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41 16' N; 50 14' W. 







I will tiot conceal his parts, nor his power, nor his comely 

His scales are his pride, shut up together as with a close 

One is so near to another, that no air can come between 

They are joined one to another, they stick together, that 
they cannot be sundered. 

Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire 
leap out. 

Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething 
pot or caldron. 

His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his 

The flakes of his flesh are joined together ; they are 
firm in themselves ; they cannot be moved. 

He maketh the deep to boil like a pot ; he maketh the 
sea like a pot of ointment. 

He maketh a path to shine after him ; one would think 
the deep to be hoary. 

Upon earth there is not his like, who is made without 

He beholdeth all high things ; he is a king over all the 
children of pride. 

Job, xli. 


IF you enter Belfast Harbour early in 
the morning on the mail steamer from 
Fleetwood you will see far ahead of 
you a smudge of smoke. At first it is 
nothing but the apex of a great triangle 
formed by the heights on one side, the 
green wooded shores on the other, and 
the horizon astern. As you go on the 
triangle becomes narrower, the blue waters 
smoother, and the ship glides on in a 
triangle of her own a triangle of white 
foam that is parallel to the green tri- 
angle of the shore. Behind you the 
Copeland Lighthouse keeps guard over 
the sunrise and the tumbling surges of 
the Channel, before you is the cloud of 
smoke that joins the narrowing shores 



like a gray canopy; and there is no sound 
but the rush of foam past the ship's 

You seem to be making straight for a 
gray mud flat; but as you approach you 
see a narrow lane of water opening in the 
mud and shingle. Two low banks, like 
the banks of a canal, thrust out their 
ends into the waters of the lough; and 
presently, her speed reduced to dead slow, 
the ship enters between these low mud 
banks, which are called the Twin Islands. 
So narrow is the lane that as she enters 
the water rises on the shingle banks and 
flows in waves on either side of her like 
two gray horses with white manes that 
canter slowly along, a solemn escort, 
until the channel between the islands 
is passed. Day and night, winter and 
summer, these two gray horses are always 
waiting; no ship ever surprises them 
asleep; no ship enters but they rise up 


and shake their manes and accompany 
her with their flowing, cantering motion 
along the confines of their territory. And 
when you have passed the gates that they 
guard you are in Belfast Harbour, in still 
and muddy water that smells of the land 
and not of the sea; for you seem already 
to be far from the things of the sea. 

As you have entered the narrow channel 
a new sound, also far different from the 
liquid sounds of the sea, falls on your 
ear; at first a low sonorous murmuring 
like the sound of bees in a giant hive, 
that rises to a ringing continuous music 
the multitudinous clamour of thousands 
of blows of metal on metal. And turning 
to look whence the sound arises you seem 
indeed to have left the last of the things 
of the sea behind you ; for on your left, 
on the flattest of the mud flats, arises a 
veritable forest of iron ; a leafless forest, 
of thousands upon thousands of bare 


rusty trunks and branches that tower 
higher than any forest trees in our land, 
and look like the ruins of some giant 
grove submerged by the sea in the brown 
autumn of its life, stripped of its leaves 
and laid bare again, the dead and rusty 
remnants of a forest. There is nothing 
with any broad or continuous surface 
only thousands and thousands of iron 
branches with the gray sky and the smoke 
showing through them everywhere, giant 
cobwebs hanging between earth and the 
sky, intricate, meaningless networks of 
trunks and branches and sticks and twigs 
of iron. 

But as you glide nearer still you see 
that the forest is not lifeless, nor its 
branches deserted. From the bottom to 
the topmost boughs it is crowded with a 
life that at first seems like that of mites 
in the interstices of some rotting fabric, 
and then like birds crowding the branches 


of the leafless forest, and finally appears 
as a multitude of pigmy men swarming 
and toiling amid the skeleton iron struc- 
tures that are as vast as cathedrals and 
seem as frail as gossamer. It is from 
them that the clamour arises, the clamour 
that seemed so gentle and musical a mile 
away, and that now, as you come closer, 
grows strident and deafening. Of all the 
sounds produced by man's labour in the 
world this sound of a great shipbuilding 
yard is the most painful. Only the 
harshest materials and the harshest ac- 
tions are engaged in producing it: iron 
struck upon iron, or steel smitten upon 
steel, or steel upon iron, or iron upon 
steel that and nothing else, day in, day 
out, year in and year out, a million times 
a minute. It is an endless, continuous 
birth-agony, that should herald the ap- 
pearance of some giant soul. And great 
indeed should be the overture to such an 


agony ; for it is here that of fire and steel, 
and the sweat and pain of millions of 
hours of strong men's labour, were born 
those two giant children that were des- 
tined by man finally to conquer the sea. 

In this awful womb the Titanic took 
shape. For months and months in that 
monstrous iron enclosure there was no- 
thing that had the faintest likeness to a 
ship; only something that might have 
been the iron scaffolding for the naves of 
half-a-dozen cathedrals laid end to end. 
Far away, furnaces were smelting thou- 
sands and thousands of tons of raw 
material that finally came to this place 
in the form of great girders and vast 
lumps of metal, huge framings, hundreds 
of miles of stays and rods and straps of 
steel, thousands of plates, not one of 
which twenty men could lift unaided ; mil- 
lions of rivets and bolts all the heaviest 
and most sinkable things in the world. 


And still nothing in the shape of a ship 
that could float upon the sea. The seasons 
followed each other, the sun rose now 
behind the heights of Carricktergus and 
now behind the Copeland Islands ; daily 
the ships came in from fighting with the 
boisterous seas, and the two gray horses 
cantered beside them as they slid be- 
tween the islands; daily the endless up- 
roar went on, and the tangle of metal 
beneath the cathedral scaffolding grew 
denser. A great road of steel, nearly a 
quarter of a mile long, was laid at last 
a road so heavy and so enduring that it 
might have been built for the triumphal 
progress of some giant railway train. 
Men said that this roadway was the keel 
of a ship; but you could not look at it 
and believe them. 

The scaffolding grew higher; and as it 
grew the iron branches multiplied and 
grew with it, higher and higher towards 


the sky, until it seemed as though man 
were rearing a temple which would ex- 
press all he knew of grandeur and sub- 
limity, and all he knew of solidity and 
permanence something that should en- 
dure there, rooted to the soil of Queen's 
Island for ever. The uproar and the 
agony increased. In quiet studios and 
offices clear brains were busy with draw- 
ings and calculations and subtle elaborate 
mathematical processes, sifting and apply- 
ing the tabulated results of years of ex- 
perience. The drawings came in time to 
the place of uproar; were magnified and 
subdivided and taken into grimy work- 
shops; and steam-hammers and steam- 
saws smote and ripped at the brute metal, 
to shape it in accordance with the shapes 
on the paper. And still the ships, big 
and little, came nosing in from the high 
seas little dusty colliers from the Tyne, 
and battered schooners from the coast, 


and timber ships from the Baltic, and 
trim mail steamers, and giants of the 
ocean creeping in wounded for succour 
all solemnly received by the twin gray 
horses and escorted to their stations in the 
harbour. But the greatest giant of all 
that came in, which dwarfed everything 
else visible to the eye, was itself dwarfed 
to insignificance by the great cathedral 
building on the island. 

The seasons passed ; the creatures who 
wrought and clambered among the iron 
branches, and sang their endless song of 
labour there, felt the steel chill beneath 
the frosts of winter, and burning hot 
beneath the sun's rays in summer, until 
at last the skeleton within the scaffolding 
began to take a shape, at the sight of 
which men held their breaths. It was the 
shape of a ship, a ship so monstrous and 
unthinkable that it towered high over the 
buildings and dwarfed the very mountains 


beside the water. It seemed like some 
impious blasphemy that man should 
fashion this most monstrous and ponder- 
able of all his creations into the likeness 
of a thing that could float upon the yield- 
ing waters. And still the arms swung 
and the hammers rang, the thunder and 
din continued, and the gray horses shook 
their manes and cantered along beneath 
the shadow, and led the little ships in 
from the sea and out again as though no 
miracle were about to happen. 

A little more than its own length of 
water lay between the iron forest and the 
opposite shore, in which to loose this 
tremendous structure from its foundations 
and slide it into the sea. The thought 
that it should ever be moved from its 
place, except by an earthquake, was a 
thought that the mind could not conceive, 
nor could anyone looking at it accept the 
possibility that by any method this vast 


tonnage of metal could be borne upon the 
surface of the waters. Yet, like an evil 
dream, as it took the shape of a giant 
ship, all the properties of a ship began to 
appear and increase in hideous exaggera- 
tion. A rudder as big as a giant elm 
tree, bosses and bearings of propellers 
the size of a windmill everything was 
on a nightmare scale; and underneath 
the iron foundations of the cathedral floor 
men were laying on concrete beds pave- 
ments of oak and great cradles of timber 
and iron, and sliding ways of pitch pine 
to support the bulk of the monster when 
she was moved, every square inch of the 
pavement surface bearing a weight of 
more than two tons. Twenty tons of tallow 
were spread upon the ways, and hydraulic 
rams and triggers built and fixed against 
the bulk of the ship so that, when the 
moment came, the waters she was to con- 
quer should thrust her finally from earth. 



And the time did come. The branching 
forest became clothed and thick with 
leaves of steel. Within the scaffoldings 
now towered the walls of the cathedral, 
and what had been a network of girders 
and cantilevers and gantries and bridges 
became a building with floors, a ship 
with decks. The skeleton ribs became 
covered with skins of wood, the metal 
decks clothed with planks smooth as a 
ball-room floor. What had been a build- 
ing of iron became a town, with miles of 
streets and hundreds of separate houses 
and buildings in it. The streets were laid 
out; the houses were decorated and fur- 
nished with luxuries such as no palace 
ever knew. 

And then, while men held their breath, 
the whole thing moved, moved bodily, 
obedient to the tap of the imprisoned 
waters in the ram. There was no christen- 
ing ceremony such as celebrates the 


launching of lesser ships. Only the waters 
themselves dared to give the impulse that 
should set this monster afloat. The waters 
touched the cradle, and the cradle moved 
on the ways, carrying the ship down to- 
wards the waters. And when the cradle 
stopped the ship moved on ; slowly at first, 
then with a movement that grew quicker 
until it increased to the speed of a fast- 
trotting horse, touching the waters, dip- 
ping into them, cleaving them, forcing 
them asunder in waves and ripples that 
fled astonished to the surrounding shores; 
finally resting and floating upon them, 
while thousands of the pigmy men who 
had roosted in the bare iron branches, 
who had raised the hideous clamour amid 
which the giant was born, greeted their 
handiwork, dropped their tools, and raised 
their hoarse voices in a cheer. 

The miracle had happened. And the 
day came when the two gray horses were 


summoned to their greatest task; when, 
with necks proudly arched and their white 
manes flung" higher than ever, they es- 
corted the Titanic between the islands 
out to sea. 


AT noon on Wednesday, loth April 
1912, the Titamc started from 
Southampton on her maiden 
voyage. Small enough was her experi- 
ence of the sea before that day. Many 
hands had handled her; many tugs had 
fussed about her, pulling and pushing her 
this way and that as she was manoeuvred 
in the waters of Belfast Lough and taken 
out to the entrance to smell the sea. There 
she had been swung and her compasses 
adjusted. Three or four hours had suf- 
ficed for her trial trip, and she had first 
felt her own power in the Irish Sea, 
when all her new machinery working 
together, at first with a certain reserve 
and diffidence, had tested and tried its 



various functions, and she had come down 
through St. George's Channel and round 
by the Lizard, and past the Eddystone and 
up the Solent to Southampton Water, 
feeling a little hustled and strange, no 
doubt, but finding this business of plough- 
ing the seas surprisingly easy after all. 
And now, on the day of sailing, amid 
the cheers of a crowd unusually vast 
even for Southampton Docks, the largest 
ship in the world slid away from the 
deep-water jetty to begin her sea life in 

In the first few minutes her giant powers 
made themselves felt. As she was slowly 
gathering way she passed the liner New 
York, another ocean monarch, which was 
lying like a rock moored by seven great 
hawsers of iron and steel. As the Titanic 
passed, some mysterious compelling in- 
fluence of the water displaced by her vast 
bulk drew the New York towards her; 


snapped one by one the great steel hawsers 
and pulled the liner from the quayside as 
though she had been a cork. Not until 
she was within fifteen feet of the Titanic, 
when a collision seemed imminent, did 
the ever-present tugs lay hold of her and 
haul her back to captivity. 

Even to the most experienced traveller 
the first few hours on a new ship are very 
confusing; in the case of a ship like this, 
containing the population of a village, 
they are bewildering. So the eight hours 
spent by the Titanic in crossing from 
Southampton to Cherbourg would be 
spent by most of her passengers in taking 
their bearings, trying to find their way 
about and looking into all the wonders of 
which the voyage made them free. There 
were luxuries enough in the second class, 
and comforts enough in the third to make 
the ship a wonder on that account alone ; 
but it was the first-class passengers, used 


as they were to all the extravagant luxuries 
of modern civilized life, on whom the dis- 
coveries of that first day of sun and wind 
in the Channel must have come with the 
greatest surprise. They had heard the 
ship described as a floating hotel ; but as 
they began to explore her they must have 
found that she contained resources of a 
perfection unattained by any hotel, and 
luxuries of a kind unknown in palaces. 
The beauties of French chateaux and of 
English country-houses of the great period 
had been dexterously combined with that 
supreme form of comfort which the modern 
English and Americans have raised to the 
dignity of a fine art. Such a palace as a 
great artist, a great epicure, a great poet 
and the most spoilt and pampered woman 
in the world might have conjured up from 
their imagination in an idle hour was here 
materialized and set, not in a fixed land- 
scape of park and woodland, but on the 


dustless road of the sea, with the sunshine 
of an English April pouring in on every 
side, and the fresh salt airs of the Channel 
filling every corner with tonic oxygen. 

