Of the survivors in general it may be said that they escaped death and they gained life. Life is probably sweet to them as it is to everyone, but what physical and mental torture has been the price of life to those who were brought back to land on the Carpathia—the hours in life-boats, amid the crashing of ice, the days of anguish that have succeeded, the horrors of body and mind still experienced and never to be entirely absent until death affords them its relief.
The thought of the nation to-day is for the living. They need our sympathy, our consolation more than do the dead, and, perhaps, in the majority of the cases they need our protecting care as well.
CHAPTER X. ON BOARD THE CARPATHIA
IF the scenes in the life-boats were tear-bringing, hardly less so was the arrival of the boats at the Carpathia with their bands of terror-stricken, grief-ridden survivors, many of them too exhausted to know that safety was at hand. Watchers on the Carpathia were moved to tears.
“The first life-boat reached the Carpathia about half-past five o’clock in the morning,” recorded one of the passengers on the Carpathia. “And the last of the sixteen boats was unloaded before nine o’clock. Some of the life-boats were only half filled, the first one having but two men and eleven women, when it had accommodations for at least forty. There were few men in the boats. The women were the gamest lot I have ever seen. Some of the men and women were in evening clothes, and others among those saved had nothing on but night clothes and raincoats.”
After the Carpathia had made certain that there were no more passengers of the Titanic to be picked up, she threaded her way out of the ice fields for fifty miles. It was dangerous work, but it was managed without trouble.
The shrieks and cries of the women and men picked up in life-boats by the Carpathia were horrible. The women were clothed only in night robes and wrappers. The men were in their night garments. One was lifted on board entirely nude. All the passengers who could bear nourishment were taken into the dining rooms and cabins by Captain Rostron and given food and stimulants. Passengers of the Carpathia gave up their berths and staterooms to the survivors.
As soon as they were landed on the Carpathia many of the women became hysterical, but on the whole they behaved splendidly. Men and women appeared to be stunned all day Monday, the full force of the disaster not reaching them until Tuesday night. After being wrapped up in blankets and filled with brandy and hot coffee, the first thoughts were for their husbands and those at home. Most of them imagined that their husbands had been picked up by other vessels, and they began flooding the wireless rooms with messages. It was almost certain that those who were not on board the Carpathia had gone down to death.
One of the most seriously injured was a woman who had lost both her children. Her limbs had been severely torn; but she was very patient.
In the first cabin library women of wealth and refinement mingled their grief and asked eagerly for news of the possible arrival of a belated boat, or a message from other steamers telling of the safety of their husbands. Mrs. Henry B. Harris, wife of a New York theatrical manager, checked her tears long enough to beg that some message of hope be sent to her father-in-law. Mrs. G. Thorne, Miss Marie Young, Mrs Emil Taussig and her daughter, Ruth, Mrs. Martin Rothschild, Mrs. William Augustus Spencer, Mrs. J. Stewart White and Mrs. Walter M. Clark were a few of those who lay back, exhausted, on the leather cushions and told in shuddering sentences of their experiences.
Mrs. John Jacob Astor and the Countess of Rothes had been taken to staterooms soon after their arrival on shipboard.
Before noon, at the captain’s request, the first cabin passengers of the Titanic gathered in the saloon and the passengers of other classes in corresponding places on the rescue ship. Then the collecting of names was begun by the purser and the stewards. A second table was served in both cabins for the new guests, and the Carpathia’s second cabin, being better filled than its first, the second class arrivals had to be sent to the steerage.
Mrs. Jacques Futrelle, wife of the novelist, herself a writer of note, sat dry eyed in the saloon, telling her friends that she had given up hope for her husband. She joined with the rest in inquiries as to the chances of rescue by another ship, and no one told her what soon came to be the fixed opinion of the men—that all those saved were on the Carpathia.
“I feel better,” Mrs. Futrelle said hours afterward, “for I can cry now.”
Among the men conversation centered on the accident and the responsibility for it. Many expressed the belief that the Titanic, in common with other vessels, had had warning of the ice packs, but that in the effort to establish a record on the maiden run sufficient heed had not been paid to the warnings.
“God knows I’m not proud to be here,” said a rich New York man. “I got on a boat when they were about to lower it and when, from delays below, there was no woman to take the vacant place. I don’t think any man who was saved is deserving of censure, but I realize that, in contrast with those who went down, we may be viewed unfavorably.” He showed a picture of his baby boy as he spoke.
As the day passed the fore part of the ship assumed some degree of order and comfort, but the crowded second sabin and rear decks gave forth the incessant sound of lamentation. A bride of two months sat on the floor and moaned her widowhood. An Italian mother shrieked the name of her lost son.
A girl of seven wept over the loss of her Teddy bear and two dolls, while her mother, with streaming eyes, dared not tell the child that her father was lost too, and that the money for which their home in England had been sold had gone down with him. Other children clung to the necks of the fathers who, because carrying them, had been permitted to take the boats.
In the hospital and the public rooms lay, in blankets, several others who had been benumbed by the water. Mrs. Rosa Abbott, who was in the water for hours, was restored during the day. K. Whiteman, the Titanic’s barber, who declared he was blown off the ship by the second of the two explosions after the crash, was treated for bruises. A passenger, who was thoroughly ducked before being picked up, caused much amusement on this ship, soon after the doctors were through with him, by demanding a bath.
Storekeeper Prentice, the last man off the Titanic to reach this ship, was also soon over the effects of his long swim in the icy waters into which he leaped from the poop deck.
The physicians of the Carpathia were praised, as was Chief Steward Hughes, for work done in making the arrivals comfortable and averting serious illness.
Monday night on the Carpathia was one of rest. The wailing and sobbing of the day were hushed as widows and orphans slept. Tuesday, save for the crowded condition of the ship, matters took somewhat their normal appearance.
The second cabin dining room had been turned into a hospital to care for the injured, and the first, second and third class dining rooms were used for sleeping rooms at night for women, while the smoking rooms were set aside for men. All available space was used, some sleeping in chairs and some on the floor, while a few found rest in the bathrooms.