CHAPTER X_The Tragic Story of the Empress of Ireland, and Other Great Sea Disasters

CRIPPLING LOSS TO SALVATION ARMY

JOY OF FAREWELL SERVICE TURNED TO GRIEF -- SCENES AT HEADQUARTERS

AS SAD NEWS CAME -- REUNIONS THAT FAILED -- HEART-BREAKING RETURN

OF THE FEW -- REVERENT CROWDS WAITING -- ENSIGN PUGMIRE'S STORY --

STORY OF BANDSMAN GREEN -- "IN GOD'S HANDS" -- RE-DEDICATION TO

WORK -- SALVATIONISTS BRAVE TO THE END -- MAJOR ATWELL'S

EXPERIENCE -- SUNDAY SERVICES IN TORONTO -- FLOWER OF ARMY AMONG

THE LOST -- HUNDREDS SAIL ON OLYMPIC -- LOSS TO ARMY IN CANADA

ON the night before the Empress of Ireland sailed for the last time

from Quebec a thousand people thronged the body of the spacious hall

in the Salvation Army Temple in Toronto. Before them, ranged in tiers

on the platform, sat almost a hundred men and women, their hearts

beating high with the supreme happiness of meeting loved ones in the

home land. They were the envied of all. Not a soul of the thousand

friends but wished himself in their place, but longed to join them on

their trip to the International Congress in London.

The service was arranged as a farewell--for a short space. And none

dreamed that the chasm of eternity yawned between the last sad

parting and a meeting that will never take place on this side of the

grave. That little uniformed band had done their work; Toronto would

know them no more.

"God be with you till we meet again," sang the throng of spectators,

and the Staff and Temple Bands tuned their instruments to the refrain.

As the strains of the solemn melody died away, the last note was

sounded that man will ever hear played by those devoted men.

SCENES AT HEADQUARTERS AS SAD NEWS CAME

Another crowd thronged the Temple two days later--an anxious,

fear-haunted crowd, awed into an ominous silence by the dreadful news

of the loss of the Empress of Ireland. Round the doors the press of

men and women blocked the street, each anxious to catch a glimpse of

the bulletins posted up every few minutes.

Colonel Rees, who was temporarily head of the Army in Canada, paced

the room with hasty steps. His eyes were dim with tears, and his voice

trembled slightly as he said: "This suspense is the worst of all. We

can only wait and pray till the news comes." The other officers were

holding themselves well in hand, but the atmosphere was one of tense

anxiety and unrelieved strain.

"It is terrible; we are almost driven distracted," declared Major

McGillivray, who was left in charge of the immigration department. "It

does not seem possible that it can be true. All our best men in the

Dominion were on board that vessel, and it does not seem possible that

they can be drowned."

At first the messages delivered to the waiting crowd were hopeful;

then one came saying that all the passengers were saved. As its

purport became known a wave of combined relief and thankfulness swept

the crowds. A sigh went up, a sigh which breathed aloud the inward,

pent-up feelings of the palpitating hearts of men and women. Many sank

on their knees and with bared heads poured out their thanks to God.

But the report was only the preliminary to a more cruel blow, for

scarcely had they risen to their feet when the crushing news of the

loss of nearly the whole ship's complement stared at them from the

bulletin boards.

Inside the building deeper feelings were stirred. There sat those

whose nearest and dearest lay sunk in a watery grave. Dry-eyed,

silent, hoping against hope, they sat--young, fresh maidens, round

whose grief-stricken faces the Army bonnet threw a shadow of gathering

sadness, young men, buoyed up only by physical strength, and old men

with drawn faces and aureoles of snow-white hair. Silent as ghosts,

the stream of humanity, picking its way around them, passed unnoticed.

REUNIONS THAT FAILED

One of the saddest features of the wreck and its dreadful loss is the

number of men and women, separated from their family for many years,

who sailed in the confident hope of uniting long-broken family ties.

Other shattered ties swelled the burden of grief. Commander David M.

Rees, with his wife, two daughters and son perished with over one

hundred others--the very flower of the Salvation Army in Canada.

One sobbing girl said the most distressing thing to her was the number

lost who were looking forward to seeing their parents. "They left them

years ago," she said, "to work in Canada, and just when their reunion

seemed assured death severed them forever."

Two newly-married couples belonging to the Salvation Army were on the

Empress of Ireland. They were Captain and Mrs. E. J. Dodd and Mr. and

Mrs. Thomas Greenaway, all of Toronto.

"It is a horrible honeymoon," said a Salvation Army officer as the

list of the Army people on board was eagerly scanned at the Army

headquarters.

HEART-BREAKING RETURN OF THE FEW

A small group of survivors, including Major and Mrs. Atwell, Staff

Captain McAmmond and Ensign Pugmire reached Toronto on Saturday. When

seen by a party of reporters who met the train at Atha Road Station,

twenty-five miles east of the city, some of the party were just

finishing dinner, others were sitting about in listless attitudes,

while evidences of their recent terrible experiences were clearly

marked on the faces of all.

