The Loss of the S.S. Titanic by Lawrence Beesley (free ebook reader for pc .txt) 📕

undress, the background of huge funnels and tapering masts revealed by

the soaring rocket, whose flash illumined at the same time the faces

and minds of the obedient crowd, the one with mere physical light, the

other with a sudden revelation of what its message was. Every one knew

without being told that we were calling for help from any one who was

near enough to see.

The crew were now in the boats, the sailors standing by the pulley

ropes let them slip through the cleats in jerks, and down the boats

went till level with B deck; women and children climbed over the rail

into the boats and filled them; when full, they were lowered one by

one, beginning with number 9, the first on the second-class deck, and

working backwards towards 15. All this we could see by peering over

the edge of the boatdeck, which was now quite open to the sea, the

four boats which formed a natural barrier being lowered from the deck

and leaving it exposed.

About this time, while walking the deck, I saw two ladies come over

from the port side and walk towards the rail separating the

second-class from the first-class deck. There stood an officer barring

the way. “May we pass to the boats?” they said. “No, madam,” he

replied politely, “your boats are down on your own deck,” pointing to

where they swung below. The ladies turned and went towards the

stairway, and no doubt were able to enter one of the boats: they had

ample time. I mention this to show that there was, at any rate, some

arrangement—whether official or not—for separating the classes in

embarking in boats; how far it was carried out, I do not know, but if

the second-class ladies were not expected to enter a boat from the

first-class deck, while steerage passengers were allowed access to the

second-class deck, it would seem to press rather hardly on the

second-class men, and this is rather supported by the low percentage

saved.

Almost immediately after this incident, a report went round among men

on the top deck—the starboard side—that men were to be taken off on

the port side; how it originated, I am quite unable to say, but can

only suppose that as the port boats, numbers 10 to 16, were not

lowered from the top deck quite so soon as the starboard boats (they

could still be seen on deck), it might be assumed that women were

being taken off on one side and men on the other; but in whatever way

the report started, it was acted on at once by almost all the men, who

crowded across to the port side and watched the preparation for

lowering the boats, leaving the starboard side almost deserted. Two or

three men remained, However: not for any reason that we were

consciously aware of; I can personally think of no decision arising

from reasoned thought that induced me to remain rather than to cross

over. But while there was no process of conscious reason at work, I am

convinced that what was my salvation was a recognition of the

necessity of being quiet and waiting in patience for some opportunity

of safety to present itself.

Soon after the men had left the starboard side, I saw a bandsman—the

‘cellist—come round the vestibule corner from the staircase entrance

and run down the now deserted starboard deck, his ‘cello trailing

behind him, the spike dragging along the floor. This must have been

about 12.40 A.M. I suppose the band must have begun to play soon after

this and gone on until after 2 A.M. Many brave things were done that

night, but none more brave than by those few men playing minute after

minute as the ship settled quietly lower and lower in the sea and the

sea rose higher and higher to where they stood; the music they played

serving alike as their own immortal requiem and their right to be

recorded on the rolls of undying fame.

Looking forward and downward, we could see several of the boats now in

the water, moving slowly one by one from the side, without confusion

or noise, and stealing away in the darkness which swallowed them in

turn as the crew bent to the oars. An officer—I think First Officer

Murdock—came striding along the deck, clad in a long coat, from his

manner and face evidently in great agitation, but determined and

resolute; he looked over the side and shouted to the boats being

lowered: “Lower away, and when afloat, row around to the gangway and

wait for orders.” “Aye, aye, sir,” was the reply; and the officer

passed by and went across the ship to the port side.

Almost immediately after this, I heard a cry from below of, “Any more

ladies?” and looking over the edge of the deck, saw boat 13 swinging

level with the rail of B deck, with the crew, some stokers, a few men

passengers and the rest ladies,—the latter being about half the total

number; the boat was almost full and just about to be lowered. The

call for ladies was repeated twice again, but apparently there were

none to be found. Just then one of the crew looked up and saw me

looking over. “Any ladies on your deck?” he said. “No,” I replied.

“Then you had better jump.” I sat on the edge of the deck with my feet

over, threw the dressing-gown (which I had carried on my arm all of

the time) into the boat, dropped, and fell in the boat near the stern.

As I picked myself up, I heard a shout: “Wait a moment, here are two

more ladies,” and they were pushed hurriedly over the side and tumbled

into the boat, one into the middle and one next to me in the stern.

They told me afterwards that they had been assembled on a lower deck

with other ladies, and had come up to B deck not by the usual stairway

inside, but by one of the vertically upright iron ladders that connect

each deck with the one below it, meant for the use of sailors passing

about the ship. Other ladies had been in front of them and got up

quickly, but these two were delayed a long time by the fact that one

of them—the one that was helped first over the side into boat 13 near

the middle—was not at all active: it seemed almost impossible for her

to climb up a vertical ladder. We saw her trying to climb the swinging

rope ladder up the Carpathia’s side a few hours later, and she had the

same difficulty.

As they tumbled in, the crew shouted, “Lower away”; but before the

order was obeyed, a man with his wife and a baby came quickly to the

side: the baby was handed to the lady in the stern, the mother got in

near the middle and the father at the last moment dropped in as the

boat began its journey down to the sea many feet below.