ALL NIGHT ON BOTTOM OF HALF SUBMERGED UPTURNED BOAT
“O God of our salvation, Thou who art the hope of them that
remain in the broad sea....”--Ps. 65:5, 7.
ALL my companions in shipwreck who made their escape with me on top of
the bottom-side-up Engelhardt boat, must recall the anxious moment
after the limit was reached when “about 30 men had clambered out of
the water on to the boat.” The weight of each additional body
submerged our lifecraft more and more beneath the surface. There were
men swimming in the water all about us. One more clambering aboard
would have swamped our already crowded craft. The situation was a
desperate one, and was only saved by the refusal of the crew,
especially those at the stern of the boat, to take aboard another
passenger. After pulling aboard the man who lay exhausted, face
downward in front of me, I turned my head away from the sights in the
water lest I should be called upon to refuse the pleading cries of
those who were struggling for their lives. What happened at this
juncture, therefore, my fellow companions in shipwreck can better
describe. Steward Thomas Whiteley, interviewed by the New York
_Tribune_, said: “I drifted near a boat wrong-side-up. About 30 men
were clinging to it. They refused to let me get on. Somebody tried to
hit me with an oar, but I scrambled on to her.” Harry Senior, a
fireman on the _Titanic_, as interviewed in the London _Illustrated
News_ of May 4th, and in the New York _Times_ of April 19th, is
reported as follows: “On the overturned boat in question were, amongst
others, Charles Lightoller, Second Officer of the _Titanic_; Col.
Archibald Gracie, and Mr. J. B. Thayer, Jr., all of whom had gone down
with the liner and had come to the surface again”; and “I tried to get
aboard of her, but some chap hit me over the head with an oar. There
were too many on her. I got around to the other side of the boat and
climbed on. There were thirty-five of us, including the second
officer, and no women. I saw any amount of drowning and dead around
us.” Bride’s story in the same issue of the New York _Times_ says: “It
was a terrible sight all around--men swimming and sinking. Others came
near. Nobody gave them a hand. The bottom-up boat already had more men
than it would hold and was sinking. At first the large waves splashed
over my clothing; then they began to splash over my head and I had to
breathe when I could.”
Though I did not see, I could not avoid hearing what took place at
this most tragic crisis in all my life. The men with the paddles,
forward and aft, so steered the boat as to avoid contact with the
unfortunate swimmers pointed out struggling in the water. I heard the
constant explanation made as we passed men swimming in the wreckage,
“Hold on to what you have, old boy; one more of you aboard would sink
us all.” In no instance, I am happy to say, did I hear any word of
rebuke uttered by a swimmer because of refusal to grant assistance.
There was no case of cruel violence. But there was one transcendent
piece of heroism that will remain fixed in my memory as the most
sublime and coolest exhibition of courage and cheerful resignation to
fate and fearlessness of death. This was when a reluctant refusal of
assistance met with the ringing response in the deep manly voice of a
powerful man, who, in his extremity, replied: “All right, boys; good
luck and God bless you.” I have often wished that the identity of this
hero might be established and an individual tribute to his memory
preserved. He was not an acquaintance of mine, for the tones of his
voice would have enabled me to recognize him.
Collins in his testimony and Hagan in his letter to me refer to the
same incident, the former before the Senate Committee, saying: “All
those who wanted to get on and tried to get on got on with the
exception of only one. This man was not pushed off by anyone, but
those on the boat asked him not to try to get on. We were all on the
boat running [shifting our weight] from one side to the other to keep
her steady. If this man had caught hold of her he would have tumbled
the whole lot of us off. He acquiesced and said, ‘that is all right,
boys; keep cool; God bless you,’ and he bade us good-bye.”
Hagan refers to the same man who “swam close to us saying, ‘Hello
boys, keep calm, boys,’ asking to be helped up, and was told he could
not get on as it might turn the boat over. He asked for a plank and
was told to cling to what he had. It was very hard to see so brave a
man swim away saying, ‘God bless you.’”
