A Night to Remember

And in the third-class dining-saloon an Italian woman went completely to pieces – sobbing, screaming, banging her fists on the table. Over and over and over she cried, ‘Bambino!’ An Italian steward coaxed out the information that both her babies were missing. One was soon located, but she held up two fingers and the hysterics started again. Finally the other was found too – in the pantry on the hot press, where it had been left to thaw out.

By 8.15 all the boats were in except No. 12. It barely moved, still several hundred yards away. The breeze grew stiff, and the sea grew rougher. The crowded gunwales were almost level with the waves – nearly seventy-five people were jammed in. The crowd at the Carpathia’s rail watched breathlessly as Lightoller nursed it along.

He was nearly frozen – his uniform soaked and stiff. Around his shoulders he wore a cape with a monk’s hood, donated by Mrs Elizabeth Mellenger. At his feet, Mrs Mellenger’s thirteen-year-old daughter Madeleine gazed up in admiration. She has cherished that cape and hood ever since.

The people in the boat huddled tightly together … trying to keep dry, praying they might make it. At a time like this a man notices little trivial things. As Colonel Gracie worked in vain to revive a lifeless body lying beside him, he wondered why the person wore long, grey woollen stockings.

Now 8.20, and they were only 200 yards off. Rostron, trying to help, turned the Carpathia’s bow to within 100 yards. As Lightoller struggled to cross the bow and get in her lee, a sudden squall whipped up the sea. First one wave, then another crashed into the boat. A third just missed. Next instant he was there – safe in the shelter of the big ship.

At 8.30, No. 12 – the last boat to arrive – made fast and began to unload. Colonel Gracie felt like falling down on his knees and kissing the deck as he stepped into the gangway. Harold Bride felt a pair of strong hands reach out to him; then he passed out. Jack Thayer saw his mother waiting and rushed to her arms. Mrs Thayer stammered, ‘Where’s Daddy?’

‘I don’t know, Mother,’ he answered quietly.

Meanwhile Rostron wondered where to take his 705 unexpected guests. Halifax was nearest, but there was ice along the way, and he thought the Titanic’s passengers had seen enough. The Azores were best for the Carpathia’s schedule, but he didn’t have the linen and provisions to last that far. New York was best for the survivors but most costly to the Cunard Line. He dropped down to the surgeon’s cabin where Dr McGhee was examining Bruce Ismay. The man was shattered – anything Rostron wanted was all right with him. So Rostron decided on New York.

Then the Olympic broke in: Why not transfer the Titanic’s survivors to her? Rostron thought this was an appalling idea – he couldn’t see subjecting these people to another transfer at sea. Besides, the Olympic was the Titanic’s sister ship and the sight alone would be like a hideous ghost. To be on the safe side, he trotted back to Dr McGhee’s cabin, checked again with Ismay. The White Star president shuddered at the thought.

So New York it was, and the sooner the better. By now the Californian was standing by, and Rostron arranged for her to search the scene while he made for port with the survivors. Then he hauled aboard as many of the Titanic’s lifeboats as possible – six on the forward deck, seven in the Carpathia’s own davits. The rest were set adrift.

Before heading back, Rostron couldn’t resist one last look around. He was a thorough man; he didn’t want to overlook the smallest chance. Let the Californian go through the motions, but if there was any real hope of picking anybody else up, Rostron wanted the Carpathia to do it.

As he cruised, it occurred to him that a brief service might be appropriate. He dropped down and asked if Ismay had any objection. It was always the same – anything Rostron wanted to do was all right with him.

So Rostron sent for the Reverend Father Anderson, an Episcopal clergyman aboard, and the people from the Titanic and Carpathia assembled together in the main lounge. There they gave thanks for the living and paid their respects to the lost.

While they murmured their prayers, the Carpathia steamed slowly over the Titanic’s grave. There were few traces of the great ship – patches of reddish-yellow cork … some steamer chairs … several white pilasters … cushions … rugs … lifebelts … the abandoned boats … just one body.

At 8.50 Rostron was satisfied. There couldn’t possibly be another human being alive. He rang ‘full speed ahead’ and turned his ship for New York.