Catalogues of marvels and mere descrip- 
tions of wonders are tiresome reading, and 
produce little effect on the mind; yet if 
we are to realize the full significance of 
this story of the Titanic, we must begin 
as her passengers began, with an impres- 
sion of the lavish luxury and beauty which 
was the setting of life on board. And we 
can do no better than follow in imagina- 
tion the footsteps of one ideal voyager as 
he must have discovered, piece by piece, 
the wonders of this floating pleasure 

If he was a wise traveller he would have 
climbed to the highest point available as 
the ship passed down the Solent, and 
that would be the boat-deck, which was 
afterwards to be the stage of so tragic a 


drama. At the forward end of it was the 
bridge that sacred area paved with snow- 
white gratings and furnished with many 
brightly-polished instruments. Here were 
telephones to all the vital parts of the 
ship, telegraphs to the engine room and 
to the fo'c'stle head and after-bridge; re- 
volving switches for closing the water- 
tight doors in case of emergency; speak- 
ing-tubes, electric switches for operating 
the foghorns and sirens all the nerves, 
in fact, necessary to convey impulses from 
this brain of the ship to her various mem- 
bers. Behind the bridge on either side 
were the doors leading to the officers' 
quarters; behind them again, the Marconi 
room a mysterious temple full of glitter- 
ing machines of brass, vulcanite, glass, 
and platinum, with straggling wires and 
rows of switches and fuse boxes, and 
a high priest, young, clean-shaven, alert 
and intelligent, sitting with a telephone 


cap over his head, sending out or receiv- 
ing the whispers of the ether. Behind 
this opened the grand staircase, an im- 
posing sweep of decoration in the Early 
English style, with plain and solid panel- 
ling relieved here and there with lovely 
specimens of deep and elaborate carving 
in the manner of Grinling Gibbons; the 
work of the two greatest wood-carvers in 
England. Aft of this again the white 
pathway of the deck led by the doors 
and windows of the gymnasium, where 
the athletes might keep in fine condition; 
and beyond that the white roof above 
ended and the rest was deck-space open 
to the sun and the air, and perhaps also 
to the smoke and smuts of the four vast 
funnels that towered in buff and black 
into the sky each so vast that it would 
have served as a tunnel for a railway train. 
But the ship has gathered way, and is 
sliding along past the Needles, where the 


little white lighthouse looks so paltry 
beside the towering* cliff. The Channel 
air is keen, and the bugles are sounding 
for lunch; and our traveller goes down 
the staircase, noticing perhaps, as he 
passes, the great clock with its figures 
which symbolize Honour and Glory 
crowning Time. Honour and Glory must 
have felt just a little restive as, having 
crowned one o'clock, they looked down 
from Time upon the throng of people 
descending the staircase to lunch. There 
were a few there who had earned, and 
many who had received, the honour and 
glory represented by extreme wealth ; but 
the two figures stooping over the clock 
may have felt that Success crowning 
Opportunity would have been a symbol 
more befitting the first-class passengers 
of the Titanic. Perhaps they looked 
more kindly as one white-haired old man 
passed beneath W. T. Stead, that un- 


tiring old warrior and fierce campaigner 
in peaceful causes, who in fields where 
honour and glory were to be found sought 
always for the true and not the false. 
There were many kinds of men there 
not every kind, for it is not every man 
who can pay from fifty to eight hundred 
guineas for a four days' journey; but 
most kinds of men and women who can 
afford to do that were represented there. 
Our solitary traveller, going down the 
winding staircase, does not pause on the 
first floor, for that leads forward to private 
apartments, and aft to a writing-room 
and library ; nor on the second or third, 
for the entrance-halls there lead to state- 
rooms; but on the fourth floor down he 
steps out into a reception room extending 
to the full width of the ship and of almost 
as great a length. Nothing of the sea's 
restrictions or discomforts here! Before 
him is an Aubusson tapestry, copied from 


one of the " Chasses de Guise" series of 
the National Garde-Meuble ; and in this 
wide apartment there is a sense, not of 
the cramping necessities of the sea, but 
of all the leisured and spacious life of the 
land. Through this luxurious emptiness 
the imposing dignities of the dining-saloon 
are reached ; and here indeed all the in- 
solent splendour of the ship is centred. It 
was by far the largest room that had ever 
floated upon the seas, and by far the 
largest room that had ever moved from 
one place to another. The seventeenth- 
century style of Hatfield and Haddon 
Hall had been translated from the sombre- 
ness of oak to the lightness of enamelled 
white. Artist-plasterers had moulded the 
lovely Jacobean ceiling, artist-stainers had 
designed and made the great painted 
windows through which the bright sea- 
sunlight was filtered; and when the whole 
company of three hundred was seated at 


the tables it seemed not much more than 
half full, since more than half as many 
again could find places there without the 
least crowding. There, amid the strains 
of gay music and the hum of conversation 
and the subdued clatter of silver and china 
and the low throb of the engines, the gay 
company takes its first meal on the 
Titanic. And as our traveller sits there 
solitary, he remembers that this is not all, 
that in another great saloon farther off 
another three hundred passengers of the 
second-class are also at lunch, and that 
on the floor below him another seven 
hundred of the third-class, and in various 
other places near a thousand of the crew, 
are also having their meal. All a little 
oppressive to read about, perhaps, but 
wonderful to contrive and arrange. It is 
what everyone is thinking and talking 
about who sits at those luxurious tables, 
loaded not with sea-fare, but with dainty 


and perishable provisions for which half 
the countries of the world have been laid 
under tribute. 

The music flows on and the smooth 
service accomplishes itself; Honour and 
Glory, high up under the wrought-iron 
dome of the staircase, are crowning another 
hour of Time; and our traveller comes up 
into the fresh air again in order to assure 
himself that he is really at sea. The elec- 
tric lift whisks him up four storeys to the 
deck again; there all around him are the 
blue-gray waters of the Channel surging 
in a white commotion past the tow r ering 
sides of the ship, spurned by the tremend- 
ous rush and momentum of these fifty 
thousand tons through the sea. This 
time our traveller stops short of the boat- 
deck, and begins to explore the far vaster 
B-deck which, sheltered throughout its 
great length by the boat-deck above, and 
free from all impediments, extends like a 


vast white roadway on either side of the 
central deck. Here the busy deck stewards 
are arranging chairs in the places that 
will be occupied by them throughout the 
voyage. Here, as on the parade of a 
fashionable park, people are taking their 
walks in the afternoon sunshine. 

From the staircase forward the deck 
houses are devoted to apartments which 
are still by force of habit called cabins, 
but which have nothing in fact to distin- 
guish them from the most luxurious habi- 
tations ashore, except that no dust ever 
enters them and that the air is always 
fresh from the open spaces of the sea. 
They are not for the solitary traveller; 
but our friend perhaps is curious and peeps 
in through an uncurtained window. There 
is a complete habitation with bed-rooms, 
sitting-room, bath-room and service-room 
complete. They breathe an atmosphere 
of more than mechanical luxury, more than 


material pleasures. Twin bedsteads, per- 
fect examples of Empire or Louis Seize, 
symbolize the romance to which the most 
extravagant luxury in the world is but a 
minister. Instead of ports there are win- 
dows windows that look straight out on 
to the blue sea, as might the windows of 
a castle on a cliff. Instead of stoves or 
radiators there are open grates, where fires 
of sea-coal are burning brightly. Every 
suite is in a different style, and each and 
all are designed and furnished by artists ; 
and the love and repose of millionaires can 
be celebrated in surroundings of Adam or 
Hepplewhite, or Louis Quatorze or the 
Empire, according to their tastes. And 
for the hire of each of these theatres the 
millionaire must pay some two hundred 
guineas a day, with the privilege of being 
quite alone, cut off from the common herd 
who are only paying perhaps five-and- 
twenty pounds a day, and with the privi- 


lege, if he chooses, of seeing nothing at 
all that has to do with a ship, not even 
the sea. 

For there is one thing that the de- 
signers of this sea-palace seem to have 
forgotten and seem to be a little ashamed 
of and that is the sea itself. There it 
lies, an eternal prospect beyond these 
curtained windows, by far the most lovely 
and wonderful thing visible; but it seems 
to be forgotten there. True, there is a 
smoke-room at the after extremity of the 
deck below this, whose windows look out 
into a great verandah sheeted in with glass 
from which you cannot help looking upon 
the sea. But in order to counteract as 
much as possible that austere and lovely 
reminder of where we are, trellis-work has 
been raised within the glass, and great 
rose-trees spread and wander all over it, 
reminding you by their crimson blossoms 
of the earth and the land, and the scented 


shelter of gardens that are far from the 
boisterous stress of the sea. No spray 
ever drifts in at these heights, no froth or 
spume can ever in the wildest storms beat 
upon this verandah. Here, too, as almost 
everywhere else on the ship, you can, if 
you will, forget the sea. 


THE first afternoon at sea seems 
long: every face is strange, and it 
seems as though in so vast a crowd 
none will ever become familiar, although 
one of the miracles of sea-life is the way 
in which the blurred crowd resolves itself 
into individual units, each of which has 
its character and significance. And if we 
are really to know and understand and 
not merely to hear with our ears the tale 
of what happened to the greatest ship in 
the world, we must first prepare and soak 
our minds in her atmosphere, and take in 
imagination that very voyage which began 
so happily on this April day. At the end 
of the afternoon came the coast of France, 
and Cherbourg a sunset memory of a 


long" breakwater, a distant cliff crowned 
with a white building, a fussing of tugs 
and hasty transference of passengers and 
mails; and finally the lighthouse showing 
a golden star against the sunset, when 
the great ship's head was turned to the 
red west, and the muffled and murmuring 
song of the engines was taken up again. 
Perhaps our traveller, bent upon more 
discoveries, dined that night not in the 
saloon, but in the restaurant, and, fol- 
lowing the illuminated electric signs that 
pointed the way along the numerous 
streets and roads of the ship, found his 
way aft to the Cafe-Restaurant; where 
instead of stewards were French waiters 
and a mattre d'hotel from Paris, and all 
the perfection of that perfect and expens- 
ive service which condescends to give you 
a meal for something under a five-pound 
note ; where, surrounded by Louis Seize 
panelling of fawn-coloured walnut, you 


may on this April evening eat your 
plovers' eggs and strawberries, and drink 
your 1900 Clicquot, and that in perfect 
oblivion of the surrounding sea. After- 
wards, perhaps, a stroll on the deck amid 
groups of people, not swathed in pea- 
jackets or oilskins, but attired as though 
for the opera; and all the time, in an at- 
mosphere golden with light, and musical 
with low-talking voices and the yearning 
strains of a waltz, driving five-and-twenty 
miles an hour westward, with the black 
night and the sea all about us. And then 
to bed, not in a bunk in a cabin but in a 
bedstead in a quiet room with a telephone 
through which to speak to any one of two 
thousand people, and a message handed 
in before you go to sleep that someone 
wrote in New York since you rose from 
the dinner-table. 

The next morning the scene at Cher- 
bourg was repeated, with the fair green 


shores of Cork Harbour instead of the 
cliffs of France for its setting; and then 
quietly, without fuss, in the early after- 
noon of Thursday, out round the green 
point, beyond the headland, and the great 
ship has steadied on her course and on 
the long sea-road at last. How worn it is ! 
How seamed and furrowed and printed 
with the track-lines of journeys innumer- 
able; how changing, and yet how un- 
changed the road that leads to Arch- 
angel or Sicily, to Ceylon or to the frozen 
Pole; the old road that leads to the ruined 
gateways of Phoenicia, of Venice, of Tyre ; 
the new road that leads to new lives and 
new lands; the dustless road, the long 
road that all must travel who in body or 
in spirit would really discover a new 
world. And travel on it as you may for 
tens of thousands of miles, you come 
back to it always with the same sense of 
expectation, never wholly disappointed ; 


and always with the same certainty that 
you will find at the turn or corner of the 
road, either some new thing" or the re- 
newal of something old. 

There is no human experience in which 
the phenomena of small varieties within 
one large monotony are so clearly exem- 
plified as in a sea-voyage. The dreary 
beginnings of docks, of baggage, and 
soiled harbour water; the quite hopeless 
confusion of strange faces faces entirely 
collective, comprising a mere crowd ; the 
busy highway of the Channel, sunlit or 
dim with mist or rain, or lighted and 
bright at night like the main street 
of a city; the last outpost, the Lizard, 
with its high gray cliffs, green-roofed, 
with tiny homesteads perched on the 
ridge; or Ushant, that tall monitory 
tower upstanding on the melancholy 
misty flats; or the solitary Fastnet, 
lonely, ultimate and watching these form 


the familiar overture to the subsequent 
isolation and vacancy of the long road 
itself. There are the same day and night 
of disturbance, the vacant places at table, 
the prone figures, swathed and motion- 
less in deck-chairs, the morning of bril- 
liant sunshine, when the light that streams 
into the cabins has a vernal strangeness 
and wonder for town-dimmed eyes; the 
gradual emergence of new faces and 
doubtful staggering back of the demoral- 
ized to the blessed freshness of the upper 
air; the tentative formation of groups 
and experimental alliances, the rapid dis- 
integration of these and re-formation on 
entirely new lines; and then that miracle 
of unending interest and wonder, that the 
faces that were only the blurred material 
of a crowd begin one by one to emerge 
from the background and detach them- 
selves from the mass, to take on identity, 
individuality, character, till what was a 


crowd of uninteresting, unidentified hu- 
manity becomes a collection of indi- 
vidual persons with whom one's destinies 
for the time are strangely and unaccount- 
ably bound up; among whom one may 
have acquaintances, friends, or perhaps 
enemies; who for the inside of a week 
are all one's world of men and women. 

There are few alterative agents so 
powerful and sure in their working as 
latitude and longitude; and as we slide 
across new degrees, habit, association, 
custom, and ideas slip one by one im- 
perceptibly away from us ; we come really 
into a new world, and if we had no hearts 
and no memories we should soon become 
different people. But the heart lives its 
own life, spinning gossamer threads that 
float away astern across time and space, 
joining us invisibly to that which made 
and fashioned us, and to which we hope 
to return. 


WONDERFUL, even for ex- 
perienced travellers, is that first 
waking" to a day on which there 
shall be no sight of the shore, and the 
first of several days of isolation in the 
world of a ship. There is a quality in the 
morning sunshine at sea as it streams 
into the ship and is reflected in the white 
paint and sparkling" water of the bath- 
rooms, and in the breeze that blows cool 
and pure along the corridors, that is like 
nothing else. The companyon the Titanic 
woke up on Friday morning to begin in 
earnest their four days of isolated life. 
Our traveller, who has found out so many 
things about the ship, has not found out 
everything" yet; and he continues his 



explorations, with the advantage, per- 
haps, of a special permit from the Cap- 
tain or Chief Engineer to explore other 
quarters of the floating city besides that 
in which he lives. Let us, with him, try 
to form some general conception of the 
internal arrangements of the ship. 

The great superstructure of decks amid- 
ships which catches the eye so prominently 
in a picture or photograph, was but, in 
reality, a small part, although the most 
luxurious part, of the vessel. Speaking 
roughly, one might describe it as con- 
sisting of three decks, five hundred feet 
long, devoted almost exclusively to the 
accommodation of first-class passengers, 
with the exception of the officers' quarters 
(situated immediately aft of the bridge on 
the top deck of all), and the second-class 
smoking-room and library, at the after 
end of the superstructure on the third and 
fourth decks. With these exceptions, in 


this great four-storied building were 
situated all the most magnificent and 
palatial accommodations of the ship. 
Immediately beneath it, amidships, in the 
steadiest part of the vessel where any 
movement would be least felt, was the 
first-class dining saloon, with the pantries 
and kitchens immediately aft of it. Two 
decks below it were the third-class dining 
saloons and kitchens; below them again, 
separated by a heavy steel deck, were the 
boiler-rooms and coal bunkers, resting on 
the cellular double bottom of the ship. 
Immediately aft of the boiler-rooms came 
the two engine-rooms; the forward and 
larger one of the two contained the re- 
ciprocating engines which drove the twin 
screws, and the after one the turbine 
engine for driving the large centre pro- 

Forward and aft of this centre part of 
the ship, which in reality occupied about 


two-thirds of her whole length, were two 
smaller sections, divided (again one speaks 
roughly) between second-class accommo- 
dation, stores and cargo in the stern 
section, and third-class berths, crew's 
quarters and cargo in the bow section. 
But although the first-class accommoda- 
tion was all amidships, and the second- 
class all aft, that of the third-class was 
scattered about in such blank spaces as 
could be found for it. Thus most of the 
berths were forward, immediately behind 
the fo'c'stle, some were right aft; the 
dining-room was amidships, and the 
smoke-room in the extreme stern, over 
the rudder; and to enjoy a smoke or 
game of cards a third-class passenger 
who was berthed forward would have to 
walk the whole length of the ship and 
back again, a walk not far short of half 
a mile. This gives one an idea of how 
much more the ship resembled a town 


than a house. A third-class passenger 
did not walk from his bedroom to his 
parlour ; he walked from the house where 
he lived in the forward part of the ship 
to the club a quarter of a mile away where 
he was to meet his friends. 

