The Loss of the S.S. Titanic - Lawrence Beesley (e reader books TXT) 📗

it

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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