CARPATHIA TO THE RESCUE.
Cunarder’s Race to Titanic’s Aid--Captain Rostrom’s Unvarnished
but Dramatic Report--Knot in Operator’s Shoelace Saved Hundreds of
Lives--Was About to Retire, but Slight Delay Enabled Him to Hear
Message--Icebergs Defied in Desperate Rush.
Before the Carpathia sailed once again on her sadly interrupted voyage
to the Mediterranean, Captain A. H. Rostrom made public the report
he has sent to the Cunard Company telling an unvarnished tale of the
rescue of the Titanic survivors. The report written on the regular
stationery of the Carpathia, reads:
R. M. S. Carpathia,
April 19, 1912.
General Manager Cunard Steamship Company, Ltd., Liverpool.
Sir: I beg to report that at 12.34 A. M. on the 15th inst. I was
informed of urgent distress message from Titanic, with her position.
I immediately ordered ship turned around and put in course for that
position; we being then fifty-eight miles S. 42 E. (T) from her. Had
heads of all departments called and issued what I considered the
necessary orders to be in preparation for any emergency.
At 2.40 A. M., saw flare half a point on port bow, taking this for
granted to be ship. Shortly after we sighted our first iceberg (I had
previously had lookouts doubled, knowing that Titanic had struck ice,
and so took every care and precaution).
We soon found ourselves in a field of bergs, large and small, and had
to alter course several times to clear bergs; weather fine clear,
light airs, calm sea, beautifully clear night, though dark.
We stopped at 4 A. M., thus doing distance in three hours and a half,
picking up the first boat at 4.10 A. M.; boat in charge of an officer
and he reported to me that Titanic had foundered.
At 8.30 A. M. last boat picked up. All survivors aboard and all
boats accounted for, viz fifteen lifeboats alongside, one lifeboat
abandoned, two Berthon boats alongside (saw one bottom upward among
wreckage) and according to second officer not been launched, it having
got jammed, making sixteen lifeboats and four Berthon boats accounted
for.
By the time we had cleared first boat it was breaking day, and we
could distinguish the other boats all within an area of four miles.
We also saw that we were surrounded by icebergs, large and small, and
three miles to the N. W. of us a huge field of drift ice with large
and small bergs in it, the ice field trending from N. W. round by W.
and S. to S. E., as far as we could see either way.
PROMPT IN RESCUE WORK.
At 8 A. M. the Leyland S. S. California came up. I gave him the
principal news and asked him to search and I would proceed to New
York; at 8.50 proceeded full speed. While searching over vicinity of
disaster and while we were getting people aboard I gave orders to get
Spare hands along and swing in all our boats, disconnect the falls and
hoist us as many Titanic boats as possible in our davits; also, get
some on fo’castle deck by derricks. We got thirteen lifeboats, six on
forward deck and seven in davits.
After getting all survivors aboard and while searching I got a
clergyman to offer a short prayer of thankfulness for those saved and
also a short burial service for those lost.
Before deciding definitely where to make for I conferred with Mr.
Ismay, and though he told me to do what I thought best I informed him,
taking everything into consideration, I considered New York best.
I knew we should require more provisions, clean linen, blankets and so
forth, even if we went to the Azores.
As most of the passengers saved were women and children, and they were
very hysterical, and not knowing what medical attention they might
require, thought it best to go to New York; also thought it would be
better for Mr. Ismay to get to New York or England as soon as possible
and knowing that I should be out of wireless communication with
anything very soon if I proceeded to the Azores.
Again, passengers were all hysterical about ice, and pointed out to
Mr. Ismay the possibility of seeing ice if we went to Halifax. Then I
knew from the gravity of the disaster that it would be desirable to
keep in touch with land stations all we could.
THE MAJORITY OF THE WOMEN LOSE THEIR HUSBANDS.
I am pleased to say that all survivors have been very plucky. The
majority of the women, first, second and third classes lost their
husbands, and considering all have been wonderfully well. Tuesday our
doctor reported all survivors physically well.
Our first class passengers have behaved splendidly, giving up the
cabins quite voluntarily and supplying the ladies with clothes and so
forth. We all turned out of our cabins to give them up to survivors,
saloons, smokerooms, library and so forth also being used for sleeping
accommodations. Our crew also turned out to let the crew of the
Titanic take their quarters.
I am pleased to state that owing to preparations made for the comfort
of the survivors none are the worse for exposure and so forth.
