A Night to Remember

This Sunday he was enough of a member of the crew to see the ice message that arrived from another ship. In the bright, sunny Palm Court – just as the bugler sounded lunch – Captain Smith gave him a warning from the Baltic. During the afternoon Ismay (who liked to remind people who he was) fished it out of his pocket and waved it at Mrs Ryerson and Mrs Thayer. In the smoking-room before dinner, while the twilight still glowed through the amber-stained windows, Captain Smith sought and got the message back. Then Ismay walked down to the restaurant, immaculate in his dinner jacket, very much a first-class passenger.

After the crash he went back to being in the crew – up with the captain on the bridge … consulting with chief engineer Bell … and now, despite the tongue-lashing from Fifth Officer Lowe, shouted orders about the boats.

Then came another switch. At the very last moment he suddenly climbed into boat C. Down it dropped, with forty-two people including Bruce Ismay – just another passenger.

Most of the passengers were different. William T. Stead, independent as ever, sat reading alone in the first-class smoking-room. To fireman Kemish, passing by, he looked as though he planned to stay there whatever 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 Titanic’s sounding spar stuck out directly below the boat. Seaman Sam Parks and storekeeper Jack Foley went down to chop it away, but they had trouble finding an axe. Time was wasting. Lightoller hurried on to the other boats – he’d load this one later.

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.