would be thrown
overboard. Someone laid a hand on her shoulder to stay her threats,
but she knew it would not be necessary to push him over, for had
she only moved in the quartermaster’s direction, he would have
tumbled into the sea, so paralyzed was he with fright. By this time
he had worked himself up to a pitch of sheer despair, fearing that a
scramble of any kind would remove the plug from the bottom of the
boat. He then became very impertinent, and our fur-enveloped
stoker in as broad a cockney as one hears in the Haymarket
shouted: “Oi sy, don’t you know you are talkin’ to a lidy?” For the
time being the seaman was silenced and we resumed our task at the
oars. Two other ladies came to the rescue.
While glancing around watching the edge of the horizon, the
beautifully modulated voice of the young Englishwoman at the oar
(Miss Norton) exclaimed, “There is a flash of lightning.” “It is a falling
star,” replied our pessimistic seaman. As it became brighter he was
then convinced that it was a ship. However, the distance, as we
rowed, seemed interminable. We saw the ship was anchored. Again
the declaration was made that we, regardless of what our
quartermaster said, would row toward her, and the young
Englishwoman from the Thames got to work, accompanying her
strokes with cheerful words to the wilted occupants of the boat.
Mrs. Brown finishes the quartermaster in her final account of him.
On entering the dining-room on the Carpathia, she saw him in one
corner—this brave and heroic seaman! A cluster of people were
around him as he wildly gesticulated, trying to impress upon them