“Lump.” “Lump” was all that his name implies, for he weighed almost as much as his brother. They were dark-eyed and brown curly-haired children, who knew how to smile as only French children can.
On the fateful night of the Titanic disaster and just as the last boats were pulling away with their human freight, a man rushed to the rail holding the babes under his arms. He cried to the passengers in one of the boats and held the children aloft. Three or four sailors and passengers held up their arms. The father dropped the older boy. He was safely caught. Then he dropped the little fellow and saw him folded in the arms of a sailor. Then the boat pulled away.
The last seen of the father, whose last living act was to save his babes, he was waving his hand in a final parting. Then the Titanic plunged to the ocean’s bed.
Still more pitiable in one way was the lot of the baby survivor, eleven-months-old Travers Allison, the only member of a family of four to survive the wreck. His father, H. J. Allison, and mother and Lorraine, a child of three, were victims of the catastrophe. Baby Travers, in the excitement following the crash, was separated from the rest of the family just before the Titanic went down. With the party were two nurses and a maid.
Major Arthur Peuchen, of Montreal, one of the survivors, standing near the little fellow, who, swathed in blankets, lay blinking at his nurse, described the death of Mrs. Allison. She had gone to the deck without her husband, and, frantically seeking him, was directed by an officer to the other side of the ship.
She failed to find Mr. Allison and was quickly hustled into one of the collapsible life-boats, and when last seen by Major Peuchen she was toppling out of the half-swamped boat. J. W. Allison, a cousin of H. J. Allison, was at the pier to care for Baby Travers and his nurse. They were taken to the Manhattan Hotel.
Describing the details of the perishing of the Allison family, the rescued nurse said they were all in bed when the Titanic hit the berg.
{illust. caption = WHITE STAR STEAMER TITANIC GYMNASIUM}
{illust. caption = Copyright, 1912, Underwood & Underwood. CAPTAIN A. H. ROSTRON
Commander of the Carpathia, which rescued the survivors of the Titanic from the life-boats in the open sea and brought them to New York. After the Senatorial Investigating Committee had examined Captain Rostron, at which time this specially posed photograph was taken, Senator William Alden Smith, chairman of the committee, said of Captain Rostron: “His conduct of the rescue shows that he is not only an efficient seaman, but one of nature’s noblemen.'}
“We did not get up immediately,” said she, “for we had not thought of danger. Later we were told to get up, and I hurriedly dressed the baby. We hastened up on deck, and confusion was all about. With other women and children we clambered to the life-boats, just as a matter of precaution, believing that there was no immediate danger. In about an hour there was an explosion and the ship appeared to fall apart. We were in the life-boat about six hours before we were picked up.”
Probably few deaths have caused more tears than Arthur Ryerson’s, in view of the sad circumstances which called him home from a lengthy tour in Europe. Mr. Ryerson’s eldest son, Arthur Larned Ryerson, a Yale student, was killed in an automobile accident Easter Monday, 1912.
A cablegram announcing the death plunged the Ryerson family into mourning and they boarded the first steamship for this country. If{sic} happened to be the Titanic, and the death note came near being the cause of the blotting out of the entire family.
The children who accompanied them were Miss Susan P. Ryerson, Miss Emily B. Ryerson and John Ryerson. The latter is 12 years old.
They did not know their son intended to spend the Easter holidays at their home at Haverford, Pa. until they were informed of his death. John Lewis Hoffman, also of Haverford and a student of Yale, was killed with young Ryerson.
The two were hurrying to Philadelphia to escort a fellow-student to his train. In turning out of the road to pass a cart the motor car crashed into a pole in front of the entrance to the estate of Mrs. B. Frank Clyde. The college men were picked up unconscious and died in the Bryn Mawr Hospital.
G. Heide Norris of Philadelphia, who went to New York to meet the surviving members of the Ryerson family, told of a happy incident at the last moment as the Carpathia swung close to the pier. There had been no positive information that young “Jack” Ryerson was among those saved—indeed, it was feared that he had gone down with the Titanic, like his father, Arthur Ryerson.
Mr. Norris spoke of the feeling of relief that came over him as, watching from the pier, he saw “Jack” Ryerson come from a cabin and stand at the railing. The name of the boy was missing from some of the lists and for two days it was reported that he had perished.
Less than 24 hours after the Cunard Line steamship Carpathia came in as a rescue ship with survivors of the Titanic disaster, she sailed again for the Mediterranean cruise which she originally started upon last week. Just before the liner sailed, H. S. Bride, the second Marconi wireless operator of the Titanic, who had both of his legs crushed on a life-boat, was carried off on the shoulders of the ship’s officers to St. Vincent’s Hospital.
Captain A. H. Rostron, of the Carpathia, addressed an official report, giving his account of the Carpathia’s rescue work, to the general manager of the Cunard Line, Liverpool. The report read:
“I beg to report that at 12.35 A. M. Monday 18th inst. I was informed of urgent message from Titanic with her position. I immediately ordered ship turned around and put her in course for that position, we being then 58 miles S. 52—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, and had to alter course several times to clear bergs; weather fine, and clear, light air on 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 officer, and he reported that Titanic had foundered. At 8.30 A. M. last boat picked up. All survivors aboard and all boats accounted for, viz., fifteen life-boats, one boat abandoned, two Berthon boats alongside (saw one floating upwards among wreckage), and according to second officer (senior officer saved) one Berthon boat had not been launched, it having got jammed, making sixteen life-boats and four Berthon boats accounted for. By the time we had cleared first boat it was breaking day, and I could see all within area of four miles. We also saw that we were surrounded by icebergs, large and small, huge field of drift ice with large and small bergs in it, the ice field trending from N. W. round W. and S. to S. E., as far as we could see either way.
“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 researching 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 fall and hoist up as many Titanic boats as possible in our davits; also get some on forecastle heads 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 their loss, in saloon.
“Before deciding definitely where to make for, I conferred with Mr. Ismay, and as he told me to do what I thought best, I informed him, I considered New York best. I knew we should require clean blankets, provisions and clean linen, even if we went to the Azores, as most of the passsengers{sic} saved were women and children, and they hysterical, not knowing what medical attention they might require. I thought it best to go to New York. I also thought it would be better for Mr. Ismay to go to New York or England as soon as possible, and knowing I should be out of wireless communication very soon if I proceeded to Azores, it left Halifax, Boston and New York, so I chose the latter.
“Again, the passengers were all hysterical about ice, and I pointed out to Mr. Ismay the possibilities of seeing ice if I went to Halifax. Then I knew it would be best to keep in touch with land stations as best I could. We have experienced 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