I beg to specially mention how willingly and cheerfully the whole of
the ship’s company have behaved throughout, receiving the highest
praise from everybody, and I can assure you, that I am very proud to
have such a ship’s company under my command.
We have experienced very great difficulty in transmitting news, also
names of survivors. Our wireless is very poor, and again, we have had
so many interruptions from other ships, and also messages from shore
(principally press, which we ignored). I gave instructions to send
first all official messages, then names of passengers, then survivors’
private messages, and the last press messages, as I considered the
three first items most important and necessary.
We had haze early Tuesday morning for several hours; again
more or less all Wednesday from 5.30 A. M. to 5 P. M. Strong
south-southwesterly winds and clear weather Tuesday with moderate
rough sea.
Bearing the survivors of the ill-fated Titanic and with them the
first detailed news of the most terrible catastrophe of the sea, the
steamship Carpathia, vessel of woe, bore up through the narrows of
the harbor of New York, and tied up at the Cunard pier whence it had
sailed less than a week before.
LIKE A FUNERAL SHIP.
Silently as a funeral ship the Carpathia sped. Passengers and crew
lined the upper decks. From portholes peered the faces of scores.
But no cheer such as usually comes at the end of a cruise was heard.
The lights shone brilliantly from every port and from the upper decks,
but the big vessel moved silently, almost spectral in its appearance.
There was all the speed at the vessel’s command in its approach. Moving
in from the open sea, the liner turned its prow up the channel toward
the spot where the reflection in the sky showed the presence of the
great city.
At full speed she bore northward between the twinkling lights on shore.
There were sick on board and their condition did not permit of delay.
To the dismal souls on board, the weather must have seemed peculiarly
fitting.
All day the vessel had raced before a half a gale which beat fiercely
against her prow as her course was changing northward. The rain fell
heavily and was blown in gusts that defied protecting shelter.
Spray flew from the waves and was thrown in showers as high as the top
of the huge bulwarks.
Such good headway had the Carpathia made, that she docked fully two
hours before it had been expected. All day heavy fog had hung over the
lower bay and it was reported that the weather was heavy and thick
outside.
Officers of the Cunard and White Star Lines, from their offices
on Lower Broadway, informed the anxious hundreds who appealed for
information that the boat would not be in until probably one or two
o’clock in the morning. Tug skippers, shipping men and the weather-wise
made wagers among themselves, over the time the Carpathia would arrive.
There were many who predicted confidently that the sorrow-laden liner
would not be able to come up the channel before the dawn.
CARPATHIA’S WELCOME RETURN.
At 6 o’clock in the morning the wireless flashed to the shore that the
Carpathia was abreast of the Nantucket light ship. This is 187 miles
from Ambrose Light, at the entrance to the Channel. The Carpathia is
rated as a thirteen knot boat, and it was not believed port would be
reached until at least 11 o’clock at night.
But a favorable wind beat upon the ship that was bringing home the
grief-stricken women who had sailed so joyously on the Titanic. The
gale that beat the waves, also hurried the ship on the last leg to
port. It seemed that Captain Rostrom, in command, anticipating possibly
that fog might make dangerous a trip up the channel in the night, had
wished to avoid the scores of tugs that he knew would be sent to meet
him.
In consequence, the first word that came from Fire Island Light was
vague and uncertain. They knew only that a great vessel, lighted
from stem to stern, was approaching the harbor, but whether it was
the Carpathia, the Mauretania or some other liner, could not be
ascertained.
But when the vessel came opposite Ambrose Light, there was no longer
any doubt. From Sandy Hook to Quarantine and to all the stations up the
channel the word was flashed that the Carpathia was coming. From the
Battery to the Bronx the news spread and sent thousands hurrying toward
the great Cunard docks.
Then the tugs began snorting and steaming as they pushed the large hulk
around in midstream. Slowly she yielded until headed straight toward
the slip.
The slow process was accomplished while a dozen other tugs pressed
their noses against the sides, and those on board tried vainly to get
some connected descriptions of the great catastrophe that stunned the
peoples of two continents.
Their efforts were largely futile. The passengers were too far away for
their voices to carry well. The crew, acting under instructions, which,
rightly or wrongly, have been credited by persons here to the desires
of J. Bruce Ismay, the White Star Line chief, who escaped in one of the
boats from the Titanic, refused to give any information they may have
procured.
While the ship was being docked, the photographers on the tugs were
active. Flash after flash shot across the water as the camera men took
their pictures.
Finally the Carpathia was fast at her dock, and the gangways were
lowered to let the sorrow-laden survivors ashore to receive the welcome
that awaited them.