All this time our nearly submerged boat was amidst the wreckage and
fast being paddled out of the danger zone whence arose the
heart-rending cries already described of the struggling swimmers. It
was at this juncture that expressions were used by some of the uncouth
members of the ship’s crew, which grated upon my sensibilities. The
hearts of these men, as I presently discovered, were all right and
they were far from meaning any offence when they adopted their usual
slang, sounding harsh to my ears, and referred to our less fortunate
shipwrecked companions as “the blokes swimming in the water.” What I
thus heard made me feel like an alien among my fellow boatmates, and I
did them the injustice of believing that I, as the only passenger
aboard, would, in case of diversity of interest, receive short shrift
at their hands and for this reason I thought it best to have as little
to say as possible. During all these struggles I had been uttering
silent prayers for deliverance, and it occurred to me that this was
the occasion of all others when we should join in an appeal to the
Almighty as our last and only hope in life, and so it remained for one
of these men, whom I had regarded as uncouth, a Roman Catholic seaman,
to take precedence in suggesting the thought in the heart of everyone
of us. He was astern and in arm’s length of me. He first made inquiry
as to the religion of each of us and found Episcopalians, Roman
Catholics and Presbyterians. The suggestion that we should say the
Lord’s Prayer together met with instant approval, and our voices with
one accord burst forth in repeating that great appeal to the Creator
and Preserver of all mankind, and the only prayer that everyone of us
knew and could unite in, thereby manifesting that we were all sons of
God and brothers to each other whatever our sphere in life or creed
might be. Recollections of this incident are embodied in my account as
well as those of Bride and Thayer, independently reported in the New
York papers on the morning after our arrival. This is what Bride
recalls: “Somebody said ‘don’t the rest of you think we ought to
pray?’ The man who made the suggestion asked what the religion of the
others was. Each man called out his religion. One was a Catholic, one
a Methodist, one a Presbyterian. It was decided the most appropriate
prayer for all of us was the Lord’s Prayer. We spoke it over in
chorus, with the man who first suggested that we pray as the leader.”
Referring to this incident in his sermon on “The Lessons of the Great
Disaster,” the Rev. Dr. Newell Dwight Hillis, of Plymouth Church,
says: “When Col. Gracie came up, after the sinking of the _Titanic_,
he says that he made his way to a sunken raft. The submerged little
raft was under water often, but every man, without regard to
nationality, broke into instant prayer. There were many voices, but
they all had one signification--their sole hope was in God. There
were no millionaires, for millions fell away like leaves; there were
no poor; men were neither wise nor ignorant; they were simply human
souls on the sinking raft; the night was black and the waves yeasty
with foam, and the grave where the _Titanic_ lay was silent under
them, and the stars were silent over them! But as they prayed, each
man by that inner light saw an invisible Friend walking across the
waves. Henceforth, these need no books on Apologetics to prove there
is a God. This man who has written his story tells us that God heard
the prayers of some by giving them death, and heard the prayers of
others equally by keeping them in life; but God alone is great!”
The lesson thus drawn from the incident described must be well
appreciated by all my boatmates who realized the utter helplessness of
our position, and that the only hope we then had in life was in our
God, and as the Rev. Dr. Hillis says: “In that moment the evanescent,
transient, temporary things dissolved like smoke, and the big,
permanent things stood out--God, Truth, Purity, Love, and Oh! how
happy those who were good friends with God, their conscience and their
record.”
We all recognize the fact that our escape from a watery grave was due
to the conditions of wind and weather. All night long we prayed that
the calm might last. Towards morning the sea became rougher, and it
was for the two-fold purpose of avoiding the ice-cold water,[4] and
also to attract attention, that we all stood up in column, two
abreast, facing the bow. The waves at this time broke over the keel,
and we maintained a balance to prevent the escape of the small volume
of air confined between sea and upset boat by shifting the weight of
our bodies first to port and then to starboard. I believe that the
life of everyone of us depended upon the preservation of this confined
air-bubble, and our anxious thought was lest some of this air might
escape and deeper down our overloaded boat would sink. Had the boat
been completely turned over, compelling us to cling to the submerged
gunwale, it could not have supported our weight, and we should have
been frozen to death in the ice-cold water before rescue could reach
us. My exertions had been so continuous and so strenuous before I got
aboard this capsized boat that I had taken no notice of the icy
temperature of the water. We all suffered severely from cold and
exposure. The boat was so loaded down with the heavy weight it
carried that it became partly submerged, and the water washed up to
our waists as we lay in our reclining position. Several of our
companions near the stern of the boat, unable to stand the exposure
and strain, gave up the struggle and fell off.