If, thinking" of the Titanic storming 
along westward across the Atlantic, you 
could imagine her to be split in half from 
bow to stern so that you could look, as 
one looks at the section of a hive, upon 
all her manifold life thus suddenly laid 
bare, you would find in her a microcosm 
of civilized society. Up on the top are 
the rulers, surrounded by the rich and the 
luxurious, enjoying the best of everything; 
a little way below them their servants and 
parasites, ministering not so much to 
their necessities as to their luxuries; lower 
down still, at the very base and founda- 
tion of all, the fierce and terrible labour 
of the stokeholds, where the black slaves 


are shovelling and shovelling as though 
for dear life, endlessly pouring coal into 
furnaces that devoured it and yet ever de- 
manded a new supply horrible labour, 
joyless life; and yet the labour that gives 
life and movement to the whole ship. Up 
above are all the beautiful things, the 
pleasant things; down below are the 
terrible and necessary things. Up above 
are the people who rest and enjoy ; down 
below the people who sweat and suffer. 

Consider too the whirl of life and multi- 
tude of human employments that you 
would have found had you peered into 
this section of the ship that we are sup- 
posing to have been laid bare. Honour 
and Glory, let us say, have just crowned 
ten o'clock in the morning beneath the 
great dome of glass and iron that covers 
the central staircase. Someone has just 
come down and posted a notice on the 
board a piece of wireless news of some- 


thing that happened in London last night. 
In one of the sunny bedrooms (for our 
section lays everything bare) someone is 
turning over in bed again and telling a 
maid to shut out the sun. Eighty feet 
below her the black slaves are working in 
a fiery pit; ten feet below them is the 
green sea. A business-like-looking group 
have just settled down to bridge in the 
first-class smoking-room. The sea does 
not exist for them, nor the ship; the 
roses that bloom upon the trelliswork by 
the verandah interest them no more than 
the pageant of white clouds which they 
could see if they looked out of the wide 
windows. Down below the chief steward, 
attended by his satellities, is visiting the 
stores and getting from the store-keeper 
the necessaries for his day's catering. He 
has plenty to draw from. In those cold 
chambers behind the engine-room are 
gathered provisions which seem almost 


inexhaustible for any population ; for the 
imagination does not properly take in the 
meaning of such items as a hundred thou- 
sand pounds of beef, thirty thousand fresh 
eggs, fifty tons of potatoes, a thousand 
pounds of tea, twelve hundred quarts of 
cream. In charge of the chief steward 
also, to be checked by him at the end of 
each voyage, are the china and glass, the 
cutlery and plate of the ship, amounting 
in all to some ninety thousand pieces. 
But there he is, quietly at work with the 
store-keeper; and not far from him, in 
another room or series of rooms, another 
official dealing with the thousands upon 
thousands of pieces of linen for bed and 
table with which the town is supplied. 

Everything is on a monstrous scale. 
The centre anchor, which it took a team 
of sixteen great horses to drag on a wooden 
trolley, weighs over fifteen tons ; its cable 
will hold a dead weight of three hundred 


tons. The very rudder, that mere slender 
and almost invisible appendage under the 
counter, is eighty feet high and weighs a 
hundred tons. The men on the look-out 
do not climb up the shrouds and ratlines 
in the old sea fashion ; the mast is hollow 
and contains a stairway; there is a door 
in it from which they come out to take 
their place in the crow's nest. 

Are you weary of such statistics? They 
were among the things on which men 
thought with pride on those sunny April 
days in the Atlantic. Man can seldom 
think of himself apart from his environ- 
ment, and the house and place in which 
he lives are ever a preoccupation with all 
men. From the clerk in his little jerry- 
built villa to the king in his castle, what 
the house is, what it is built of, how it is 
equipped and adorned, are matters of 
vital interest. And if that is true of land, 
where all the webs of life are connected 


and intercrossed, how much more must it 
be true when a man sets his house afloat 
upon the sea; detaches it from all other 
houses and from the world, and literally 
commits himself to it. This was the 
greatest sea town that had ever been built; 
these were the first inhabitants of it; 
theirs were the first lives that were lived 
in these lovely rooms; this was one of 
the greatest companies that had ever been 
afloat together within the walls of one 
ship. No wonder they were proud; no 
wonder they were preoccupied with the 
source of their pride. 

But things stranger still to the life of 
the sea are happening in some of the 
hundreds of cells which our giant section- 
knife has laid bare. An orchestra is prac- 
tising in one of them; in another, some 
one is catching live trout from a pond ; 
Post Office sorters are busy in another 
with letters for every quarter of the 


western world ; in a garage, mechanicians 
are cleaning half a dozen motor-cars; the 
rippling tones of a piano sound from a 
drawing-room where people are quietly 
reading in deep velvet armchairs sur- 
rounded by books and hothouse flowers; 
in another division people are diving and 
swimming in a great bath in water deep 
enough to drown a tall man ; in another 
an energetic game of squash racquets is 
in progress; and in great open spaces, 
on which it is only surprising that turf is 
not laid, people by hundreds are sunning 
themselves and breathing the fresh air, 
utterly unconscious of all these other 
activities on which we have been looking. 
For even here, as elsewhere, half of the 
world does not know and does not care 
how the other half lives. 

All this magnitude had been designed 
and adapted for the realization of two 
chief ends comfort and stability. We 


have perhaps heard enough about the 
arrangements for comfort; but the more 
vital matter had received no less anxious 
attention. Practically all of the space 
below the water-line was occupied by the 
heaviest things in the ship the boilers, 
the engines, the coal bunkers and the 
cargo. And the arrangement of her bulk- 
heads, those tough steel walls that divide 
a ship's hull into separate compartments, 
was such that her designers believed that 
no possible accident short of an explosion 
in her boilers could sink her. If she 
rammed any obstruction head on, her 
bows might crumple up, but the steel 
walls stretching across her hull and 
there were fifteen of them would pre- 
vent the damage spreading far enough 
aft to sink her. If her broadside was 
rammed by another ship, and one or even 
two of these compartments pierced, even 
then the rest would be sufficient to hold 


her up at least for a day or two. These 
bulkheads were constructed of heavy sheet 
steel, and extended from the very bottom 
of the ship to a point well above the 
water-line. Necessarily there were open- 
ings in them in order to make possible 
communication between the different parts 
of the ship. These openings were the size 
of an ordinary doorway and fitted with 
heavy steel doors not hinged doors, 
but panels, sliding closely in watertight 
grooves on either side of the opening. 
There were several ways of closing them; 
but once closed they offered a resistance 
as solid as that of the bulkheads. 

The method of opening and closing 
them was one of the many marvels of 
modern engineering. The heavy steel 
doors were held up above the openings 
by a series of friction clutches. Up on 
the bridge were switches connected with 
powerful electro-magnets at the side of 


the bulkhead openings. The operation of 
the switches caused each magnet to draw 
down a heavy weight which instantly re- 
leased the friction clutches, so that the 
doors would slide down in a second or 
two into their places, a gong ringing at 
the same time to warn anyone who might 
be passing through to get out of the way. 
The clutches could also be released by 
hand. But if for any reason the electric 
machinery should fail, there was a pro- 
vision made for closing them automatic- 
ally in case the ship should be flooded 
with water. Down in the double bottom 
of the ship were arranged a series of floats 
connected with each set of bulkhead doors. 
In the event of water reaching the com- 
partment below the doors, it would raise 
the floats, which, in their turn, would re- 
lease the clutches and drop the doors. 
These great bulkheads were no new ex- 
periment; they had been tried and proved. 


When the White Star liner Suevic was 
wrecked a few years ago off the Lizard, 
it was decided to divide the part of her 
which was floating from the part which 
was embedded in the rocks; and she was 
cut in two just forward of the main col- 
lision bulkhead, and the larger half of her 
towed into port with no other protection 
from the sea than this vast steel wall 
which, nevertheless, easily kept her afloat. 
And numberless other ships have owed 
their lives to the resisting power of these 
steel bulkheads and the quick operation of 
the sliding doors. 

As for the enormous weight that made 
for the Titanic 's stability, it was, as I 
have said, contained chiefly in the boilers, 
machinery and coal. The coal bunkers 
were like a lining running round the boil- 
ers, not only at the sides of the ship, but 
also across her whole breadth, thus in- 
creasing the solidity of the steel bulk- 


heads ; and when it is remembered that her 
steam was supplied by twenty-nine boil- 
ers, each of them the size of a large room, 
and fired by a hundred and fifty-nine fur- 
naces, the enormous weight of this part 
of the ship may be dimly realized. 

There are two lives lived side by side 
on such a voyage, the life of the pas- 
sengers and the life of the ship. From a 
place high up on the boat-deck our tra- 
veller can watch the progress of these two 
lives. The passengers play games or 
walk about, or sit idling drowsily in 
deck chairs, with their eyes straying con- 
stantly from the unheeded book to the 
long horizon, or noting the trivial doings 
of other idlers. The chatter of their 
voices, the sound of their games, the 
faint tinkle of music floating up from the 
music-room are eloquent of one of these 
double lives; there on the bridge is an 
expression of the other the bridge in all 


its spick-and-span sanctities, with the 
officers of the watch in their trim uniform, 
the stolid quartermaster at the wheel, 
and his equally stolid companion of the 
watch who dreams his four hours away 
on the starboard side of the bridge almost 
as motionless as the bright brass bin- 
nacles and standards, and the telegraphs 
that point unchangeably down to Full 
Ahead. . . . 

The Officer of the watch has a sextant 
at his eye. One by one the Captain, the 
Chief, the Second and the Fourth, all 
come silently up and direct their sextants 
to the horizon. The quartermaster comes 
and touches his cap: "Twelve o'clock, 
Sir." There is silence a deep sunny 
silence, broken only by the low tones of 
the Captain to the Chief: " What have 
you got?" says the Captain. " Thirty," 
says the Chief, "Twenty-nine," says the 
Third. There is another space of sunny 


silent seconds; the Captain takes down 
his sextant. " Make it eight bells," he 
says. Four double strokes resound from 
the bridge and are echoed from the fo'- 
c'stle head ; and the great moment of the 
day, the moment that means so much, is 
over. The officers retire with pencils and 
papers and tables of logarithms ; the clock 
on the staircase is put back, and the day's 
run posted; from the deck float up the 
sounds of a waltz and laughing voices; 
Time and the world flow on with us again. 


FOR anything that the eye could see 
the Titanic, in all her strength and 
splendour, was solitary on the ocean. 
From the highest of her decks nothing 
could be seen but sea and sky, a vast 
circle of floor and dome of which, for all 
her speed of five-and-twenty miles an hour, 
she remained always the centre. But it 
was only to the sense of sight that she 
seemed thus solitary. The North Atlan- 
tic, waste of waters though it appears, is 
really a country crossed and divided by 
countless tracks as familiar to the seaman 
as though they were roads marked by 
trees and milestones. Latitude and longi- 
tude, which to a landsman seem mere 
mathematical abstractions, represent to 


seamen thousands and thousands of de- 
finite points which, in their relation to 
sun and stars and the measured lapse of 
time, are each as familiar and as access- 
ible as any spot on a main road is to a 
landsman. The officer on the bridge may 
see nothing 1 through his glasses but clouds 
and waves, yet in his mind's eye he sees 
not only his own position on the map, 
which he could fix accurately within a 
quarter of a mile, but the movements of 
dozens of other ships coming or going 
along the great highways. Each ship 
takes its own road, but it is a road that 
passes through a certain known territory; 
the great liners all know each other's 
movements and where or when they are 
likely to meet. Many of such meetings 
are invisible; it is called a meeting at sea 
if ships pass twenty or thirty miles away 
from each other and far out of sight. 
For there are other senses besides that 


of sight which now pierce the darkness 
and span the waste distances of the ocean. 
It is no voiceless solitude through which 
the Titanic goes on her way. It is full of 
whispers, summonses, questions, narra- 
tives ; full of information to the listening 
ear. High up on the boat deck the little 
white house to which the wires straggle 
down from the looped threads between the 
mastheads is full of the voices of invisible 
ships that are coming and going beyond 
the horizon. The wireless impulse is too 
delicate to be used to actuate a needle like 
that of the ordinary telegraph; a little 
voice is given to it, and with this it speaks 
to the operator who sits with the tele- 
phone cap strapped over his ears ; a whin- 
ing, buzzing voice, speaking not in words 
but in rhythms, corresponding to the dots 
and dashes made on paper, out of which 
a whole alphabet has been evolved. And 
the wireless is the greatest gossip in the 


world. It repeats everything it hears ; it 
tells the listener everyone else's business; 
it speaks to him of the affairs of other 
people as well as his own. It is an ever- 
present eavesdropper, and tells you what 
other people are saying" to one another in 
exactly the same voice in which they speak 
to you. When it is sending your messages 
it shouts, splitting the air with crackling 
flashes of forked blue fire ; but when it has 
anything to say to you it whispers in your 
ear in whining, insinuating confidence. 
And you must listen attentively and with 
a mind concentrated on your own business 
if you are to receive from it what concerns 
you, and reject what does not; for it is 
not always the loudest whisper that is 
the most important. The messages come 
from near and far, now like the rasp of a 
file in your ear, and now in a thread of 
sound as fine as the whine of a mosquito; 
and if the mosquito voice is the one that 


is speaking to you from far away, you 
may often be interrupted by the loud and 
empty buzzing 1 of one nearer neighbour 
speaking to another and loudly interrupt- 
ing the message which concerns you. 

Listening to these voices in the Marconi 
room of the Titanic, and controlling her 
articulation and hearing, were two young 
men, little more than boys, but boys of a 
rare quality, children of the golden age of 
ele6tricity. Educated in an abstruse and 
delicate science, and loving the sea for its 
largeness and adventure, they had come 
Phillips at the age of twenty-six, and 
Bride in the ripe maturity of twenty-one 
to wield for the Titanic the electric 
forces of the ether, and to direct her utter- 
ance and hearing on the ocean. And as 
they sat there that Friday and Saturday 
they must have heard, as was their usual 
routine, all the whispers of the ships for 
two hundred miles round them, their 


trained faculties almost automatically re- 
jecting the unessential, receiving and at- 
tending to the essential. They heard talk 
of many things, talk in fragments and in 
the strange rhythmic language that they 
had come to know like a mother tongue; 
talk of cargoes, talk of money and busi- 
ness, of transactions involving thousands 
of pounds; trivial talk of the emotions, 
greetings and good wishes exchanged oi> 
the high seas; endless figures of latitude 
and longitude for a ship is an eternal 
egoist and begins all her communications 
by an announcement of Who she is and 
Where she is. Ships are chiefly interested 
in weather and cargo, and their wireless 
talk on their own account is constantly 
of these things; but most often of the 
weather. One ship may be pursuing her 
way under a calm sky and in smooth 
waters, while two hundred miles away a 
neighbour may be in the middle of a 


storm ; and so the ships talk to one 
another of the weather, and combine their 
forces against it, and, by altering course 
a little, or rushing ahead, or hanging 
back, cheat and dodge those malignant 
forces which are ever pursuing them. 

