happened.
Reverend Robert J. Bateman of Jacksonville stood outside, watching his sister-in-law Mrs Ada Balls enter a boat. ‘If I don’t meet you again in this world,’ he called, ‘I will in the next.’ Then as the boat jerked down, he took off his necktie and tossed it to her as a keepsake.
George Widener and John B. Thayer leaned against the boat deck rail, quietly talking things over. Contrary to young Jack’s guess, his father wasn’t safe in a boat and, in fact, didn’t have any idea of entering one. A little way off, Archie Butt, Clarence Moore, Arthur Ryerson and Walter Douglas stood silently together. Major Butt was very quiet, had no pistol, took no active part, despite the stories later told that he practically took charge.
Further aft, Jay Yates—described as a gambler hoping to make a maiden-voyage killing—stood alone and friendless. To a woman entering a boat, he handed a page torn from his appointment book. Signed with one of his aliases, the note read, ‘If saved, inform my sister Mrs F. J. Adams of Findlay, Ohio. Lost. J. H. Rogers.’
Benjamin Guggenheim had a more detailed message: ‘If anything should happen to me, tell my wife I’ve done my best in doing my duty.’
Actually Guggenheim almost outdid himself. Gone was the sweater that steward Etches made him wear. Also his lifebelt. Instead he and his secretary now stood resplendent in evening clothes. ‘We’ve dressed in our best,’ he explained, ‘and are prepared to go down like gentlemen.’
There were a few couples too. The Allisons stood smiling on the promenade deck, Mrs Allison grasping little Lorraine with one hand, her husband with the other. The Strauses leaned against the boat deck rail, their arms about each other’s waist. A young Western couple waited nearby; when Lightoller asked the girl if he could put her in a boat, she told him cheerfully, ‘Not on your life. We started together and, if need be, we’ll finish together.’
Archibald Gracie, Clinch Smith, a dozen other first-class men worked with the crew, loading the last boats. As they helped Miss Constance Willard of Duluth, Minnesota, they smiled and told her to be brave. She noticed great beads of sweat stood out on their foreheads.
Lightoller was sweating too. He peeled off his greatcoat. Even in sweater and pyjamas, he was wringing wet from hard work. He looked so odd on this bitter-cold night that assistant surgeon Simpson, always a wag, called out, ‘Hello, Lights, are you warm?’
The assistant surgeon was with old Dr O’Loughlin, Purser McElroy and Assistant Purser Barker. Lightoller joined them for a moment. They all shook hands and said, ‘Good-bye.’
No time for more. A glance down the emergency stairway told Lightoller the water was now on C deck… rising fast. But the lights were still bright… the music still ragtime… the beat still lively.
Only two more boats. One of them, No. 4, had been a headache all night. Over an hour ago Lightoller lowered it to A deck, planning to fill it from there, but the windows were all closed. Then someone noticed the
Meanwhile the passengers waiting to go in No. 4 cooled their heels. And they were very prominent heels. The Astors, Wideners, Thayers, Carters and Ryersons were sticking pretty much together. When Lightoller first ordered the boat loaded, wives, children, maids and nurses went down to the promenade deck to get in as a group. When they found they couldn’t, they just stayed put.
Eventually most of the husbands turned up, and for over an hour the cream of New York and Philadelphia society just waited around while the windows were opened and the sounding spar chopped away. Once they were ordered back up to the boat deck, but then second steward Dodd sent them right down again. Exasperated, Mrs Thayer exclaimed, ‘Just tell us where to go and we will follow! You ordered us up here and now you’re sending us back!’
It was 1.45 when Lightoller returned. Now he stood—one foot in No. 4, the other on an open window sill. Somebody put deck chairs against the rail to serve as steps. The men stood by to pass the women and children through the windows.
John Jacob Astor helped Mrs Astor across the frame, then asked if he could join her. She was, as he put it, ‘in a delicate condition’.
‘No, sir,’ Lightoller replied. ‘No men are allowed in these boats until the women are loaded first.’
Astor asked which boat it was, and Lightoller said, ‘Number 4.’ Colonel Gracie was sure Astor merely wanted to locate his wife later. Lightoller was sure he planned to make a complaint.
Then came the Ryersons’ turn. Arthur Ryerson noticed their French maid Victorine had no lifebelt. Quickly he stripped off his own and buckled it on her. When Mrs Ryerson led her son Jack to the window, Lightoller called out, ‘That boy can’t go!’
Mr Ryerson indignantly stepped forward: ‘Of course that boy goes with his mother—he is only thirteen.’ So they let him pass, Lightoller grumbling, ‘No more boys.’
At 1.55, No. 4 dropped to the sea—just 15 feet below. Mrs Ryerson was shocked to see how far the ship had sunk. She watched the water pour in the big square ports on C deck, sweep around the period furniture of the de luxe suites. Then she looked up at the promenade deck. Mr Ryerson was still standing by the rail with Mr Widener, looking down at the boat. They seemed very quiet.
Only one boat was left. Collapsible D had now been fitted into the davits used by No. 2 and was ready for loading. There was no time to spare. The lights were beginning to glow red. Chinaware was breaking somewhere below. Jack Thayer saw a man lurch by with a full bottle of Gordon’s gin. He put it to his mouth and drained it. ‘If I ever get out of this,’ Thayer said to himself, ‘there is one man I’ll never see again.’ (Actually, he was one of the first survivors Thayer met.)
Lightoller took no chances. Most of the passengers had moved aft, but still—one boat… forty-seven seats… 1,600 people. He had the crew lock arms in a wide ring around boat D. Only the women could come through.
Two baby boys were brought by their father to the edge of the ring, handed through and placed in the boat. The father stepped back into the crowd. He called himself ‘Mr Hoffman’ and told people he was taking the boys to visit relatives in America. His name really was Navatril and he was kidnapping the children from his estranged wife.
Henry B. Harris, the theatrical producer, escorted Mrs Harris to the ring, was told he couldn’t go any further. He sighed: ‘Yes, I know. I will stay.’
Colonel Gracie rushed up with Mrs John Murray Brown and Miss Edith Evans, two of the five ‘unprotected ladies’ to whom he had offered his services on the trip. He was stopped by the line but saw the women through. They reached boat D just as it was starting down the falls. Miss Evans turned to Mrs Brown: ‘You go first. You have children waiting at home.’
Quickly she helped Mrs Brown over the rail. Then someone yelled to lower away, and at 2.05 collapsible D —the last boat of all—started down towards the sea—without Edith Evans.
Directly below, Hugh Woolner and Bjornstrom Steffanson were standing alone by the rail. It had been a hard night—helping Mrs Candee… trying to save the Strauses… dragging those cowards out of boat C. Now they were on A deck trying to find someone else to help, but the deck was absolutely deserted. The lights had a reddish glow.
‘This is getting rather a tight corner,’ Woolner remarked, ‘let’s go through the door at the end.’ They walked forward to the open end of the promenade deck. As they came out, the sea poured on to the deck, over their evening pumps and up to their knees. They hopped on to the railing. Nine feet away they saw boat D sliding down the side of the ship. It was now or never.
‘Let’s make a jump for it!’ cried Woolner. ‘There’s plenty of room in her bow!’ Steffanson hurled himself out at the boat, landing head over heels up front. The next second Woolner followed, falling half in, half out. In another instant collapsible D hit the water and cast off. As it pulled away, seaman William Lucas called up to Miss Evans still standing on deck. ‘There’s another boat going to be put down for you.’
6. ‘That’s the Way of It at This Kind of Time’
With the boats all gone, a curious calm came over the
