A Night to Remember

Eventually most of the husbands turned up, and for over an hour the cream of New York and Philadelphia society just waited around while the windows were opened and the sounding spar chopped away. Once they were ordered back up to the boat deck, but then second steward Dodd sent them right down again. Exasperated, Mrs Thayer exclaimed, ‘Just tell us where to go and we will follow! You ordered us up here and now you’re sending us back!’

It was 1.45 when Lightoller returned. Now he stood – one foot in No. 4, the other on an open window sill. Somebody put deck chairs against the rail to serve as steps. The men stood by to pass the women and children through the windows.

John Jacob Astor helped Mrs Astor across the frame, then asked if he could join her. She was, as he put it, ‘in a delicate condition’.

‘No, sir,’ Lightoller replied. ‘No men are allowed in these boats until the women are loaded first.’

Astor asked which boat it was, and Lightoller said, ‘Number 4.’ Colonel Gracie was sure Astor merely wanted to locate his wife later. Lightoller was sure he planned to make a complaint.

Then came the Ryersons’ turn. Arthur Ryerson noticed their French maid Victorine had no lifebelt. Quickly he stripped off his own and buckled it on her. When Mrs Ryerson led her son Jack to the window, Lightoller called out, ‘That boy can’t go!’

Mr Ryerson indignantly stepped forward: ‘Of course that boy goes with his mother – he is only thirteen.’ So they let him pass, Lightoller grumbling, ‘No more boys.’

At 1.55, No. 4 dropped to the sea – just 15 feet below. Mrs Ryerson was shocked to see how far the ship had sunk. She watched the water pour in the big square ports on C deck, sweep around the period furniture of the de luxe suites. Then she looked up at the promenade deck. Mr Ryerson was still standing by the rail with Mr Widener, looking down at the boat. They seemed very quiet.

Only one boat was left. Collapsible D had now been fitted into the davits used by No. 2 and was ready for loading. There was no time to spare. The lights were beginning to glow red. Chinaware was breaking somewhere below. Jack Thayer saw a man lurch by with a full bottle of Gordon’s gin. He put it to his mouth and drained it. ‘If I ever get out of this,’ Thayer said to himself, ‘there is one man I’ll never see again.’ (Actually, he was one of the first survivors Thayer met.)

Lightoller took no chances. Most of the passengers had moved aft, but still – one boat … forty-seven seats … 1,600 people. He had the crew lock arms in a wide ring around boat D. Only the women could come through.

Two baby boys were brought by their father to the edge of the ring, handed through and placed in the boat. The father stepped back into the crowd. He called himself ‘Mr Hoffman’ and told people he was taking the boys to visit relatives in America. His name really was Navatril and he was kidnapping the children from his estranged wife.

Henry B. Harris, the theatrical producer, escorted Mrs Harris to the ring, was told he couldn’t go any further. He sighed: ‘Yes, I know. I will stay.’

Colonel Gracie rushed up with Mrs John Murray Brown and Miss Edith Evans, two of the five ‘unprotected ladies’ to whom he had offered his services on the trip. He was stopped by the line but saw the women through. They reached boat D just as it was starting down the falls. Miss Evans turned to Mrs Brown: ‘You go first. You have children waiting at home.’

Quickly she helped Mrs Brown over the rail. Then someone yelled to lower away, and at 2.05 collapsible D – the last boat of all – started down towards the sea – without Edith Evans.

Directly below, Hugh Woolner and Bjornstrom Steffanson were standing alone by the rail. It had been a hard night – helping Mrs Candee … trying to save the Strauses … dragging those cowards out of boat C. Now they were on A deck trying to find someone else to help, but the deck was absolutely deserted. The lights had a reddish glow.

‘This is getting rather a tight corner,’ Woolner remarked, ‘let’s go through the door at the end.’ They walked forward to the open end of the promenade deck. As they came out, the sea poured on to the deck, over their evening pumps and up to their knees. They hopped on to the railing. Nine feet away they saw boat D sliding down the side of the ship. It was now or never.

‘Let’s make a jump for it!’ cried Woolner. ‘There’s plenty of room in her bow!’ Steffanson hurled himself out at the boat, landing head over heels up front. The next second Woolner followed, falling half in, half out. In another instant collapsible D hit the water and cast off. As it pulled away, seaman William Lucas called up to Miss Evans still standing on deck. ‘There’s another boat going to be put down for you.’

6. ‘That’s the Way of It at This Kind of Time’