A Night to Remember

Here, trimmer George Cavell was busy drawing the fires. This meant even less power, but there must be no explosion when the sea reached No. 4. It was about 1.20 and the job was almost done when he noticed the water seeping up through the metal floor plates. Cavell worked faster. When it reached his knees, he had had enough. He was almost at the top of the escape ladder when he began to feel he had quit on his mates. Down again, only to find they were gone too. His conscience clear, he climbed back up, this time for good.

Most of the boats were now gone. One by one they rowed slowly away from the Titanic, oars bumping and splashing in the glass-smooth sea.

‘I never had an oar in my hand before, but I think I can row,’ a steward told Mrs J. Stuart White, as No. 8 set out.

In every boat all eyes were glued on the Titanic. Her tall masts, the four big funnels stood out sharp and black in the clear blue night. The bright promenade decks, the long rows of portholes all blazed with light. From the boats they could see the people lining the rails; they could hear the ragtime in the still night air. It seemed impossible that anything could be wrong with this great ship; yet there they were out on the sea, and there she was, well down at the head. Brilliantly lit from stem to stern, she looked like a sagging birthday cake.

Clumsily the boats moved further away. Those told to stand by now lay on their oars. Others, told to make for the steamer whose lights shone in the distance, began their painful journey.

The steamer seemed agonizingly near. So near that Captain Smith told the people in boat 8 to go over, land its passengers, and come back for more. About the same time he asked Quartermaster Rowe at the rocket gun if he could Morse. Rowe replied he could a little, and the captain said, ‘Call that ship up and when she replies, tell her, “We are the Titanic sinking; please have all your boats ready.”’

Boxhall had already tried to reach her, but Rowe was more than eager to try his own luck; so in between rocket firing he called her again and again. Still no answer. Then Rowe told Captain Smith he thought he saw another light on the starboard quarter. The old skipper squinted through his glasses, courteously told Rowe that it was a planet. But he liked the eagerness of his young quartermaster, and he lent Rowe the glasses to see for himself.

Meanwhile Boxhall continued firing rockets. Sooner or later, somehow they would wake up the stranger.

On the bridge of the Californian, Second Officer Stone and apprentice Gibson counted the rockets – five by 12.55. Gibson tried his Morse lamp again, and at one o’clock lifted his glasses for another look. He was just in time to see a sixth rocket.

At 1.10 Stone whistled down the speaking tube to the chart room and told Captain Lord. He called back, ‘Are they company signals?’

‘I don’t know,’ Stone answered, ‘but they appear to me to be white rockets.’

The captain advised him to go on Morsing.

A little later Stone handed his glasses to Gibson, remarking: ‘Have a look at her now. She looks very queer out of the water – her lights look queer.’

Gibson studied the ship carefully. She seemed to be listing. She had, as he called it, ‘a big side out of the water’. And Stone, standing beside him, noticed that her red side light had disappeared.

5. ‘I Believe She’s Gone, Hardy’

The other ships just didn’t seem to understand. At 1.25 the Olympic asked, ‘Are you steering south to meet us?’ Phillips patiently explained, ‘We are putting the women off in the boats.’

Then the Frankfort: ‘Are there any ships around you already?’ Phillips ignored this one. Again the Frankfort, asking for more details. This was too much. He jumped up, almost screaming: ‘The damn fool! He says, “What’s up, old man?”’ Then he angrily tapped back: ‘You fool, stand by and keep out.’

From time to time Captain Smith dropped in – once to warn that the power was fading … again to say she couldn’t last much longer … later to report that the water had reached the engine room. At 1.45, Phillips begged the Carpathia: ‘Come as quickly as possible, old man; engine room filling up to the boilers.’

Meanwhile Bride draped an overcoat over Phillips’ shoulders, then managed to strap a lifebelt on him. The problem of getting him into his boots was more complicated. Phillips asked whether any boats were left – maybe the boots wouldn’t be needed.

Once he turned the set over to Bride, went out to see what was happening. He returned shaking his head: ‘Things look very queer.’

They looked queer indeed. The sea now slopped over the Titanic’s forward well deck … rippled around the cranes, the hatches, the foot of the mast … washed against the base of the white superstructure. The roar of steam had died, the nerve-racking rockets had stopped – but the slant of the deck was steeper and there was an ugly list to port.