But in these April days there was no- 
thing much to be said about the weather. 
The winds and the storms were quiet 
here; they were busy perhaps up in 
Labrador or furiously raging about Cape 
Horn, but they had deserted for the time 
the North Atlantic, and all the ships 
ploughed steadily on in sunshine and 
smooth seas. Here and there, however, 
a whisper came to Phillips or Bride about 
something which, though not exactly 
weather, was as deeply interesting to the 
journeying ships ice. Just a whisper, 
nothing more, listened to up there in the 
sunny Marconi room, recorded, dealt 
with, and forgotten. " I have just come 


through bad field-ice," whispers one ship; 
" April ice very far south," says another; 
and Phillips taps out his " O. K., O.M.," 
which is a kind of cockney Marconi for 
"All right, old man." And many other 
messages come and go, of money and 
cargoes, and crops and the making of 
laws; but just now and then a pin-prick 
of reminder between all these other topics 
comes the word ICE. 

April ice and April weed are two of 
the most lovely products of the North 
Atlantic, but they are strangely opposite 
in their bearings on human destiny. The 
lovely golden April weed that is gathered 
all round the west coast of Ireland, and 
is burnt for indigo, keeps a whole peas- 
ant population in food and clothing for 
the rest of the year; the April ice, which 
comes drifting down on the Arctic cur- 
rent from the glacier slopes of Labrador 
or the plateau of North Greenland, keeps 


the seafaring population of the North 
Atlantic in doubt and anxiety throughout 
the spring and summer. Lovely indeed 
are some of these icebergs that glitter in 
the sun like fairy islands or the pinnacles 
of Valhalla; and dreamy and gentle is 
their drifting movement as they come 
down on the current by Newfoundland 
and round Cape Race, where, meeting 
the east-going Gulf Stream, they are 
gradually melted and lost in the waters of 
the Atlantic. Northward in the drift are 
often field-ice and vast floes; the great 
detached bergs sail farther south into the 
steamship tracks, and are what are most 
carefully looked for. This April there 
was abundance of evidence that the field- 
ice had come farther south than usual. 
The Empress of Britain, which passed 
the Titanic on Friday, reported an im- 
mense quantity of floating ice in the 
neighbourhood of Cape Race. When she 


arrived in Liverpool it transpired that, 
when three days out from Halifax, Nova 
Scotia, she encountered an ice-field, a 
hundred miles in extent, with enormous 
bergs which appeared to be joined to the 
ice-field, forming an immense white line, 
broken with peaks and pinnacles on the 
horizon. The Carmania and the Nicar- 
agua, which were going westward ahead 
of the Titanic, had both become entan- 
gled in ice, and the Nicaragua had sus- 
tained considerable damage. And day by 
day, almost hour by hour, news was 
coming in from other ships commenting 
on the unusual extent southward of the 
ice-field, and on the unusual number of 
icebergs which they had encountered. No 
doubt many of the passengers on the 
Titanic were hoping that they would 
meet with some; it is one of the chief 
interests of the North Atlantic voyage in 
the spring and summer; and nothing is 


more lovely in the bright sunshine of day 
than the sight of one of these giant 
islands, with its mountain-peaks spark- 
ling in the sun, and blue waves breaking 
on its crystal shores; nothing more im- 
pressive than the thought, as one looks 
at it, that high as its glittering towers 
and pinnacles may soar towards heaven 
there is eight times as great a depth of 
ice extending downwards into the dark 
sea. It is only at night, or when the 
waters are covered with a thick fog pro- 
duced by the contact of the ice with the 
warmer water, that navigating officers, 
peering forward into the mist, know how 
dreadful may be the presence of one of 
these sheeted monsters, the ghostly high- 
waymen of the sea. 


INFORMATION like this, however, 
only concerned the little group of 
executive officers who took their turns 
in tramping up and down the white grat- 
ings of the bridge. It was all part of their 
routine; it was what they expected to 
hear at this time of the year and in this 
part of the ocean; there was nothing 
specially interesting to them in the gossip 
of the wireless voices. Whatever they 
heard, we may be sure they did not talk 
about it to the passengers. For there is 
one paramount rule observed by the 
officers of passenger liners and that is 
to make everything as pleasant as pos- 
sible for the passengers. If there is any 
danger, they are the last to hear of it; if 


anything unpleasant happens on board, 
such as an accident or a death, knowledge 
of it is kept from as many of them as 
possible. Whatever may be happening, 
short of an apparent and obvious extrem- 
ity, it is the duty of the ship's company 
to help the passenger to believe that he 
lives and moves and has his being in a 
kind of Paradise, at the doors of which 
there are no lurking dangers and in which 
happiness and pleasure are the first duties 
of every inhabitant. 

And who were the people who composed 
the population of this journeying town? 
Subsequent events made their names 
known to us vast lists of names filling 
columns of the newspapers; but to the 
majority they are names and nothing else. 
Hardly anyone living knew more than a 
dozen of them personally; and try as we 
may it is very hard to see them, as their 
fellow voyagers must have seen them, as 


individual human beings with recognizable 
faces and characters of their own. Of the 
three hundred odd first-class passengers 
the majority were Americans rich and 
prosperous people, engaged for the most 
part in the simple occupation of buying 
things as cheaply as possible, selling them 
as dearly as possible, and trying to find 
some agreeable way of spending the differ- 
ence on themselves. Of the three hundred 
odd second-class passengers probably the 
majority were English, many of them of 
the minor professional classes and many 
going either to visit friends or to take up 
situations in the western world. But the 
thousand odd steerage passengers repre- 
sented a kind of Babel of nationalities, all 
the world in little, united by nothing ex- 
cept poverty and the fact that they were 
in a transition stage of their existence, 
leaving behind them for the most part 
a life of failure and hopelessness, and 


looking forward to a new life of success 
and hope: Jews, Christians, and Mo- 
hammedans, missionaries and heathen, 
Russians, Poles, Greeks, Roumanians, 
Germans, Italians, Chinese, Finns, 
Spaniards, English, and French with a 
strong contingent of Irish, the inevitable 
link in that melancholy chain of emigra- 
tion that has united Ireland and America 
since the Famine. But there were other 
differences, besides those of their condi- 
tion and geographical distribution on the 
ship, that divided its inhabitants. For the 
first-class passengers the world was a very 
small place, about which many of them 
were accustomed to hurry in an important 
way in the process of spending and getting 
their money, taking an Atlantic liner as 
humbler people take a tramcar, without 
giving much thought to it or laying 
elaborate plans, running backwards and 
forwards across the Atlantic and its dan- 


gers as children run across the road in 
front of a motor car. They were going to 
America this week; they would probably 
come back next week or the week after. 
They were the people for whom the 
Titanic had specially been designed ; it 
was for them that all the luxuries had 
been contrived, so that in their runnings 
backwards and forwards they should not 
find the long days tedious or themselves 
divorced from the kind of accompaniments 
to life which they had come to regard as 

But for the people in the steerage this 
was no hurrying trip between one busi- 
ness office and another; no hasty holiday 
arranged to sandwich ten thousand miles 
of ozone as a refresher between two busi- 
ness engagements. This westward pro- 
gress was for them part of the drift of 
their lives, loosening them from their 
native soil to scatter and distribute them 


over the New World, in the hope that in 
fresher soil and less crowded conditions 
they would strike new roots and begin a 
new life. The road they travelled was for 
most of them a road to be travelled once 
only, a road they knew they would never 
retrace. For them almost exclusively was 
reserved that strange sense of looking 
down over the stern of the ship into the 
boiling commotion of the churned-up 
waters, the maelstrom of snow under the 
counter merging into the pale green high- 
way that lay straight behind them to the 
horizon, and of knowing that it was a 
road that divided them from home, a road 
that grew a mile longer with every three 
minutes of their storming progress. Other 
ships would follow on the road; other 
ships would turn and come again, and 
drive their way straight back over the 
white foam to where, with a sudden 
plunging and turning of screws in the 


green harbour water of home, the road 
had begun. But they who looked back 
from the steerage quarters of the Titanic 
would not return; and they, alone of all 
the passengers on the ship, knew it. 

And that is all we can know or imagine 
about them; but it is probably more than 
most of the fortunate ones on the snowy 
upper decks cared to know or imagine. Up 
there also there were distinctions; some 
of the travellers there, for example, were 
so rich that they were conspicuous for 
riches, even in a population like this and 
I imagine that the standard of wealth is 
higher in the first-class population of an 
Atlantic liner than in any other group of 
people in the world. There were four men 
there who represented between them the 
possession of some seventy millions of 
money John Jacob Astor, Isidore Straus, 
George D. Widener, and Benjamin Gug- 
genheim their names; and it was said 


that there were twenty who represented a 
fortune of a hundred millions between 
them an interesting, though not an im- 
portant, fact. But there were people there 
conspicuous for other things than their 
wealth. There was William T. Stead who, 
without any wealth at all, had in some 
respects changed the thought and social 
destinies of England; there was Francis 
Millet, a painter who had attained to 
eminence in America and who had recently 
been head of the American Academy in 
Rome; there was an eminent motorist, 
an eminent master of hounds, an eminent 
baseball player, an eminent poloist; and 
there was Major Archibald Butt, the 
satellite and right-hand man of Presidents, 
who had had a typical American career 
as newspaper correspondent, secretary, 
soldier, diplomatist, aide-de-camp, and 
novelist. There was Mr. Ismay, the most 
important man on the ship, for as head 


of the White Star Line he was practically 
her owner. He was accompanying* her on 
her maiden voyage with no other object 
than to find out wherein she was defective, 
so that her younger sister might excel 
her. He may be said to have accomplished 
his purpose; and of all the people who 
took this voyage he is probably the only 
one who succeeded in what he set out to 
do. There was Mr. Andrews, one of the 
designers of the Titanic, who had come 
to enjoy the triumph of his giant child ; 
and there were several others also, denizens 
of that great forest of iron in Belfast 
Lough, who had seen her and known her 
when she was a cathedral building within 
a scaffolding, the most solid and immov- 
able thing in their world. These, the 
friends and companions of her infancy, 


had come too, we may suppose, to admire 

her in her moment of success, as the 

nurses and humble attendants of some 



beautiful girl will watch in a body her 
departure for the triumphs of her first 

Of all this throng- 1 had personal know- 
ledge of only two ; and yet the two hap- 
pened to be extremely typical. I knew 
John Jacob Astor a few years ago in New 
York, when he sometimes seemed like 
a polite skeleton in his own gay house; 
an able but superficially unprepossessing 
man, so rich that it was almost impossible 
to know accurately anything about him 
a man, I should say, to whom money 
had been nothing but a handicap from 
his earliest days. He was typical of this 
company because he was so conspicuous 
and so unknown; for when a man has 
thirty millions of money the world hears 
about his doings and possessions end- 
lessly, but knows little of the man himself. 
It is enough to say that there were good 
things and bad things credited to his 


account, of which the good were much 
more unlikely and surprising than the bad. 
The other man and how different! 
was Christopher Head. He was typical 
too, typical of that almost anonymous 
world that keeps the name of England 
liked and respected everywhere. I said 
that he was typical because these few 
conspicuous names that I have mentioned 
represent only one narrow class of man- 
kind; among the unnamed and the un- 
known you may be sure, if you have any 
wide experience of collective humanity, 
that virtues and qualities far more striking 
and far more admirable were included. 
Christopher Head was mild and unas- 
suming, and one of the most attractive 
of men, for wherever he went he left a 
sense of serenity and security; and he 
walked through life with a keen, observant 
intelligence. Outside Lloyd's, of which 
great corporation he was a member, his 


interests were chiefly artistic, and he used 
his interest and knowledge in the best 
possible way for the public good when he 
was Mayor of Chelsea, and made his in- 
fluence felt by imparting some quite new 
and much-needed ideals into that civic 
office. , . . But two known faces do not 
make a crowd familiar; and nothing will 
bring most of us any nearer to the know- 
ledge of these voyagers than will the 
knowledge of what happened to them. 

One thing we do know a small thing 
and yet illuminating to our picture. There 
were many young people on board, many 
newly married, and some, we may be sure, 
for whom the voyage represented the gate- 
way to romance ; for no Atlantic liner ever 
sailed with a full complement and set down 
all its passengers in the emotional state in 
which it took them up. The sea is a great 
match-maker; and in those long mono- 
tonous hours of solitude many flowers of 


the heart blossom and many minds and 
characters strike out towards each other 
in new and undreamed-of sympathy. 

Of this we may be as sure as of the 
existence of the ship: that there were on 
board the Titanic people watching the 
slip of moon setting 1 early on those April 
nights for whom time and the world 
were quite arrested in their course, and 
for whom the whole ship and her teeming 
activities were but frame and setting for 
the perfect moment of their lives; for 
whom the thronging multitudes of their 
fellow passengers were but a blurred back- 
ground against which the colour of their 
joy stood sharp and clear. The fields of 
foam-flecked blue, sunlit or cloud-shad- 
owed by day ; the starlight on the waters ; 
the slow and scarcely perceptible swinging 
of the ship's rail against the violet and 
spangled sky ; the low murmur of voices, 
the liquid notes of violins, the trampling 


tune of the engines to how many others 
have not these been the properties of a 
magic world; for how many others, as 
long as men continue to go in ships upon 
the sea, will they not be the symbols of a 
joy that is as old as time, and that is found 
to be new by every generation ! For this 
also is one of the gifts of the sea, and one 
of the territories through which the long 
road passes. 


SUNDAY came, with nothing to 
mark it except the morning service 
in the saloon a function that by 
reason of its novelty, attracts some people 
at sea who do not associate it with the 
shore. One thing, however, fire or boat 
muster, which usually marks Sunday at 
sea, and gives it a little variety, did not 
for some reason take place. It is one of 
the few variants of the monotony of ship- 
board life, where anything in the nature 
of a spectacle is welcomed; and most 
travellers are familiar with the stir caused 
by the sudden hoarse blast of the fog- 
horn and the subsequent patter of feet 
and appearance from below of all kinds 
of people whose existence the passenger 


had hardly suspected. Stewards, sail- 
ors, firemen, engineers, nurses, bakers, 
butchers, cooks, florists, barbers, car- 
penters, and stewardesses, ranged in two 
immense lines along the boat deck, answer 
to their names and are told off, according 
to their numbers, to take charge of certain 
boats. This muster did not take place on 
the Titanic; if it had it would have re- 
vealed to any observant passenger the 
fact that the whole crew of nine hundred 
would have occupied all the available ac- 
commodation in the boats hanging on the 
davits and left no room for any passengers. 
For the men who designed and built 
the Titanic, who knew the tremendous 
strength of the girders and cantilevers 
and bulkheads which took the thrust and 
pull of every strain that she might un- 
dergo, had thought of boats rather as a 
superfluity, dating from the days when 
ships were vulnerable, when they sprang 


leaks and might sink in the high seas. 
In their pride they had said " the Titanic 
cannot spring a leak." So there was no 
boat muster, and the routine occupations 
of Sunday went on unvaried and undis- 
turbed. Only in the Marconi room was 
the monotony varied, for something had 
gone wrong with the delicate electrical 
apparatus, and the wireless voice was 
silent; and throughout the morning and 
afternoon, for seven hours, Phillips and 
Bride were hard at work testing and 
searching for the little fault that had cut 
them off from the world of voices. And 
at last they found it, and the whining and 
buzzing began again. But it told them 
nothing new; only the same story, whis- 
pered this time from the California* 
the story of ice. 