[4] Temperature of water 28 degrees, of air 27 degrees
Fahrenheit, at midnight, April 14th (American Inquiry, page
1142).
After we had left the danger zone in the vicinity of the wreck,
conversation between us first developed, and I heard the men aft of me
discussing the fate of the Captain. At least two of them, according to
their statements made at the time, had seen him on this craft of ours
shortly after it was floated from the ship. In the interviews already
referred to, Harry Senior the fireman, referring to the same
overturned boat, said: “The Captain had been able to reach this boat.
They had pulled him on, but he slipped off again.” Still another
witness, the entrée cook of the _Titanic_, J. Maynard, who was on our
boat, corroborates what I heard said at the time about the inability
of the Captain to keep his hold on the boat. From several sources I
have the information about the falling of the funnel, the splash of
which swept from the upturned boat several who were first clinging
thereto, and among the number possibly was the Captain. From the
following account of Bride, it would appear he was swept off himself
and regained his hold later. “I saw a boat of some kind near me and
put all my strength into an effort to swim to it. It was hard work. I
was all done when a hand reached out from the boat and pulled me
aboard. It was our same collapsible. The same crew was on it. There
was just room for me to roll on the edge. I lay there, not caring what
happened.” Fortunately for us all, the majority of us were not thus
exhausted or desperate. On the contrary, these men on this upset boat
had plenty of strength and the purpose to battle for their lives.
There were no beacon torches on crag and cliff; no shouts in the
pauses of the storm to tell them there was hope; nor deep-toned bell
with its loudest peal sending cheerily, o’er the deep, comfort to
these wretched souls in their extremity. There were, however, lights
forward and on the port side to be seen all the time until the
_Carpathia_ appeared. These lights were only those of the _Titanic’s_
other lifeboats, and thus it was, as they gazed with eager, anxious
eyes that
“Fresh hope did give them strength and strength deliverance.”[5]
[5] Maturin’s _Bertram_.
The suffering on the boat from cold was intense. My neighbor in front,
whom I had pulled aboard, must also have been suffering from
exhaustion, but it was astern of us whence came later the reports
about fellow boatmates who gave up the struggle and fell off from
exhaustion, or died, unable to stand the exposure and strain. Among
the number, we are told by Bride and Whiteley, was the senior Marconi
operator, Phillips, but their statement that it was Phillips’ lifeless
body which we transferred first to a lifeboat and thence to the
_Carpathia_ is a mistake, for the body referred to both Lightoller and
myself know to have been that of a member of the crew, as described
later. Bride himself suffered severely. “Somebody sat on my legs,” he
says. “They were wedged in between slats and were being wrenched.”
When he reached the _Carpathia_ he was taken to the hospital and on
our arrival in New York was carried ashore with his “feet badly
crushed and frostbitten.”
The combination of cold and the awful scenes of suffering and death
which he witnessed from our upturned boat deeply affected another
first cabin survivor, an Englishman, Mr. R. H. Barkworth, whose tender
heart is creditable to his character.
Another survivor of our upturned boat, James McGann, a fireman,
interviewed by the New York _Tribune_ on April 20th, says that he was
one of the thirty of us, mostly firemen, clinging to it as she left
the ship. As to the suffering endured that night he says: “All our
legs were frostbitten and we were all in the hospital for a day at
least.”
“Hagan” also adds his testimony as to the sufferings endured by our
boatmates. He says: “One man on the upturned boat rolled off, into the
water, at the stern, dead with fright and cold. Another died in the
lifeboat.” Here he refers to the lifeless body which we 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.
[Illustration: 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.”
[Illustration: 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.