Voices from the Titanic Page 9

  I saw a little ice there. Then I went further, to the forecastle head, to see if there was any damage there. I could not see any at all. On my return, before emerging from under the forecastle head, I saw a crowd of firemen coming out with their bags of clothing.

  I said: ‘What is the matter?’

  They said: ‘Water is coming in our place.’

  I said: ‘That is funny.’ I looked down No. 1 hatch and saw the water flowing over the hatch. I immediately went to the boat deck and assisted in getting boats uncovered and ready for swinging out.

  (US Inquiry, 23 April 1912)

  First-class passenger Mrs Lucian P. Smith from Huntington, West Virginia, had enjoyed a pleasant evening in the Titanic’s splendid Café Parisien.

  At 7.30 p.m., as usual, my husband and I went to dinner in the café. There was a dinner party going on, given by Mr Ismay to the captain and various other people on board ship. This was a usual occurrence of the evening, so we paid no attention to it. The dinner did not seem to be particularly gay. While they had various wines to drink, I am positive none were intoxicated at a quarter of nine o’clock when we left the dining room. There was a coffee room directly outside of the café in which people sat and listened to the music and drank coffee and cordials after dinner. My husband was with some friends just outside of what I know as the Parisian Café. I stayed up until 10.30, and then went to bed. I passed through the coffee room, and Mr Ismay and his party were still there. The reason I am positive about the different time is because I asked my husband at the three intervals what time it was. I went to bed, and my husband joined his friends.

  I was asleep when the crash came. It did not awaken me enough to frighten me. In fact, I went back to sleep again. Then I awakened again because it seemed that the boat had stopped. About that time my husband came into the room. Still I was not frightened, but thought he had come in to go to bed. I asked him why the boat had stopped, and, in a leisurely manner, he said: ‘We are in the north and have struck an iceberg. It does not amount to anything, but will probably delay us a day getting into New York. However, as a matter of form, the captain has ordered all ladies on deck.’

  That frightened me a little but, after being reassured there was no danger, I took plenty of time in dressing, putting on all my heavy clothing, high shoes, and two coats, as well as a warm knit hood. While I dressed, my husband and I talked of landing, not mentioning the iceberg.

  I started out, putting on my life preserver, when we met a steward who was on his way to tell us to put on life preservers and come on deck. However I returned to the room with the intention of bringing my jewellery, but my husband said not to delay with such trifles. However I picked up two rings and went on deck.

  After getting to the top deck, the ladies were ordered on Deck A without our husbands. I refused to go, but, after being told by three or four officers, my husband insisted and, along with another lady, we went down. After staying there some time with nothing seemingly going on, someone called saying they could not be lowered from that deck for the reason it was enclosed in glass. That seemed to be the first time the officers and captain had thought of that, and hastened to order us all on the top deck again. There was some delay in getting lifeboats down – in fact, we had plenty of time to sit in the gymnasium and chat with another gentleman and his wife. I kept asking my husband if I could remain with him rather than go in a lifeboat. He promised me I could. There was no commotion, no panic, and no one seemed to be particularly frightened. In fact, most of the people seemed interested in the unusual occurrence, many having crossed fifty and sixty times. However I noticed my husband was busy talking to an officer he came in contact with. Still I had not the least suspicion of the scarcity of lifeboats, or I never should have left my husband.

  (US Inquiry, 20 May 1912)

  Saloon steward William Ward, a man with twenty years’ experience at sea, was in his quarters on E deck.

  When I felt the shock I got up. I went to the port and opened it. It was bitterly cold. I looked out and saw nothing. It was very dark. I got back into my bunk again. Presently two or three people came along and said she had struck an iceberg, and some of them went and brought pieces of ice along in their hands. I thought at first it was the propeller gone, the way she went. I lay there for about twenty minutes, and in the meantime the steerage passengers were coming from forward, coming aft, carrying life belts with them. Some of them were wet. Still I did not think it was anything serious, and I lay there for a little while longer when the head waiter came down – Moss, his name was – and said we were all to go on deck and to put on some warm clothing before we went up, as we were liable to be there some time. With that, I think almost everybody in the ‘glory hole’, as we call it, got dressed and went on deck. I just put on things to keep me warm, because I did not think it was anything serious.

  We went up the midship companionway, up to the top deck, and met Mr Dodd (the chief second steward) on D deck. He told us to go forward to the saloon and see if there was anyone about. If there was, we were to order them up on deck and collect the lifebelts and bring them up to the deck cloakroom.

  I went forward but did not see anyone around there. So I came back and got seven life belts on my way up. When I got on deck, I adjusted preservers on people that hadn’t got one. I put one on myself. Everybody was moving around in a most orderly manner. There did not seem to be any excitement. In fact, a lot of ladies and gentlemen there were just treating it as a kind of joke.

  (US Inquiry, 25 April 1912)

  When celebrated Broadway producer Henry B. Harris cabled home that he and his wife René had booked to travel on the Titanic, his business associate William Klein immediately feared the worst. Indeed Klein was so alarmed by the prospect that he promptly cabled Harris and begged him not to sail on the new liner. Harris replied that it was too late to change his plans and he and his wife duly boarded the ship. As the Titanic went down, Harris kissed his wife goodbye and helped her into one of the collapsible boats. He then went down with the ship. Mrs Henry B. Harris told her story to American newsmen.