The day wore on, the dusk fell, lights 
one by one sprang up and shone within 
the ship; the young moon rose in a cloud- 


less sky spangled with stars. People re- 
marked on the loveliness of the night as 
they went to dress for dinner, but they 
remarked also on its coldness. There was 
an unusual chill in the air, and lightly 
clad people were glad to draw in to the 
big fireplaces in smoke-room or drawing- 
room or library, and to keep within the 
comfort of the warm and lamplit rooms. 
The cold was easily accounted for; it was 
the ice season, and the airs that were 
blowing down from the north-west carried 
with them a breath from the ice-fields. It 
was so cold that the decks were pretty 
well deserted, and the usual evening con- 
cert, instead of being held on the open 
deck, was held in the warmth, under 
cover. And gradually people drifted away 
to bed, leaving only a few late birds 
sitting up reading in the library, or 
playing cards in the smoking-rooms, or 
following a restaurant dinner-party by 


quiet conversation in the flower-decked 

The ship had settled down for the night; 
half of her company were peacefully 
asleep in bed, and many lying down 
waiting for sleep to come, when some- 
thing happened. What that something 
was depended upon what part of the ship 
you were in. ^ The first thing to attract 
the attention of most of the first-class 
passengers was a negative thing the 
cessation of that trembling, continuous 
rhythm which had been the undercurrent 
of all their waking sensations since the 
ship left Queenstown. The engines 
stopped. Some wondered, and put their 
heads out <tf their state-room doors, 
or even threw a wrap about them and 
went out into the corridors to see what 
had happened, while others turned over 
in bed and composed themselves to 
sleep, deciding to wait until the morn- 


ing to hear what was the cause of the 

Lower down in the ship they heard a 
little more. The sudden harsh clash of 
the engine-room telegraph bells would 
startle those who were near enough to 
hear it, especially as it was followed al- 
most immediately afterwards by the simul- 
taneous ringing all through the lower 
part of the ship of the gongs that gave 
warning of the closing of the watertight 
doors. After the engines stopped there 
was a moment of stillness; and then the 
vibration began again, more insistently 
this time, with a certain jumping move- 
ment which to the experienced ear meant 
that the engines were being sent full 
speed astern ; and then they stopped 
again, and again there was stillness. 

Here and there in the long corridors 
amidships a door opened and some one 
thrust a head out, asking what was the 


matter; here and there a man in pyjamas 
and a dressing-gown came out of his 
cabin and climbed up the deserted stair- 
case to have a look at what was going 
on; people sitting in the lighted saloons 
and smoke-rooms looked at one another 
and said: "What was that?" gave or 
received some explanation, and resumed 
their occupations. A man in his dressing- 
gown came into one of the smoking-rooms 
where a party was seated at cards, with a 
few yawning bystanders looking on before 
they turned in. The newcomer wanted 
to know what was the matter, whether 
they had noticed anything? They had 
felt a slight jar, they said, and had seen 
an iceberg going by past the windows; 
probably the ship had grazed it, but no 
damage had been done. And they re- 
sumed their game of bridge. The man 
in the dressing-gown left the smoke-room, 
and never saw any of the players again. 


So little excitement was there in this part 
of the ship that the man in the dressing- 
gown (his name was Mr. Beezley, an 
English schoolmaster, one of the few 
who emerges from the crowd with an in- 
tact individuality) went back to his cabin 
and lay down on his bed with a book, 
waiting for the ship to start again. But 
the unnatural stillness, the uncanny peace 
even of this great peaceful ship, must 
have got a little upon his nerves; and 
when he heard people moving about in 
the corridors, he got up again, and found 
that several people whom the stillness had 
wakened from their sleep were wandering 
about inquiring what had happened. 

But that was all. The half-hour which 
followed the stoppage of the ship was a 
comparatively quiet half-hour, in which a 
few people came out of their cabins in- 
deed, and collected together in the cor- 
ridors and staircases gossiping, specu- 


lating and asking questions as to what 
could have happened; but it was not a 
time of anxiety, or anything like it. 
Nothing could be safer on this quiet 
Sunday night than the great ship, warmed 
and lighted everywhere, with her thick 
carpets and padded armchairs and cush- 
ioned recesses; and if anything could 
have added to the sense of peace and 
stability, it was that her driving motion 
had ceased, and that she lay solid and 
motionless like a rock in the sea, the still 
water scarcely lapping against her sides. 
And those of her people who had thought 
it worth while to get out of bed stood 
about in little knots, and asked foolish 
questions, and gave foolish answers in 
the familiar manner of passengers on ship- 
board when the slightest incident occurs 
to vary the regular and monotonous 


THIS was one phase of that first 
half-hour. Up on the high bridge, 
isolated from all the indoor life of 
the passengers, there was another phase. 
The watches had been relieved at ten 
o'clock, when the ship had settled down 
for the quietest and least eventful period 
of the whole twenty-four hours. The First 
Officer, Mr. Murdoch, was in command 
of the bridge, and with him was Mr. 
Boxhall, the Fourth Officer, and the 
usual look-out staff. The moon had set, 
and the night was very cold, clear and 
starry, except where here and there a 
slight haze hung on the surface of the 
water. Captain Smith, to whom the night 
of the sea was like day, and to whom all 


the invisible tracks and roads of the 
Atlantic were as familiar as Fleet Street 
is to a Daily Telegraph reporter, had 
been in the chart room behind the bridge 
to plot out the course for the night, and 
afterwards had gone to his room to lie 
down. Two pairs of sharp eyes were 
peering forward from the crow's nest, 
another pair from the nose of the ship on 
the fo'c'stle head, and at least three pairs 
from the bridge itself, all staring into the 
dim night, quartering with busy glances 
the area of the black sea in front of them 
where the foremast and its wire shrouds 
and stays were swinging almost imper- 
ceptibly across the starry sky. 

At twenty minutes to twelve the silence 
of the night was broken by three sharp 
strokes on the gong sounding from the 
crow's nest a signal for something right 
ahead ; while almost simultaneously came 
a voice through the telephone from the 


look-out announcing the presence of ice. 
There was a kind of haze in front of the 
ship the colour of the sea, but nothing 
could be distinguished from the bridge. 
Mr. Murdoch's hand was on the tele- 
graph immediately, and his voice rapped 
out the order to the quartermaster to 
starboard the helm. The wheel spun 
round, the answering click came up from 
the startled engine-room ; but before any- 
thing else could happen there was a slight 
shock, and a splintering sound from the 
bows of the ship as she crashed into 
yielding ice. That was followed by a 
rubbing, jarring, grinding sensation along 
her starboard bilge, and a peak of dark- 
coloured ice glided past close alongside. 

As the engines stopped in obedience to 
the telegraph Mr. Murdoch turned the 
switches that closed the water-tight doors. 
Captain Smith came running out of the 
chart room. " What is it?" he asked. 


" We have struck ice, Sir." " Close the 
water-tight doors." " It is already done, 
Sir." Then the Captain took command. 
He at once sent a message to the car- 
penter to sound the ship and come and 
report; the quartermaster went away 
with the message, and set the carpenter 
to work. Captain Smith now gave a 
glance at the commutator, a dial which 
shows to what extent the ship is off the 
perpendicular, and noticed that she carried 
a 5 list to starboard. Coolly following a 
routine as exact as that which he would 
have observed had he been conning the 
ship into dock, he gave a number of 
orders in rapid succession, after first con- 
sulting with the Chief Engineer. Then, 
having given instructions that the whole 
of the available engine-power was to be 
turned to pumping the ship, he hurried 
aft along the boat-deck to the Marconi 
room. Phillips was sitting at his key, 


toiling through routine business; Bride, 
who had just got up to relieve him, was 
sleepily making preparations to take his 
place. The Captain put his head in at the 

" We have struck an iceberg," he said, 
"and I am having an inspection made to 
tell what it has done for us. Better get 
ready to send out a call for assistance, but 
don't send it until I tell you." 

He hurried away again; in a few 
minutes he put his head in at the door 
again; " Send that call for assistance," 
he said. 

"What call shall I send?" asked 

" The regulation international call for 
help, just that," said the Captain, and 
was gone again. 

But in five minutes he came back into 
the wireless room, this time apparently 
not in such a hurry. " What call are you 


sending?" he asked; and when Phillips 
told him " C.Q.D.," the highly technical 
and efficient Bride suggested, laughingly, 
that he should send "S.O.S.," the new 
international call for assistance which has 
superseded the C.Q.D. "It is the new 
call," said Bride, "and it may be your 
last chance to send it!" And they all 
three laughed, and then for a moment 
chatted about what had happened, while 
Phillips tapped out the three longs, three 
shorts, and three longs which instanta- 
neously sent a message of appeal flashing 
out far and wide into the dark night. 
The Captain, who did not seem seriously 
worried or concerned, told them that the 
ship had been struck amidships or a little 
aft of that. 

Whatever may have been happening 
down below, everything up here was quiet 
and matter-of-fact. It was a disaster, of 
course, but everything was working well, 


everything had been done; the electric 
switches for operating the bulkhead doors 
had been used promptly, and had worked 
beautifully; the powerful wireless plant 
was talking to the ocean, and in a few 
hours there would be some other ship 
alongside of them. It was rough luck, to 
be sure ; they had not thought they would 
so soon have a chance of proving that the 
Titanic was unsinkable. 


WE must now visit in imagination 
some other parts of the ship, 
parts isolated from the bridge 
and the spacious temple of luxury amid- 
ships, and try to understand how the 
events of this half hour appeared to the 
denizens of the lower quarters of the ship. 
The impact that had been scarcely noticed 
in the first-class quarters had had much 
more effect down below, and especially 
forward, where some of the third-class 
passengers and some of the crew were 
berthed. A ripping, grinding crash 
startled all but the heaviest sleepers here 
into wakefulness; but it was over so soon 
and was succeeded by so peaceful a silence 
that no doubt any momentary panic it 
might have caused was soon allayed. One 


of the firemen describing it said : u I was 
awakened bya noise, and between sleeping 
and waking I thought I was dreaming 
that I was on a train that had run off the 
lines, and that I was being jolted about." 
He jumped out and went on deck, where 
he saw the scattered ice lying about. ' * Oh, 
we have struck an iceberg," he said, 
"that's nothing; I shall go back and 
turn in," and he actually went back to bed 
and slept for half an hour, until he was 
turned out to take his station at the boats. 
The steerage passengers, who were 
berthed right aft, heard nothing and knew 
nothing until the news that an accident 
had happened began slowly to filter down 
to them. But there was no one in author- 
ity to give them any official news, and for 
a time they were left to wonder and specu- 
late as they chose. Forward, however, it 
became almost immediately apparent to 
certain people that there was something 


grievously wrong; firemen on their way 
through the passage along the ship's bot- 
tom leading between their quarters and 
No. i stokehold found water coming in, 
and rapidly turned back. They were met 
on their way up the staircase by an officer 
who asked them what they were doing. 
They told him. ''There's water coming 
into our place, Sir," they said; and as he 
thought they were off duty he did not turn 
them back. 

Mr. Andrews, a partner in Harland 
and Wolff's, and one of the Titanic s 
designers, had gone quietly down by him- 
self to investigate the damage, and, great 
as was his belief in the giant he had 
helped to create, it must have been shaken 
when he found the water pouring into 
her at the rate of hundreds of tons a 
minute. Even his confidence in those 
mighty steel walls that stretched one be- 
hind the other in succession along the 


whole length of the ship could not have 
been proof against the knowledge that 
three or four of them had been pierced by 
the long rip of the ice-tooth. There was 
just a chance that she would hold up 
long enough to allow of relief to arrive in 
time; but it is certain that from that mo- 
ment Mr. Andrews devoted himself to 
warning people, and helping to get them 
away, so far as he could do so without 
creating a panic. 

Most of the passengers, remember, 
were still asleep during this half hour. 
One of the most terrible things possible 
at sea is a panic, and Captain Smith was 
particularly anxious that no alarm should 
be given before or unless it was absolutely 
necessary. He heard what Mr. Andrews 
had to say, and consulted with the en- 
gineer, and soon found that the whole of 
the ship's bottom was being flooded. There 
were other circumstances calculated to 


make the most sanguine ship-master un- 
easy. Already, within half an hour, the 
Titanic was perceptibly down by the head. 
She would remain stationary for five 
minutes and then drop six inches or a 
foot; remain stationary again, and drop 
another foot a circumstance ominous to 
experienced minds, suggesting that some 
of the smaller compartments forward were 
one by one being flooded, and letting the 
water farther and farther into her hull. 

Therefore at about twenty-five minutes 
past midnight the Captain gave orders for 
the passengers to be called and mustered 
on the boat deck. All the ship's crew 
had by this time been summoned to their 
various stations; and now through all 
the carpeted corridors, through the com- 
panion-ways and up and down staircases, 
leading to the steerage cabins, an army 
of three hundred stewards was hurry- 
ing, knocking loudly on doors, and 


shouting 1 up and down the passages, 
" All passengers on deck with life-belts 
on ! " The summons came to many in their 
sleep; and to some in the curtained fire- 
light luxury of their deck state-rooms it 
seemed an order so absurd that they 
scorned it, and actually went back to bed 
again. These, however, were rare excep- 
tions; for most people there was no mis- 
taking the urgency of the command, even 
though they were slow to understand the 
necessity for it. And hurry is a thing 
easily communicated; seeing some pas- 
sengers hastening out with nothing over 
their night clothes but a blanket or a 
wrapper, others caught the infection, and 
hurried too; and struggling with life- 
belts, clumsily attempting to adjust them 
over and under a curious assortment of 
garments, the passengers of the Titanic 
came crowding up on deck, for the first 
time fully alarmed. 


WHEN the people came on deck 
it was half-past twelve. The 
first - class passengers came 
pouring up the two main staircases and 
out on to the boat deck some of them 
indignant, many of them curious, some 
few of them alarmed. They found there 
everything as usual except that the long 
deck was not quite level ; it tilted down- 
wards a little towards the bow, and there 
was a slight list towards the starboard 
side. The stars were shining in the sky 
and the sea was perfectly smooth, although 
dotted about it here and there were lumps 
of dark - coloured ice, almost invisible 
against the background of smooth water. 
A long line of stewards was forming up 
beside the boats on either side those 


solid white boats, stretching far aft in 
two long" lines, that became suddenly in- 
vested with practical interest. Officers 
were shouting" orders, seamen were busy 
clearing up the coils of rope attached to 
the doavit tackles, fitting the iron handles 
to the winches by which the davits them- 
selves were canted over from the inward 
position over the deck to the outward 
position over the ship's side. Almost at 
the same time a rush of people began 
from the steerage quarters, swarming up 
stairways and ladders to reach this high 
deck hitherto sacred to the first-class pas- 
sengers. At first they were held back by 
a cordon of stewards, but some broke 
through and others were allowed through, 
so that presently a large proportion of 
the ship's company was crowding about 
the boat deck and the one immediately 
below it. 

