A Night to Remember

raced down the ladder, through the chart room, and burst into the captain’s cabin. Rostron—a stickler for discipline even when half asleep—wondered what the ship was coming to, with people dashing in in this way. They were meant to knock. But before he could reprimand them, Dean blurted the news.

Rostron bolted out of bed, ordered the ship turned, and then—after the order was given—double-checked Cottam:

‘Are you sure it is the Titanic and requires immediate assistance?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You are absolutely certain?’

‘Quite certain.’

‘All right, tell him we are coming along as fast as we can.’

Rostron then rushed into the chart room and worked out the Carpathia’s new course. As he figured and scribbled, he saw the boatswain’s mate pass by, leading a party to scrub down the decks. Rostron told him to forget the decks and prepare the boats for lowering. The mate gaped. Rostron reassured him: ‘It’s all right; we’re going to another vessel in distress.’

In a few moments the new course was set—north 52 west. The Carpathia was fifty-eight miles away. At 14 knots she would take four hours to get there. Too long.

Rostron sent for chief engineer Johnstone, told him to pour it on—call out the off-duty watch… cut off the heat and hot water… pile every ounce of steam into the boilers.

Next, Rostron sent for First Officer Dean. He told him to knock off all routine work, organize the ship for rescue operations. Specifically, prepare and swing out all boats… . rig electric clusters along the ship’s side… open all gangway doors… hook block and line rope in each gangway… rig chair slings for the sick and injured, canvas and bags for hauling up children at every gangway… drop pilot ladders and side ladders at gangways and along the sides… rig cargo nets to help people up… prepare forward derricks (with steam in the winches) to hoist mail and luggage aboard… and have oil handy to pour down the lavatories on both sides of the ship, in case the sea grew rough.

Then he called the ship’s surgeon, Dr McGhee: collect all the restoratives and stimulants on the ship… set up first-aid stations in each dining-saloon… put the Hungarian doctor in charge of third class… the Italian doctor in second… McGhee himself in first.

Now it was Purser Brown’s turn: see that the chief steward, the assistant purser and himself each covered a different gangway—receive the Titanic’s passengers… get their names… channel them to the proper dining-saloon (depending on class) for medical check.

Finally, another barrage of orders for chief steward Harry Hughes: call out every man… prepare coffee for all hands… have soup, coffee, tea, brandy and whisky ready for survivors… pile blankets at every gangway… convert smoking-room, lounge and library into dormitories for the rescued… group all the Carpathia’s steerage passengers together, use the space saved for the Titanic’s steerage.

As he gave his orders, Rostron urged them all to keep quiet. The job ahead was tough enough without having the Carpathia’s passengers underfoot. The longer they slept, the better. As an extra precaution, stewards were stationed in every corridor. They were to tell any prowling passengers that the Carpathia wasn’t in trouble, urge them to go back to their cabins.

Then he sent an inspector, the master-at-arms and a special detail of stewards to keep the steerage passengers under control. After all, no one knew how they’d react to being shuffled about.

The ship sprang to life. Down in the engine room it seemed as if everyone had found a shovel and was pouring on the coal. The extra watch tumbled out of their bunks and raced to lend a hand. Most didn’t even wait to dress. Faster and faster the old ship knifed ahead—14… 14.5… 15… 16.5… 17 knots. No one dreamed the Carpathia could drive so hard.

In the crew’s quarters a tug at his blanket woke up steward Robert H. Vaughan. A voice told him to get up and dress. It was pitch black, but Vaughan could hear his room-mates already pulling on their clothes. He asked what was up, and the voice said the Carpathia had hit an iceberg.

Vaughan stumbled to the porthole and looked out. The ship was driving ahead, white waves rolling out from her side. Obviously there was nothing wrong with the Carpathia. Bewildered, he and his mates continued dressing—all the more confused because someone had swiped their only light bulb and they had to get ready in the dark.

When they reached the deck, an officer put them to work collecting blankets. Then to the first-class dining- saloon… now a beehive of men scurrying about, shifting chairs, resetting tables, moving the liquor from the bar to the buffet. Still Vaughan and his mates couldn’t imagine the reason. Elsewhere word spread that Captain Rostron wanted 3,000 blankets for ‘that many extra people’. But nobody knew why.

At 1.15 they learned. The stewards were all mustered into the main dining-saloon and chief steward Hughes gave a little speech. He told them about the Titanic… explained their duties… paused… then delivered his ending: ‘Every man to his post and let him do his full duty like a true Englishman. If the situation calls for it, let us add another glorious page to British history.’

Then the stewards went back to work, most of them now shifting blankets from the bedding lockers to the gangways. These were the men Louis Ogden saw when he first looked out of his cabin. Now he decided to try again. He collared Dr McGhee, who was passing by, but the surgeon only told him, ‘Please stay in your cabin— captain’s orders.’

‘Yes, but what is the matter?’

‘An accident, but not to our ship. Stay inside.’

Mr Ogden reported back to his wife. For some reason he was sure the Carpathia was on fire and the ship was speeding for help. He began dressing, slipped out on deck, found a quartermaster he knew. This time he got a straight answer: ‘There has been an accident to the Titanic.’

‘You’ll have to give me something better than that!’ said Ogden, almost triumphantly. ‘The Titanic is on the northern route and we are on the southern.’

‘We’re going north like hell. Get back in your room.’

Mr Ogden again reported back to Mrs Ogden, who asked, ‘Do you believe it?’

‘No. Get up and put on your warmest clothes.’ There was no doubt in Mr Ogden’s mind now: the Titanic was unsinkable; so the surgeon must be covering up. His story confirmed their worst fears—the Carpathia was in danger. They must escape. Somehow they managed to sneak out on deck.

Others made it too; and they compared notes together, furtive little groups hiding from their own crew. Gradually they realized the Carpathia wasn’t in danger. But despite rumours about the Titanic, nobody was sure why they were on this wild dash through the night. And of course they couldn’t ask or they’d be sent below again. So they just stood there, huddling in the shadows, all eyes straining into the darkness, not even knowing what they were looking for.

In fact, nobody on the Carpathia now knew what to look for. In the wireless shack over the second-class smoking-room, Harold Cottam could no longer rouse the Titanic. But his set was so miserable—the range was only 150 miles at best—that he wasn’t sure what had happened. Perhaps the Titanic was still sending, but her signals were now too weak to catch.

On the other hand, the news so far had been all bad. At 1.06, Cottam heard her tell the Olympic, ‘Get your boats ready; going down fast at the head’… at 1.10, ‘Sinking head down’… at 1.35, ‘Engine room getting flooded.’

Once the Titanic asked Cottam how long he would take to arrive. ‘Say about four hours,’ instructed Rostron—he didn’t yet realize what the Carpathia could do.

Then at 1.50 came a final plea, ‘Come as quickly as possible, old man; the engine room is filling up to the boilers.’ After that, silence.

Now it was after 2.00, and Cottam still hunched tensely over the set. Once Miss Peterson peeked in at him, noticed that, despite the biting cold, Cottam was still in his shirtsleeves. He had just started to undress when the first CQD arrived, and he hadn’t yet got around to putting on his coat again.

Up on the bridge, Rostron was wondering too. He had organized his men, done everything he could think of,