  We were in our state room when the word was passed for all passengers to put on life preservers and go on deck. This order followed within a few seconds after the ship struck. We did not realize the seriousness of the crash, thinking some slight trouble had happened to the engines. Even when the order was brought to us to put on life preservers and come on deck we still failed to realize the situation.

  As we went on deck we passed groups of men and women who were laughing and joking. When we reached the main deck, forward, and saw the lifeboats being swung overboard the seriousness of the matter began to dawn on us. Then came the command: ‘Women and children first.’

  When the passengers saw the seriousness with which the officers and crew went about their business they began to realize that something terrible had happened and began to make their way towards the lifeboats.

  Colonel Astor and Mrs Astor were standing near us. When the men of the Titanic came to her and told her to get into a lifeboat she refused to leave her husband’s side. Then I was asked to enter one of the boats. My husband told me to go but I did not want to leave him. He reassured me, saying the danger was not serious and that he would follow after me in a short time. Still I could not believe that everything was as he said. I felt that if I left him something terrible would happen. The officers told me I would have to get into a lifeboat. My husband told me to and finally I was led to the side and lowered into a boat. They put me in a collapsible boat. I was one of three women in the first cabin in the thing; the rest were steerage people. Major Butt helped those poor, frightened steerage people so wonderfully, tenderly and yet with such cool and manly firmness. He was a major to the last.

  When the order came to take to the boats he became as one in supreme command. He was a man to be feared. In one of the earlier boats fifty women, it seemed, were about to be lowered, when a man, suddenly panic-stricken, ran to the stern of it. Major Butt shot o
ne arm out, caught him by the neck, and jerked him backward. His head cracked against a rail and he was stunned.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Major Butt, ‘but women will be attended to first or I’ll break every damned bone in your body.’

  Mrs Astor had left her husband and had been placed in another boat. As I was being lowered over the side, I saw my husband and Colonel Astor standing together. Jacques Futrelle was standing near them. My husband waved his hand. That was the last I saw of him.

  Mrs Emily Richards, aged twenty-four, from Penzance in Cornwall was travelling with her two children and her mother to join her husband in Akron, Ohio.

  I had put the children in bed and had gone to bed myself. We had been making good time all day, the ship rushing through the sea at a tremendous rate, and the air on deck was cold and crisp. I didn’t hear the collision, for I was asleep. But my mother came and shook me.

  ‘There is surely danger,’ said Mamma. ‘Something has gone wrong.’’

  So we put on our slippers and outside coats and got the children into theirs and went on deck. We had on our nightgowns under our coats. As we went up the stairway someone was shouting down in a calm voice: ‘Everybody put on their life preservers before coming on deck!’

  We went back and put them on, assuring each other that it was nothing.

  (New York World, 20 April 1912)

  American passenger Mahala Douglas was travelling with her husband Walter. She survived, but he was lost in the sinking.

  We both remarked that the boat was going faster than she ever had. The vibration as one passed the stairway in the centre was very noticeable.

  The shock of the collision was not great to us. The engines stopped, then went on for a few moments, then stopped again. We waited some little time, Mr Douglas reassuring me that there was no danger before going out of the cabin. But later Mr Douglas went out to see what had happened, and I put on my heavy boots and fur coat to go up on deck later. I waited in the corridor to see or hear what I could. We received no orders. No one knocked at our door. We saw no officers nor stewards – no one to give an order or answer our questions. As I waited for Mr Douglas to return I went back to speak to my maid who was in the same cabin as Mrs Carter’s maid. Now people commenced to appear with life preservers, and I heard from someone that the order had been given to put them on. I took three from our cabin, gave one to the maid, telling her to get off in the small boat when her turn came. Mr Douglas met me as I was going up to find him and asked, jestingly, what I was doing with those life preservers. He did not think even then that the accident was serious. We both put them on, however, and went up on the boat deck. Mr Douglas told me if I waited we might both go together and we stood there waiting. We heard that the boat was in communication with three other boats by wireless. We watched the distress rockets sent off. They rose high in the air and burst. No one seemed excited. Finally, as we stood by a collapsible boat lying on the deck and an emergency boat swinging from the davits was being filled, it was decided I should go. Mr Boxhall was trying to get the boat off and called to the captain on the bridge: ‘There’s a boat coming up over there.’ The captain said, ‘I want a megaphone.’ Just before we got into the boat the captain called: ‘How many of the crew are in that boat? Get out of there, every man of you!’ I can see a solid row of men, from bow to stern, crawl over on to the deck. We women then got in. I asked Mr Douglas to come with me, but, turning away, he replied: ‘No, I must be a gentleman.’ I said: ‘Try and get off with Mr Moore and Major Butt. They will surely make it.’