Then the business of clearing, filling, 


and lowering the boats was begun a 
business quickly described, but occupying 
a good deal of time in the transaction. 
Mr. Murdoch, the Chief Officer, ordered 
the crews to the boats; and with some 
confusion different parties of stewards and 
sailors disentangled themselves from the 
throng and stood in their positions by each 
of the sixteen boats. Every member of 
the crew, when he signs on for a voyage in 
a big passenger ship, is given a number 
denoting which boat's crew he belongs 
to. If there has been boat drill, every 
man knows and remembers his number; 
if, as in the case of the Titanic, there 
has been no boat drill, some of the men 
remember their numbers and some do 
not, the result being a certain amount of 
confusion. But at last a certain number 
of men were allotted to each boat, and 
began the business of hoisting them out. 
First of all the covers had to be taken 


off and the heavy masts and sails lifted 
out of them. Ship's boats appear very 
small things when one sees a line of them 
swinging high up on deck; but, as a 
matter of fact, they are extremely heavy, 
each of them the size of a small sailing 
yacht. Everything on the Titanic having 
been newly painted, everything was stiff 
and difficult to move. The lashings of 
the heavy canvas covers were like wire, 
and the covers themselves like great 
boards; the new ropes ran stiffly in the 
new gear. At last a boat was cleared and 
the order given, " Women and children 
first." The officers had revolvers in their 
hands ready to prevent a rush ; but there 
was no rush. There was a certain amount 
of laughter. No one wanted to be the 
first to get into the boat and leave the 
ship. "Come on," cried the officers. 
There was a pause, followed by the brief 
command, " Put them in." 


The crew seized the nearest women and 
pushed or lifted them over the rail into 
the first boat, which was now hanging 
over the side level with the deck. But 
they were very unwilling to go. The 
boat, which looked big and solid on the 
deck, now hung dizzily seventy-five feet 
over the dark water ; it seemed a far from 
attractive prospect to get into it and go 
out on to the cold sea, especially as every- 
one was convinced that it was a merely 
formal precaution which was being taken, 
and that the people in the boats would 
merely be rowed off a little way and kept 
shivering on the cold sea for a time and 
then brought back to the ship when it 
was found that the danger was past. For, 
walking about the deck, people remem- 
bered all the things that they had been 
thinking and saying since first they had 
seen the Titanic ; and what was the use of 
travelling by an unsinkable ship if, at the 



first alarm of danger, one had to leave her 
and row out on the icy water? Obviously 
it was only the old habit of the sea assert- 
ing itself, and Captain Smith, who had 
hitherto been such a favourite, was begin- 
ning to be regarded as something of a 
nuisance with his ridiculous precautions. 
The boats swung and swayed in the 
davits; even the calm sea, now that they 
looked at it more closely, was seen to be 
not absolutely like a millpond, but to have 
a certain movement on its surface which, 
although utterly helpless to move the 
huge bulk of the Titanic, against whose 
sides it lapped, as ineffectually as against 
the walls of a dock, was enough to im- 
part a swinging movement to the small 
boats. But at last, what with coercion 
and persuasion, a boat was half filled 
with women. One of the things they 
liked least was leaving their husbands; 
they felt that they were being sacrificed 


needlessly to over-elaborate precautions, 
and it was hard to leave the men stand- 
ing comfortably on the firm deck, shel- 
tered and in a flood of warm yellow light, 
and in the safety of the great solid ship 
that lay as still as a rock, while they had 
to go out, half-clad and shivering, on the 
icy waters. 

But the inexorable movements of the 
crew continued. The pulleys squealed 
in the sheaves, the new ropes were paid 
out; and jerking downwards, a foot or 
two at a time, the first boat dropped down 
towards the water, past storey after storey 
of the great structure, past rows and rows 
of lighted portholes, until at last, by 
strange unknown regions of the ship's 
side, where cataracts and waterfalls were 
rushing into the sea, it rested on the 
waves. The blocks were unhooked, the 
heavy ash oars were shipped, and the 
boat headed away into the darkness. And 


then, and not till then, those in the boat 
realized that something was seriously 
wrong" with the Titanic. Instead of the 
trim level appearance which she presented 
on the picture postcards or photographs, 
she had an ungraceful slant downwards 
to the bows a heavy helpless appearance 
like some wounded monster that is being 
overcome by the waters. And even while 
they looked, they could see that the bow 
was sinking lower. 

After the first boat had got away, there 
was less difficulty about the others. The 
order, " Women and children first," was 
rigidly enforced by the officers; but it 
was necessary to have men in the boats 
to handle them, and a number of stewards, 
and many grimy figures of stokers who 
had mysteriously appeared from below 
were put into them to man them. Once 
the tide of people began to set into the 
boats and away from the ship, there came 


a certain anxiety to join them and not to 
be left behind. Here and there indeed 
there was over-anxiety, which had to be 
roughly checked. One band of Italians 
from the steerage, who had good reason 
to know that something was wrong, tried 
to rush one of the boats, and had to be 
kept back by force, an officer firing a 
couple of shots with his pistol; they de- 
sisted, and were hauled back ignomini- 
ously by the legs. In their place some of 
the crew and the passengers who were 
helping lifted in a number of Italian 
women limp with fright. 

And still everyone was walking about 
and saying that the ship was unsinkable. 
There was a certain subdued excitement, 
natural to those who feel that they are 
taking part in a rather thrilling adven- 
ture which will give them importance in 
the eyes of people at home when they 
relate it. There was as yet no call for 


heroism, because, among the first-class 
passengers certainly, the majority believed 
that the safest as well as the most com- 
ortable place was the ship. But it was 
painful for husbands and wives to be 
separated, and the wives sent out to brave 
the discomforts of the open boats while 
the husbands remained on the dry and 
comfortable ship. 

The steerage people knew better and 
feared more. Life had not taught them, 
as it had taught some of those first-class 
passengers, that the world was an organ- 
ization specially designed for their com- 
fort and security; they had not come to 
believe that the crude and ugly and ele- 
mentary catastrophes of fate would not 
attack them. On the contrary, most of 
them knew destiny as a thing to fear, and 
made haste to flee from it. Many of 
them, moreover, had been sleeping low 
down in the forward part of the ship; 


they had heard strange noises, had seen 
water washing about where no water 
should be, and they were frightened. 
There was, however, no discrimination 
between classes in putting the women 
into the boats. The woman with a tat- 
tered shawl over her head, the woman 
with a sable coat over her nightdress, the 
woman clasping a baby, and the woman 
clutching a packet of trinkets had all an 
equal chance; side by side they were 
handed on to the harsh and uncomfortable 
thwarts of the lifeboats; the wife of the 
millionaire sat cheek by jowl with a dusty 
stoker and a Russian emigrant, and the 
spoiled woman of the world found some 
poor foreigner's baby thrown into her lap 
as the boat was lowered. 

By this time the women and children 
had all been mustered on the second or 
A deck; the men were supposed to remain 
up on the boat deck while the boats were 


being lowered to the level of the women, 
where sections of the rail had been cleared 
away for them to embark more easily; 
but this rule, like all the other rules, was 
not rigidly observed. The crew was not 
trained enough to discipline and coerce the 
passengers. How could they be? They 
were trained to serve them, to be obsequi- 
ous and obliging; it would have been too 
much to expect that they should suddenly 
take command and order them about. 

There were many minor adventures and 
even accidents. One woman had both her 
legs broken in getting into the boat. The 
mere business of being lowered in a boat 
through seventy feet of darkness was in 
itself productive of more than one ex- 
citing incident. The falls of the first boat 
jammed when she was four feet from the 
water, and she had to be dropped into it 
with a splash. And there was one very 
curious incident which happened to the 


boat in which Mr. Beezley, the English 
schoolmaster already referred to, had been 
allotted a place as a helper. " As the 
boat began to descend," he said, " two 
ladies were pushed hurriedly through the 
crowd on B deck, and a baby ten months 
old was passed down after them. Then 

down we went, the crew shouting out 

directions to those lowering us. * Level,' 
' Aft,' * Stern,' ' Both together! ' until we 
were some ten feet from the water. Here 
occurred the only anxious moment we 
had during the whole of our experience 
from the time of our leaving the deck to 
our reaching the Carpathia. 

" Immediately below our boat was the 
exhaust of the condensers, and a huge 
stream of water was pouring all the time 
from the ship's side just above the water- 
line. It was plain that we ought to be 
smart away from it if we were to escape 
swamping when we touched the water. 


We had no officers on board, and no petty 
officer or member of the crew to take 
charge, so one of the stokers shouted, 
' Some one find the pin which releases 
the boat from the ropes and pull it up ! ' 
No one knew where it was. We felt as 
well as we could on the floor, and along 
the sides, but found nothing. It was 
difficult to move among so many people. 
We had sixty or seventy on board. Down 
we went, and presently we floated with 
our ropes still holding us, and the stream 
of water from the exhaust washing us 
away from the side of the vessel, while 
the swell of the sea urged us back against 
the side again. 

1 ' The result of all these forces was 
that we were carried parallel to the ship's 
side, and directly under boat No. 14, 
which had filled rapidly with men, and 
was coming down on us in a way that 
threatened to submerge our boat. 


" 'Stop lowering 14,' our crew shouted, 
and the crew of No. 14, now only 20 feet 
above, cried out the same. The distance 
to the top, however, was some 70 feet, and 
the creaking 1 of the pulleys must have 
deadened all sound to those above, for 
down she came, 15 feet, 10 feet, 5 feet, and 
a stoker and I reached up and touched the 
bottom of the swinging boat above our 
heads. The next drop would have brought 
her on our heads. Just before she dropped 
another stoker sprang to the ropes with 
his knife open in his hand. 'One,' I 
heard him say, and then 'Two,' as the 
knife cut through the pulley rope. 

' ' ' The next moment the exhaust stream 
carried us clear, while boat No. 14 dropped 
into the water, taking the space we had 
occupied a moment before. Our gunwales 
were almost touching. We drifted away 
easily, and when our oars were got out, 
we headed directly away from the ship.' ' 


But although there was no sense of 
danger, there were some painful partings 
on the deck where the women were em- 
barked ; for you must think of this scene 
as going on for at least an hour amid a 
confusion of people pressing about, trying 
to find their friends, asking for informa- 
tion, listening to some new rumour, try- 
ing to decide whether they should or 
should not go in the boats, to a constant 
accompaniment of shouted orders, the 
roar of escaping steam, the squeal and 
whine of the ropes and pulleys, and the 
gay music of the band, which Captain 
Smith had ordered to play during the 
embarkation. Every now and then a 
woman would be forced away from her 
husband; every now and then a husband, 
having got into a boat with his wife, 
would be made to get out of it again. If 
it was hard for the wives to go, it was 
harder for the husbands to see them go 


to such certain discomfort and in such 
strange company. Colonel Astor, whose 
young wife was in a delicate state of 
health, had got into the boat with her to 
look after her; and no wonder. But he 
was ordered out again and came at once, 
no doubt feeling bitterly, poor soul, that 
he would have given many of his millions 
to be able to go honourably with her. 
But he stepped back without a word of 
remonstrance and gave her good-bye with 
a cheery message, promising to meet her 
in New York. And if that happened to 
him, we may be sure it was happening 
over and over again in other boats. There 
were women who flatly refused to leave 
their husbands and chose to stay with 
them and risk whatever fate might be in 
sfore for them, although at that time most 
of the people did not really believe that 
there was much danger. Yet here and 
there there were incidents both touching 


and heroic. When it came to the turn of 
Mrs. Isidore Straus, the wife of a Jewish 
millionaire, she took her seat but got back 
out of the boat when she found her husband 
was not coming. They were both old 
people, and on two separate occasions an 
Englishman who knew her tried to per- 
suade her to get into a boat, but she 
would not leave her husband. The second 
time the boat was not full and he went to 
Mr. Straus and said: "Do go with your 
wife. Nobody can object to an old gentle- 
man like you going. There is plenty of 
room in the boat." The old gentleman 
thanked him calmly and said: "I won't 
go before the other men." And Mrs. Straus 
got out and, going up to him, said : * l We 
have been together for forty years and we 
will not separate now. " And she remained 
by his side until that happened to them 
which happened to the rest. 


WE must now go back to the 
Marconi room on the upper 
deck where, ten minutes after 
the collision, Captain Smith had left the 
operators with orders to send out a call 
for assistance. From this Marconi room 
we get a strange but vivid aspect of the 
situation ; for Bride, the surviving opera- 
tor, who afterwards told the story so 
graphically to the New York Times, 
practically never left the room until he 
left it to jump into the sea, and his know- 
ledge of what was going on was the vivid, 
partial knowledge of a man who was 
closely occupied with his own duties and 
only knew of other happenings in so far 
as they affected his own doings. They 


had been working, you will remember, 

almost all of that Sunday at locating and 
replacing a burnt-out terminal, and were 
both very tired. Phillips was taking the 
night shift of duty, but he told Bride to 
go to bed early and get up and relieve him 
as soon as he had had a little sleep, as 
Phillips himself was quite worn out with his 
day's work. Bride went to sleep in the cabin 
which opened into the operating-room. 

He slept some time, and when he woke 
he heard Phillips still at work. He could 
read the rhythmic buzzing sounds as easily 
as you or I can read print. He could hear 
that Phillips was talking to Cape Race, 
sending dull uninteresting traffic matter; 
and he was about to sink off to sleep 
again when he remembered how tired 
Phillips must be, and decided that he 
would get up and relieve him for a spell. 
He never felt the shock, or saw anything, 
or had any other notification of anything 


unusual except no doubt the ringing" of 
the telegraph bells and cessation of the 
beat of the engines. It was a few minutes 
afterwards that, as we have seen, the 
Captain put his head in at the door and 
told them to get ready to send a call, re- 
turning ten minutes later to tell them to 
send it. 

The two operators were rather amused 
than otherwise at having to send out the 
S.O.S. ; it was a pleasant change from 
relaying traffic matter. " We said lots of 
funny things to each other in the next 
few minutes," said Bride. Phillips went 
stolidly on, firmly hammering out his 
"S.O.S., S.O.S.," sometimes varying it 
with "C.Q.D." for the benefit of such 
operators as might not be on the alert for 
the new call. For several minutes there 
was no reply; then the whining voice at 
Phillips' ear began to answer. Some one 
had heard. They had picked up the 


steamer Frankfurt, and they gave her the 
position and told her that the Titanic had 
struck an iceberg and needed assistance. 
There was another pause and, in their 
minds' eye, the wireless men could see 
the Frankfurt ' s operator miles and miles 
away across the dark night going along 
from his cabin and rousing the Frank- 
furt's Captain and giving his message 
and coming back to the instrument, when 
again the whining voice began asking for 
more news. 

