From every quarter of the ocean, summoned by the miracle of the wireless
voice, many ships had been racing since midnight to the help of the
doomed liner. From midnight onwards captains were being called by
messages from the wireless operators of their ships, telling them that
the _Titanic_ was asking for help; courses were being altered and chief
engineers called upon to urge their stokehold crews to special efforts;
for coal means steam, and steam means speed, and speed may mean life.
Many ships that could receive the strong electric impulses sent out from
the _Titanic_ had not electric strength enough to answer; but they
turned and came to that invisible spot represented by a few figures
which the faithful wireless indicated. Even as far as five hundred miles
away, the _Parisian_ turned in her tracks in obedience to the call and
came racing towards the north-west. But there were tragedies even with
the wireless. The Leyland liner _Californian_, bound for Boston, was
only seventeen miles away from the _Titanic_ when she struck, and could
have saved every soul on board; but her wireless apparatus was not
working, and she was deaf to the agonized calls that were being sent out
from only a few miles away. The _Parisian_, five hundred miles away,
could hear and come, though it was useless; the _Californian_ could not
hear and so did not come though, if she had, she would probably have
saved every life on board. The _Cincinnati_, the _Amerika_, the _Prinz
Friedrich Wilhelm_, the _Menominee_, the _La Provence_, the _Prinz
Adalbert_, the _Virginian_, the _Olympic_, and the _Baltic_ all heard
the news and all turned towards Lat. 41° 46' N., Long. 50° 14' W. The
dread news was being whispered all over the sea, and even ashore, just
as the dwellers on the North Atlantic seaboard were retiring to rest,
the station at Cape Race intercepted the talk of the _Titanic_ 270 miles
away, and flashed the message out far and wide; so that Government tugs
and ships with steam up in harbours, and everything afloat in the
vicinity which heard the news might hurry to the rescue. Cape Race soon
heard that the _Virginian_ was on her way to the _Titanic's_ position,
then that the _Olympic_ and _Carpathia_ had altered their courses and
were making for the wounded ship, and so on. Throughout the night the
rumours in the air were busy, while still the steady calls came out in
firm electric waves from the _Titanic_--still calling, still flashing
"C.Q.D." At 1.20 she whispered to the _Olympic_, "Get your boats ready;
going down fast by the head." At 1.35 the _Frankfurt_ (after an hour and
a half's delay) said, "We are starting for you." Then at 1.41 came a
message to the _Olympic_, "C.Q.D., boilers flooded."
"Are there any boats round you already?" asked the _Olympic_, but there
was no answer.
Other ships began to call, giving encouraging messages: "We are coming,"
said the _Birma_, "only fifty miles away"; but still there was no
answer.
All over the North Atlantic men in lighted instrument rooms sat
listening with the telephones at their ears; they heard each other's
questions and waited in the silence, but it was never broken again by
the voice from the _Titanic_. "All quiet now," reported the _Birma_ to
the _Olympic_, and all quiet it was, except for the thrashing and
pounding of a score of propellers, and the hiss of a dozen steel stems
as they ripped the smooth waters on courses converging to the spot where
the wireless voice had suddenly flickered out into silence.
But of all those who had been listening to the signals Captain Rostron
of the _Carpathia_ knew that his ship would most likely be among the
first to reach the spot. It was about midnight on Sunday that the
passengers of the _Carpathia_ first became aware that something unusual
was happening. The course had been changed and a certain hurrying about
on the decks took the place of the usual midnight quiet. The trembling
and vibration increased to a quick jumping movement as pressure of steam
was gradually increased and the engines urged to the extreme of their
driving capacity. The chief steward summoned his staff and set them to
work making sandwiches and preparing hot drinks. All the hot water was
cut off from the cabins and bath-rooms, so that every ounce of steam
could be utilized for driving the machinery.
The _Carpathia_ was nearly seventy miles from the position of the
_Titanic_ when she changed her course and turned northward; she had been
steaming just over four hours when, in the light of that wonderful dawn,
those on the look-out descried a small boat. As they drew nearer they
saw other boats, and fragments of wreckage, and masses of ice drifting
about the sea. Captain Rostron stopped while he was still a good
distance from the boats, realizing that preparations must be made before
he could take passengers on board. The accommodation gangway was rigged
and also rope ladders lowered over the sides, and canvas slings were
arranged to hoist up those who were too feeble to climb. The passengers
crowded along the rail or looked out of their portholes to see the
reaping of this strange harvest of the sea. The first boat came up
almost filled with women and children--women in evening dress or in fur
coats thrown over nightgowns, in silk stockings and slippers, in rags
and shawls. The babies were crying; some of the women were injured and
some half-fainting; all had horror on their faces. Other boats began to
come up, and the work of embarking the seven hundred survivors went on.
It took a long time, for some of the boats were far away, and it was not
until they had been seven hours afloat that the last of them were taken
on board the _Carpathia_. Some climbed up the ladders, others were put
into the slings and swung on board, stewards standing by with rum and
brandy to revive the fainting; and many willing hands were occupied
with caring for the sufferers, taking them at once to improvised couches
and beds, or conducting those who were not so exhausted to the saloon
where hot drinks and food were ready. But it was a ghastly company. As
boat after boat came up, those who had already been saved eagerly
searched among its occupants to see if their own friends were among
them; and as gradually the tale of boats was completed and it was known
that no more had been saved, and the terrible magnitude of the loss was
realized--then, in the words of one of the _Carpathia's_ people, "Bedlam
broke loose." Women who had borne themselves bravely throughout the
hours of waiting and exposure broke into shrieking hysterics, calling
upon the names of their lost. Some went clean out of their minds; one or
two died there in the very moment of rescue. The _Carpathia's_
passengers gave up their rooms and ransacked their trunks to find
clothing for the more than half-naked survivors; and at last exhaustion,
resignation, and the doctor's merciful drugs did the rest. The dead were
buried; those who had been snatched too late from the bitter waters were
committed to them again, and eternally, with solemn words; and the
_Carpathia_ was headed for New York.