  (US Inquiry, 9 May 1912)

  Miss Caroline Bonnell of Youngstown, Ohio, was travelling with her aunt Lily and George D. Wick, a steel manufacturer from Youngstown, and his wife and daughter. The women were all saved, but George Wick died.

  Miss Wick and I occupied a state room together. We were awakened shortly before midnight by a sudden shock, a grinding concussion. Miss Wick arose and looked out of the state room window. She saw some men playfully throwing particles of ice at one another, and realized that we had struck an iceberg.

  She and I dressed, not hastily, for we were not greatly alarmed, and went on deck.

  There we found a number of passengers. Naturally they were all somewhat nervous, but there was nothing approaching a panic. The other members of our party also had come on deck, and we formed a little group by ourselves.

  We were told to put on life belts and obeyed. Then the sailors began to launch the lifeboats. Still we were not alarmed. We had no doubt that all on board would be saved. In fact we had no idea that the ship was sinking and believed that the resort to the lifeboats was merely a precaution.

  Mr Wick kissed his wife goodbye and our boat, the first on that side of the ship, was lowered to the sea. There were about twenty-five women in the boat with two sailors and a steward to row. These were the only men. The boat would have held many more.

  (New York World, 20 April 1912)

  International dress designer Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon, and her Eton-educated husband, Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon, booked on the Titanic under the names of ‘Mr and Mrs Morgan’, possibly a joke at the expense of the ship’s owner, American businessman John Pierpont Morgan. Their party also included Lady Duff Gordon’s secretary, Laura Francatelli. All three survived. Lady Duff Gordon was preparing for bed in cabin A20 when the Titanic struck the iceberg.

  I was awakened by a long grinding shock as though someone had drawn a giant finger all along the side of the boat. I awakened my husband and told him that I thought we had struck something. There was no excitement that I could hear, but Sir Cosmo went up on deck. He returned and told me that we had hit some ice, apparently a big berg, but there seemed to be no danger. We were not assured of this, however, and Sir Cosmo went upstairs again. He came back to me and said: ‘You had better put your clothes on because I heard them give orders to strip the boats.’

  We each put on a life preserver, and over mine I threw some heavy furs. I took a few trinkets and we went up to the deck. The ship had listed slightly to starboard and was down a little at the head. As we stood there, one of the officers ran to us and said: ‘The women and children are to go into the boats.’

  We watched a number of women and children and some men go into the lifeboats. At last one of the officers came to me and said: ‘Lady Gordon, you had better go in one of the boats.’

  I said to my husband: ‘Well, we might as well take the boat, although I think it will be only a little pleasure excursion until morning. Five stokers got in and two Americans, A.L. Solomon of New York and Mr Stengel of Newark. A number of other passengers, mostly men, were standing near by and they joked with us because we were going out on the ocean. ‘The ship can’t sink,’ said one. ‘You’ll get your death of cold out there in the ice.’

  Edward N. Kimball of Boston, Massachusetts, travelled first-class with his wife.

  On Sunday evening I had just gone down from the smoke room to my state room and removed my coat and was standing in the middle of the room when the ship struck the iceberg. It seemed to me like scraping and tearing more than a shock. It was on the starboard side of the ship under where our room was located, and the ice from the iceberg poured in our porthole.

  After assuring Mrs Kimball that it was nothing, simply an iceberg, and that we had probably scraped it, and as the ship did not seem to slacken her speed, everything was probably all right. I stepped into the companion-way and spoke to some friends who were located in the same section.

  I then went on deck to see if I could see the iceberg. There were very few people out around the ship and the stewards and officers were assuring everybody that everything was all right and to return to bed, which many of them probably did.

  I came back to our state room, which was located near the stairway, which went down to the deck below, to the squash courts and mail rooms. At that time I saw a mail clerk go down and when he came up he had one mail bag in his hands and was wet to the knees.

  I asked him about how bad it was
and he seemed very serious and said it was pretty bad, and that he would advise the women to dress as they might have to go on deck and it would be cold. We instructed the rest of the women in our party to dress and also everyone in our corridor, including a number of women who were travelling alone.

  Mrs Kimball had already started dressing, and I told her to dress warmly, as we would probably be on deck for some time and put on a sweater and a heavy ulster (a long overcoat).

  We then started out feeling that everything was all right. After we had gone a few steps a young lady of our party came back from the upper deck, and I asked her what was going on up there. She said the order had been given out to put on the lifebelts. We returned to our state rooms, which were only a few feet away, got our lifebelts and notified all the women in the corridor to do the same and to come with us.

  None of us knew how to put on the lifebelts, but I saw an officer in the companionway and he showed us how to put them on, and also told us that there was no danger and that everything would be all right.

  He suggested, however, that we go up on the boat deck. When we arrived, only a few people were there, and as it was about 75 feet from the boat deck to the water, the officers were having great difficulty in getting the people to go into the lifeboats, assuring them at the same time that it would not be a long while before they would probably be back on the big boat.

  (Boston Post, 20 April 1912)

  Charlotte Collyer and her daughter Marjorie had been asleep for half an hour when husband Harvey returned to their second-class cabin. He too was about to retire to bed when the collision occurred. Charlotte later recounted her experiences to an American magazine.