They were learning facts up here in the 
Marconi room. They knew that the 
Titanic was taking in water, and they 
knew that she was sinking by the head ; 
and what they knew they flashed out into 
the night for the benefit of all who had 
ears to hear. They knew that there were 
many ships in their vicinity; but they 
knew also that hardly any of them carried 
more than one operator, and that even 


Marconi operators earning 1 ^4 a month 
must go to bed and sleep sometimes, and 
that it was a mere chance if their call was 
heard. But presently the Cunard liner 
Carpathia answered and told them her 
position, from which it appeared that she 
was about seventy miles away. The Car- 
pathia, which was heading towards the 
Mediterranean, told them she had altered 
her course and was heading full steam to 
their assistance. The Carpathia s voice 
was much fainter than the Frankfurt's, 
from which Phillips assumed that the 
Frankfurt was the nearer ship ; but there 
was a certain lack of promptitude on 
board the Frankfurt which made Phillips 
impatient. While he was still sending 
out the call for help, after the Frankfurt 
had answered it, she interrupted him 
a"ain, asking what was the matter. They 
told Captain Smith, who said, "That fel- 
low is a fool," an opinion which Phillips 


and Bride not only shared, but which they 
even found time to communicate to the 
operator on the Frankfurt. By this time 
the Olympic had also answered her twin 
sister's cry for help, but she was far away, 
more than three hundred miles; and al- 
though she too turned and began to race 
towards the spot where the Titanic was 
lying so quietly, it was felt that the 
honours of salving her passengers would 
go to the Carpathia. The foolish Frank- 
furt operator still occasionally interrupted 
with a question, and he was finally told, 
with such brusqueness as the wireless is 
capable of, to keep away from his instru- 
ment and not interfere with the serious 
conversations of the Titanic and Car- 

Then Bride took Phillips's place at the 
instrument and succeeded in getting a 
whisper from the Baltic, and gradually, 
over hundreds of miles of ocean, the in- 


visible ether told the ships that their giant 
sister was in distress. The time passed 
quickly with these urgent conversations 
on which so much might depend, and 
hour by hour and minute by minute the 
water was creeping up the steep sides of 
the ship. Once the Captain looked in and 
told them that the engine-rooms were 
taking in water and that the dynamos 
might not last much longer. That inform- 
ation was also sent to the Carpathia, who 
by this time could tell them that she had 
turned towards them with every furnace 
going at full blast, and was hurrying for- 
ward at the rate of eighteen knots instead 
of her usual fifteen. It now became a 
question how long the storage plant would 
continue to supply current. Phillips went 
out on deck and looked round. "The 
water was pretty close up to the boat deck. 
There was a great scramble aft, and how 
poor Phillips worked through it I don't 


know. He was a brave man. I learnt to 
love him that night, and I suddenly felt 
for him a great reverence, to see him 
standing there sticking to his work while 
everybody else was raging about. While 
I live I shall never forget the work Phil- 
lips did for that last awful fifteen minutes. " 
Bride felt that it was time to look about 
and see if there was no chance of saving 
himself. He knew that by this time all 
the boats had gone. He could see, by 
looking over the side, that the water was 
far nearer than it had yet been, and that 
the fo'c's'le decks, which of course were 
much lower than the superstructure on 
which the Marconi cabin was situated, 
were already awash. He remembered 
that there was a lifebelt for every mem- 
ber of the crew and that his own was un- 
der his bunk ; and he went "and put it on. 
And then, thinking how cold the water 
would be, he went back and put his boots 


on, and an extra coat. Phillips was still 
standing at the key, talking to the Olym- 
pic now and telling her the tragic and 
shameful news that her twin sister, the 
unsinkable, was sinking by the head and 
was pretty near her end. While Phillips 
was sending this message Bride strapped 
a lifebelt about him and put on his over- 
coat. Then, at Phillip's suggestion, Bride 
went out to see if there was anything left 
in the shape of a boat by which they could 
get away. He saw some men struggling 
helplessly with a collapsible boat which 
they were trying to lower down on to the 
deck. Bride gave them a hand and then, 
although it was the last boat left, he 
resolutely turned his back on it and went 
back to Phillips. At that moment for the 
last time, the Captain looked in to give 
them their release. 

" Men, you have done your full duty, 
you can do no more. Abandon your cabin 


now ; it is every man for himself; you look 
out for yourselves. I release you. That 's 
the way of it at this kind of time; every 
man for himself." 

Then happened one of the strangest 
incidents of that strange hour. I can only 
give it in Bride's own words: 

4 'Phillips clung on, sending, send- 
ing. He clung on for about ten minutes, 
or maybe fifteen minutes, after the Cap- 
tain released him. The water was then 
coming into our cabin. 

"While he worked something happened 
I hate to tell about. I was back in my 
room getting Phillips's money for him, 
and as I looked out of the door I saw a 
stoker, or somebody from below decks, 
leaning over Phillips from behind. Phil- 
lips was too busy to notice what the man 
was doing, but he was slipping the life- 
belt off Phillips's back. He was a big 
man, too. 


" As you can see, I'm very small. I 
don't know what it was I got hold of, but 
I remembered in a flash the way Phillips 
had clung on ; how I had to fix that life- 
belt in place, because he was too busy to 
do it. 

" I knew that man from below decks 
had his own lifebelt, and should have 
known where to get it. I suddenly felt 
a passion not to let that man die a decent 
sailor's death. I wished he might have 
stretched a rope or walked a plank. I 
did my duty. I hope I finished him, but 
I don't know. 

" We left him on the cabin floor of the 
wireless room, and he wasn't moving." 

Phillips left the cabin, running aft, and 
Bride never saw him alive again. He 
himself came out and found the water 
covering the bridge and coming aft over 
the boat deck. 


THERE is one other separate point 
of view from which we may look 
at the ship during this fateful hour 
before all points of view become merged 
in one common experience. Mr. Boxhall, 
the Fourth Officer, who had been on the 
bridge at the moment of the impact, had 
been busy sending up rockets and signals 
in the effort to attract the attention of a 
ship whose lights could be seen some ten 
miles away; a mysterious ship which can- 
not be traced, but whose lights appear to 
have been seen by many independent wit- 
nesses on the Titanic. So sure was he 
of her position that Mr. Boxhall spent 
almost all his time on the bridge signalling 
to her with rockets and flashes; but no 


answer was received. He had, however, 
also been on a rapid tour of inspection of 
the ship immediately after she had struck. 
He went down to the steerage quarters 
forward and aft, and he was also down 
in the deep forward compartment where 
the Post Office men were working with 
the mails, and he had at that time found 
nothing wrong, and his information con- 
tributed much to the sense of security that 
was spread amongst the passengers. 

Mr. Pitman, the Third Officer, was in 
his bunk at the time of the collision, hav- 
ing been on duty on the bridge from six 
to eight, when the Captain had also been 
on the bridge. There had been talk of ice 
among the officers on Sunday, and they 
had expected to meet with it just before 
midnight, at the very time, in fact, when 
they had met with it. But very little ice had 
been seen, and the speed of the ship had 
not been reduced. Mr. Pitman says that 


when he awoke he heard a sound which 
seemed to him to be the sound of the ship 
coming to anchor. He was not actually 
awake then, but he had the sensation of 
the ship halting, and heard a sound like 
that of chains whirling round the windlass 
and running through the hawseholes into 
the water. He lay in bed for three or four 
minutes wondering in a sleepy sort of way 
where they could have anchored. Then, 
becoming more awake, he got up, and 
without dressing went out on deck ; he 
saw nothing remarkable, but he went 
back and dressed, suspecting that some- 
thing was the matter. While he was 
dressing Mr. Boxhall looked in and said: 
"We have struck an iceberg, old man; 
hurry up! " 

He also went down below to make an 
inspection and find out what damage had 
been done. He went to the forward well 
deck, where ice was lying, and into the 


fo'c's'le, but found nothing wrong there. 
The actual damage was farther aft, and 
at that time the water had not come into 
the bows of the ship. As he was going 
back he met a number of firemen coming 
up the gangway with their bags of cloth- 
ing; they told him that water was coming 
into their place. They were firemen off 
duty, who afterwards were up on the boat 
deck helping to man the boats. Then 
Mr. Pitman went down lower into the 
ship and looked into No. i hatch, where 
he could plainly see water. All this took 
time; and when he came back he found 
that the men were beginning to get the 
boats ready, a task at which he helped 
under Mr. Murdoch's orders. Presently 
Mr. Murdoch ordered him to take com- 
mand of a boat and hang about aft of the 
gangway. Pitman had very little relish 
for leaving the ship at that time, and in 
spite of the fact that she was taking in 


water, every one was convinced that the 
Titanic was a much safer place than the 
open sea. He had about forty passengers 
and six of the crew in his boat, and as it 
was about to be lowered, Mr. Murdoch 
leant over to him and shook him heartily 
by the hand: "Good-bye, old man, and 
good luck," he said, in tones which rather 
surprised Pitman, for they seemed to im- 
ply that the good-bye might be for a long 
time. His boat was lowered down into 
the water, unhooked, and shoved off, and 
joined the gradually increasing fleet of 
other boats that were cruising about in 
the starlight. 

There was one man walking about that 
upper deck whose point of view was quite 
different from that of anyone else. Mr. 
Bruce Ismay, like so many others, was 
awakened from sleep by the stopping of 
the engines; like so many others, also, 
he lay still for a few moments, and then 


got up and went into the passage-way, 
where he met a steward and asked him 
what was the matter. The steward knew 
nothing, and Mr. Ismay went back to 
his state-room, put on a dressing-gown 
and slippers, and went up to the bridge, 
where he saw the Captain. "What has 
happened? " he asked. " We have struck 
ice," was the answer. u Is the injury 
serious?" "I think so," said the Captain. 
Then Mr. Ismay came down in search of 
the Chief Engineer, whom he met coming 
up to the bridge; he asked him the same 
question, and he also said he thought the 
injury serious. He understood from them 
that the ship was certainly in danger, but 
that there was hope that if the pumps 
could be kept going there would be no 
difficulty in keeping her afloat quite long 
enough for help to come and for the pas- 
sengers to be taken off. Whatever was 
to be the result, it was a terrible moment 


for Mr. Ismay, a terrible blow to the 
pride and record of the Company, that 
this, their greatest and most invulnerable 
ship, should be at least disabled, and 
possibly lost, on her maiden voyage. But 
like a sensible man, he did not stand 
wringing his hands at the inevitable; he 
did what he could to reassure the pas- 
sengers, repeating, perhaps with a slight 
quaver of doubt in his voice, the old 
word unsinkable. When the boats be- 
gan to be launched he went and tried to 
help, apparently in his anxiety getting 
rather in the way. In this endeavour he 
encountered the wrath of Mr. Lowe, the 
Fifth Officer, who was superintending 
the launching of boat No. 5. Mr. Lowe 
did not know the identity of the nervous, 
excited figure standing by the davits, nor 
recognize the voice which kept saying 
nervously, "Lower away! lower away!" 
and it was therefore with no misgivings 


that he ordered him away from the boat, 
saying brusquely, " If you will kindly 
get to hell out of this perhaps I'll be able 
to do something!" a trifling incident, 
but evidence that Mr. Ismay made no use 
of his position for his own personal ends. 
He said nothing, and went away to an- 
other boat, where he succeeded in being 
more useful, and it was not till after- 
wards that an awe-stricken steward told 
the Fifth Officer who it was that he had 
chased away with such language. But 
after that Mr. Ismay was among the 
foremost in helping to sort out the women 
and children and get them expeditiously 
packed into the boats, with a burden of 
misery and responsibility on his heart that 
we cannot measure. 

One can imagine a great bustle and 

excitement while the boats were being 

sent away; but when they had all gone, 

and there was nothing more to be done, 



those who were left began to look about 
them and realize their position. There 
was no doubt about it, the Titanic was 
sinking", not with any plunging 1 or violent 
movement, but steadily settling down, 
as a rock seems to settle into the water 
when the tide rises about it. 

Down in the engine-room and stoke- 
holds, in conditions which can hardly be 
imagined by the ordinary landsman, men 
were still working with a grim and stoic 
heroism. The forward stokeholds had 
been flooded probably an hour after the 
collision ; but it is practically certain that 
the bulkheads forward of No. 5 held until 
the last. The doors in those aft of No. 4 
had been opened by hand after they had 
been closed from the bridge, in order to 
facilitate the passage of the engineering 
staff about their business; and they re- 
mained open, and the principal bulkhead 
protecting the main engine-room, held 
until the last. Water thus found its way 


into some compartments, and gradually 
rose ; but long after those in charge had 
given up all hope of saving the ship, 
the stokehold watch were kept hard at 
work drawing the fires from under the 
boilers, so that when the water reached 
them there should be no steam. The 
duty of the engine-room staff was to keep 
the pumps going as long as possible and 
to run the dynamos that supplied the 
current for the light and the Marconi 
installation. This they did, as the black 
water rose stage by stage upon them. At 
least twenty minutes before the ship sank 
the machinery must have been flooded, 
and the current for the lights and the 
wireless supplied from the storage plant. 
No member of the engine-room staff was 
ever seen alive again, but, when the water 
finally flooded the stokeholds, the watch 
were released and told to get up and 
save themselves if they could. 

And up on deck a chilly conviction of 


doom was slowly but certainly taking the 
place of that bland confidence in the un- 
sinkable ship in which the previous hour 
had been lightly passed. That confidence 
had been dreadfully overdone, so much so 
that the stewards had found the greatest 
difficulty in persuading the passengers to 
dress themselves and come up on deck, 
and some who had done so had returned 
to their state-rooms and locked them- 
selves in. The last twenty minutes, how- 
ever, must have shown everyone on deck 
that there was not a chance left. On a 
ship as vast and solid as the Titanic there 
is no sensation of actual sinking or set- 
tling. She still seemed as immovable as 
ever, but the water was climbing higher 
and higher up her black sides. The 
sensation was not that of the ship sink- 
ing, but of the water rising about her. 
And the last picture we have of her, while 
still visible, still a firm refuge amid the 


waters, is of the band still playing and a 
throng of people looking out from the 
lamplit upper decks after the disappear- 
ing boats, bracing themselves as best they 
might for the terrible plunge and shock 
which they knew was coming. Here and 
there men who were determined still to 
make a fight for life climbed over the rail 
and jumped over; it was not a seventy 
foot drop now perhaps under twenty, 
but it was a formidable jump. Some were 
stunned, and some were drowned at once 
before the eyes of those who waited ; and 
the dull splashes they made were prob- 
ably the first visible demonstration of the 
death that was coming. Duties were still 
being performed; an old deck steward, 
who had charge of the chairs, wasvbusily 
continuing to work, adapting his duties 
to the emergency that had arisen and 
lashing chairs together. In this he was 
helped by Mr. -Andrews, who was last 


seen engaged on this strangely ironic task 
of throwing chairs overboard frail rafts 
thrown upon the waters that might or 
might not avail some struggling soul 
when the moment should arrive, and the 
great ship of his designing float no longer. 
Throughout he had been untiring in his 
efforts to help and hearten people ; but in 
this the last vision of him, there is some- 
thing not far short of the sublime. 

The last collapsible boat was being 
struggled with on the upper deck, but 
there were no seamen about who under- 
stood its stiff mechanism; unaccustomed 
hands fumbled desperately with it, and 
finally pushed it over the side in its col- 
lapsed condition for use as a raft. Many 
of the seamen and stewards had gathered 
in the bar-room, where the attendant 
was serving out glasses of whiskey to 
any and all who came for it ; but most 
men had an instinct against being under 


cover, and preferred to stand out in the 

And now those in the boats that had 
drawn off from the ship could see that 
the end was at hand. Her bows had gone 
under, although the stern was still fairly 
high out of the water. She had sunk 
down at the forward end of the great 
superstructure amidships ; her decks were 
just awash, and the black throng was 
moving aft. The ship was blazing with 
light, and the strains *of the band were 
faintly heard still playing as they had 
been commanded to do. But they had 
ceased to play the jolly rag-time tunes with 
which the bustle and labour of getting off 
the boats had been accompanied ; solemn 
strains, the strains of a hymn, could be 
heard coming over the waters. Many 
women in the boats, looking back towards 
that lighted and subsiding mass, knew 
that somewhere, invisible among the 


throng, was all that they held dearest in 
the world waiting for death; and they 
could do nothing. Some tried to get the 
crews to turn back, wringing their hands, 
beseeching, imploring; but no crew dared 
face the neighbourhood of the giant in her 
death agony. They could only wait, and 
shiver, and look. 