They were met at Locust Hill Station by some of their friends, and it

was then that deep emotion stirred the little band. A silent

hand-clasp was all the greeting that passed between survivors and

friends for some moments; then came a half-whispered inquiry about

some friend, often receiving for reply only a wistful shake of the

head.

Mr. Aldridge, whose brother, Mr. Ernest Aldridge, was lost, speaking

to Major George Atwell, asked in a low voice:

"Did you see Ernie?"

"I never saw him," replied Major Atwell.

The bereaved brother, without a word, turned aside to hide the strong

emotion that the simple words aroused in him. Similar scenes took

place in various parts of the car, until gradually a natural

conversation about the wreck was in progress.

REVERENT CROWDS WAITING

An enormous crowd surrounded the Union Station long before the train

arrived, those who were unable to gain admission crowding the streets

outside and lining the sidewalks along Front Street. The platforms

swarmed with hundreds of friends of the returning Salvationists and

others, the Army uniform dotting the crowd here and there.

When the train drew up a feeble cheer, dying almost as soon as it

began, was heard, and then a hush fell on all, unbroken till the first

survivor appeared on the steps. One by one the little band stepped

down, to be instantly surrounded by friends and relatives.

The meeting was a profoundly touching one. Hardly a word was spoken,

for the sight of familiar faces revived too keenly the memory of those

who stood on the same spot but a few days before. Little groups of

Army girls moved about, many of them weeping silently.

Just before the survivors walked out, the crowd parted to make way for

the truck bearing a dead body. As it passed out the entire body of

Salvationists uncovered and sang the hymn, "O God, our help in ages

past." The effect on the listening spectators was marked by the hush

which followed.

Several automobiles were in waiting outside and the survivors were

quickly placed in these and driven off.

ENSIGN PUGMIRE'S STORY

Ensign Pugmire, connected with the financial department in Toronto,

calmly told the tale of his survival to the tearful friends who asked

for last tidings of their beloved Commissioner Rees. In describing his

impressions more in detail, Ensign Pugmire said that there was no

shock at the time of the collision.

"I heard a grazing sound as if we were touching a berg," he said, "and

as the sound continued I went up on deck, curious to see what was

wrong. I never got back to my cabin. The life-belts were all there.

The ship was already listing over dangerously. It was all the work of

a moment.

"Yes, there were a number of passengers on deck with me at the time,

but when I looked over my shoulder as I grabbed the rail, I could see

the gangways jammed with people. I passed Major Simcoe's berth going

up and asked her if she was not coming. She told me to leave her and

find out what the matter was. Her body was among the first picked up

on shore.

"Shouting? None at all. Every one was orderly and quiet. No one had

time to realize what was going on. We could not launch the boats

because we could hardly stand up, so heavy did the list become. We had

to take the side, and only the swimmers like myself are left of those

who went over with me.

"I saw Commissioner Rees when he ran back to get his wife. Major Frank

Morris tried hard to save him, for he carried him on his shoulders as

long as he could. Morris was a hero.

"There was an explosion just as the ship went down, and that must have

killed hundreds outright. The shock of it blew Morris right overboard.

Morris' arm was badly scalded with the steam.

"We saw the ship heeling over when we were in the water, but there was

no outcry until she had disappeared. The swimmers then shouted to

attract the life-boat that was already coming. My comrades died like

Salvationists."

STORY OF BANDSMAN GREEN

The satisfaction of Bandsman Green of the Salvation Army in finding

himself alive and without a scratch was darkly clouded by the loss of

his father, Adjutant Green, his mother and his sister Jessie.

"It was not a great blow we felt," he volunteered. "Just a little jar.

You could not say that it was severe, not enough to throw you against

the side of your bunk, for instance. But we guessed when the engines

stopped and then began to go again fast, that something had happened.

I tell you that to get out was like climbing up a straight wall, the

Empress listed so.

"And then, when she sank, I could think of nothing but a village

suddenly flooded and all the people floating in the water. It was

awful to see those faces bobbing up and down with the ship gone

underneath and only water.

"But a wonderful thing happened. You know it is not light at that time

in the morning and when we were thrown out it was quite dark. But all

of a sudden it got light very quickly and we could see well. That was

wonderful!"--the voice softened into reverence--"like Providence, as I

don't believe it usually gets light as early.

"IN GOD'S HANDS"

"When I last saw my father, he said, 'Well, boy, we are in God's

hands'; and I said, 'Yes, father.' In a second I was parted from all

forever. They were all standing together, my father and my mother and

my sister Jessie.

"I must say that all, or nearly all, the men behaved like men and all

the women like women."

"Was there great panic?" he was asked.

"No," he replied. "It was surprising how little panic there was. They

were all so gritty. You saw men and their wives being saved together,

or standing to die together. Many did not part. And the Salvationists

stood up and sang 'God be with you till we meet again,' as long as

they could. I did see one man in the water try to push into a

life-boat ahead of a woman, but another struck him in the face and

sent him back. I did hear, too, that there were other cases of this

kind, but not many, and I didn't see them. The only real panic was

among the foreigners. Most of the others were very calm."

HYMN THE SALVATIONISTS SANG WHILE THE EMPRESS OF IRELAND WAS SINKING