THE end, when it came, was as 
gradual as everything else had 
been since the first impact. Just as 
there was no one moment at which every- 
one in the ship realized that she had 
suffered damage; just as there was no one 
moment when the whole of her company 
realized that they must leave her; just as 
there was no one moment when all in the 
ship understood that their lives were in 
peril, and no moment when they all knew 
she must sink; so there was no one 
moment at which all those left on board 
could have said, "She is gone." At one 
moment the floor of the bridge, where the 
Captain stood, was awash; the next a 
wave came along and covered it with four 
feet of water, in which the Captain was 
for a moment washed away, although he 


struggled back and stood there again, up 
to his knees in water. " Boys, you can 
do no more," he shouted, "look out for 
yourselves!" Standing near him was a 
fireman and strange juxtaposition two 
unclaimed solitary little children, scarce 
more than babies. The fireman seized one 
in his arms, the Captain another; another 
wave came and they were afloat in deep 
water, striking out over the rail of the 
bridge away from the ship. 

The slope of the deck increased, and 
the sea came washing up against it as 
waves wash against a steep shore. And 
then that helpless mass of humanity was 
stricken at last with the fear of death, and 
began to scramble madly aft, away from 
the chasm of water that kept creeping up 
and up the decks. Then a strange thing 
happened. They who had been waiting 
to sink into the sea found themselves ris- 
ing into the air as the slope of the decks 
grew steeper. Up and up, dizzily high 


out of reach of the dark waters into which 
they had dreaded to be plunged, higher 
and higher into the air, towards the stars, 
the stern of the ship rose slowly right out 
of the water, and hung there for a time 
that is estimated variously between two 
and five minutes; a terrible eternity to 
those who were still clinging. Many, 
thinking the end had come, jumped ; the 
water resounded with splash after splash 
as the bodies, like mice shaken out of a 
trap into a bucket, dropped into the water. 
All who could do so laid hold of some- 
thing; ropes, stanchions, deck-houses, 
mahogany doors, window frames, any- 
thing, and so clung on while the stern of 
the giant ship reared itself towards the 
sky. Many had no hold, or lost the hold 
they had, and these slid down the steep 
smooth decks, as people slide down a 
water chute into the sea. 

We dare not linger here, even in im- 
agination; dare not speculate; dare not 


look closely, even with the mind's eye, at 
this poor human agony, this last pitiful 
scramble for dear life that the serene stars 
shone down upon. We must either turn 
our faces away, or withdraw to that sur- 
rounding 1 circle where the boats were 
hovering with their terror-stricken bur- 
dens, and see what they saw. They saw 
the after part of the ship, blazing with 
light, stand up, a suspended prodigy, be- 
tween the stars and the waters; they saw 
the black atoms, each one of which they 
knew to be a living man or woman on 
fire with agony, sliding down like shot 
rubbish into the sea; they saw the giant 
decks bend and crack; they heard a hol- 
low and tremendous rumbling as the great 
engines tore themselves from their steel 
beds and crashed through the ship; they 
saw sparks streaming in a golden rain 
from one of the funnels; heard the dull 
boom of an explosion while the spouting 
funnel fell over into the sea with a slap 


that killed every one beneath it and set 
the nearest boat rocking; heard two more 
dull bursting reports as the steel bulk- 
heads gave way or decks blew up; saw 
the lights flicker out, flicker back again, 
and then go out for ever, and the ship, 
like some giant sea creature forsaking the 
strife of the upper elements for the peace 
of the submarine depths, launched herself 
with one slow plunge and dive beneath 
the waves. 

There was no great maelstrom as they 
had feared, but the sea was swelling and 
sinking all about them ; and they could 
see waves and eddies where rose the 
imprisoned air, the smoke and steam of 
vomited-up ashes, and a bobbing com- 
motion of small dark things where the 
Titanic, in her pride and her shame, with 
the clocks ticking and the fires burning in 
her luxurious rooms, had plunged down 
to the icy depths of death. 


AS the ship sank and the commo- 
tion and swirl of the waves sub- 
sided, the most terrible experi- 
ence of all began. The seas were not 
voiceless; the horrified people in the sur- 
rounding boats heard an awful sound 
from the dark central area, a collective 
voice, compound of moans, shrieks, cries 
and despairing calls, from those who 
were struggling in the water. It was an 
area of death and of agony towards which 
those in the boats dared not venture, even 
although they knew their own friends 
were perishing and crying for help there. 
They could only wait and listen, hoping 
that it might soon be over. But it was 
not soon over. There was a great deal of 


floating wreckage to which hundreds of 
people clung, some for a short time, some 
for a long time; and while they clung on 
they cried out to their friends to save 
them. One boat that commanded by 
Mr. Lowe, the Fifth Officer did, after 
transhipping some of its passengers into 
other boats, and embarking a crew of 
oarsmen, venture back into the dark 
centre of things. The wreckage and dead 
bodies showed the sea so thickly that they 
could hardly row without touching a dead 
body ; and once, when they were trying 
to reach a survivor who was clinging to 
a piece of broken staircase, praying and 
calling for help, it took them nearly half 
an hour to cover the fifty feet that separ- 
ated them from him, so thick were the 
bodies. This reads like an exaggeration, 
but it is well attested. The water was icy 
cold, and benumbed many of them, who 
thus died quickly; a few held on to 


life, moaning, wailing, calling but in 

A few strong men were still making a 
desperate fight for life. The collapsible 
boat, which Bride had seen a group of 
passengers attempting to launch a few 
minutes before the ship sank, was washed 
off by a wave in its collapsed condition. 
Such boats contain air compartments in 
their bottom, and thus, even although 
they are not opened, they float like rafts, 
and can carry a considerable weight. 
Some of those who were swept off the 
ship by the same wave that took the boat 
found themselves near it and climbed on 
to it. Mr. Lightoller, the Second Officer, 
had dived as the ship dived, and been 
sucked down the steep submerged wall 
of the hull against the grating over the 
blower for the exhaust steam. Far down 
under the water he felt the force of an 
explosion which blew him up to the sur- 


face, where he breathed for a moment, 
and was then sucked back by the water 
washing into the ship as it sank. This 
time he landed against the grating over 
the pipes that furnished the draught for 
the funnels, and stuck there. There was 
another explosion, and again he came to 
the surface not many feet from the ship, 
and found himself near the collapsible 
boat, to which he clung. It was quite 
near him that the huge funnel fell over 
into the water and killed many swimmers 
before his eyes. He drifted for a time on 
the collapsible boat, until he was taken 
off into one of the lifeboats. 

Bride also found himself strangely in- 
volved with this boat, which he had last 
seen on the deck of the ship. When he 
was swept off, he found himself in the 
horrible position of being trapped under 
water beneath this boat. He struggled 
out and tried to climb on to it, but it took 


him a long time; at last, however, he 
managed to get up on it, and found five 
or six other people there. And now and 
then some other swimmer, stronger than 
most, would come up and be helped on 
board. Some thus helped died almost 
immediately; there were four found dead 
upon this boat when at last the survivors 
were rescued. 

There was another boat also not far 
off, a lifeboat, capsized likewise. Six men 
managed to scramble on to the keel of 
this craft; it was almost all she could 
carry. Mr. Caldwell, a second-class pas- 
senger, who had been swimming about in 
the icy water for nearly an hour, with 
dead bodies floating all about him, was 
beginning to despair when he found him- 
self near a crate to which another man 
was clinging. " Will it hold two?" he 
asked. And the other man, with a rare 
heroism, said: "Catch hold and try; we 


will live or die together." And these two, 
clinging precariously to the crate, reached 
the overturned lifeboat and were hauled 
up to its keel. Presently another man 
came swimming along and asked if they 
could take him on. But the boat was al- 
ready dangerously loaded ; the weight of 
another man would have meant death for 
all, and they told him so. " All right," 
he cried, " good-bye; God bless you all ! " 
And he sank before their eyes. 

Captain Smith, who had last been seen 
washed from the bridge as the ship sank, 
with a child in his arms, was seen once 
more before he died. He was swimming, 
apparently only in the hope of saving the 
child that he held ; for in his austere con- 
ception of his duty there was no place of 
salvation for him while others were drown- 
ing and struggling. He swam up to a 
boat with the child and gasped out: "Take 
the child! " A dozen willing hands were 


stretched out to take it, and then to help 
him into the boat; but he shook them off. 
Only for a moment he held on, asking: 
" What became of Murdoch? " and when 
they said that he was dead, he let go his 
hold, saying: " Let me go"; and the 
last that they saw of him was swimming 
back towards the ship. He had no life- 
belt; he had evidently no wish that there 
should be any gruesome resurrection of 
his body from the sea, and undoubtedly 
he found his grave where he wished to 
find it, somewhere hard by the grave of 
his ship. 

The irony of chance, the merciless and 
illogical selection which death makes in a 
great collective disaster, was exemplified 
over and over again in the deaths of people 
who had escaped safely to a boat, and the 
salvation of others who were involved 
in the very centre of destruction. The 
strangest escape of all was probably that 


of Colonel Grade of the United States 
army, who jumped from the topmost deck 
of the ship when she sank and was sucked 
down with her. He was drawn down for 
a long" while, and whirled round and 
round, and would have been drawn down 
to a depth from which he could never 
have come up alive if it had not been for 
the explosion which took place after the 
ship sank. * ' After sinking with the ship, " 
he says, "it appeared to me as if I was 
propelled by some great force through the 
water. This may have been caused by 
explosions under the waters, and I re- 
membered fearful stones of people being 
boiled to death. Innumerable thoughts 
of a personal nature, having" relation to 
mental telepathy, flashed through my 
brain. I thought of those at home, as if 
my spirit might go to them to say good- 
bye. Again and again I prayed for de- 
liverance, although I felt sure that the 


end had come. I had the greatest diffi- 
culty in holding my breath until I came 
to the surface. I knew that once I in- 
haled, the water would suffocate me. I 
struck out with all my strength for the 
surface. I got to the air again after a 
time that seemed to me unending. There 
was nothing in sight save the ocean strewn 
with great masses of wreckage, dying men 
and women all about me, groaning and 
crying piteously. I saw wreckage every- 
where, and what came within reach I 
clung to. I moved from one piece to 
another until I reached the collapsible 
boat. She soon became so full that it 
seemed as if she would sink if more came 
on board her. We had to refuse to let 
any others climb on board. This was the 
most pathetic and horrible scene of all. 
The piteous cries of those around us ring 
in my ears, and I will remember them to 
my dying day. ' Hold on to what you 


have, old boy,' we shouted to each man 
who tried to get on board. * One more 
of you would sink us all.' Many of those 
whom we refused answered, as they went 
to their death, 'Good luck; God bless 
you.' All the time we were buoyed up 
and sustained by the hope of rescue. We 
saw lights in all directions particularly 
some green lights which, as we learned 
later, were rockets burned by one of the 
Titanic s boats. So we passed the night 
with the waves washing over and burying 
our raft deep in the water." 

It was twenty minutes past two when 
the Titanic sank, two hours and forty 
minutes after she had struck the iceberg; 
and for two hours after that the boats 
drifted all round and about, some of them 
in bunches of three or four, others solitary. 
Almost every kind of suffering was en- 
dured in them, although, after the mental 
horrors of the preceding hour, physical 


sufferings were scarcely felt. Some of the 
boats had hardly anyone but women in 
them; in many the stokers and stewards 
were quite useless at the oars. But here 
and there, in that sorrowful, horror- 
stricken company, heroism lifted its head 
and human nature took heart again. 
Women took their turn at the oars in 
boats where the men were either too few 
or incapable of rowing; and one woman 
notably, the Countess of Rothes, practic- 
ally took command of her boat and was 
at an oar all the time. Where they were 
rowing to most of them did not know. 
They had seen lights at the time the ship 
went down, and some of them made for 
these; but they soon disappeared, and 
probably most of the boats were follow- 
ing each other aimlessly, led by one boat 
in which some green flares were found, 
which acted as a beacon for which the 
others made. One man had a pocket 


electric lamp, which he flashed now and 
then, a little ray of hope and guidance 
shining" across those dark and miserable 
waters. Not all of the boats had food and 
water on board. Many women were only 
in their night-clothes, some of the men in 
evening dress ; everyone was bitterly cold, 
although, fortunately, there was no wind 
and no sea. 

The stars paled in the sky; the dark- 
ness became a little lighter; the gray day- 
light began to come. Out of the sur- 
rounding gloom a wider and wider area 
of sea became visible, with here and there 
a boat discernible on it, and here and 
there some fragments of wreckage. By 
this time the boats had rowed away from 
the dreadful region, and but few floating 
bodies were visible. The waves rose and 
fell, smooth as oil, first gray in colour, 
and then, as the light increased, the pure 
dark blue of mid-ocean. The eastern sky 


began to grow red under the cloud bank, 
and from red to orange, and from orange 
to gold, the lovely pageantry of an At- 
lantic dawn began to unfold itself before 
the aching eyes that had been gazing on 
prodigies and horrors. From out that 
well of light in the sky came rays that 
painted the wave-backs first with rose, 
and then with saffron, and then with pure 
gold. And in the first flush of that blessed 
and comforting light the draggled and 
weary sufferers saw, first a speck far to 
the south, then a smudge of cloud, and 
then the red and black smoke-stack of a 
steamer that meant succour and safety 
for them. 


FROM every quarter of the ocean, 
summoned by the miracle of the 
wireless voice, many ships had been 
racing since midnight to the help of the 
doomed liner. From midnight onwards 
captains were being called by messages 
from the wireless operators of their ships, 
telling them that the Titanic was asking 
for help; courses were being altered and 
chief engineers called upon to urge their 
stoke-hold crews to special efforts; for 
coal means steam, and steam means 
speed, and speed may mean life. Many 
ships that could receive the strong electric 
impulses sent out from the Titanic had 
not electric strength enough to answer; 
but they turned and came to that invisible 


spot represented by a few figures which 
the faithful wireless indicated. Even as 
far as five hundred miles away, the 
Parisian turned in her tracks in obedience 
to the call and came racing towards the 
north-west. But there were tragedies 
even with the wireless. The Leyland liner 
Californian, bound for Boston, was only 
seventeen miles away from the Titanic 
when she struck, and could have saved 
every soul on board ; but her wireless ap- 
paratus was not working, and she was 
deaf to the agonized calls that were being 
sent out from only a few miles away. The 
Parisian, five hundred miles away, could 
hear and come, though it was useless; the 
Californian could not hear and so did not 
come though, if she had, she would prob- 
ably have saved every life on board. The 
Cincinnati, the Amerika, the Prim Fried- 
rich Wilhelm, the Menominee, the La 
Provence, the Prinz Adalbert, the Vir- 


ginian, the Olympic, and the Baltic all 
heard the news and all turned towards 
Lat. 41 46' N., Long. 50 14' W. The 
dread news was being 1 whispered all over 
the sea, and even ashore, just as the 
dwellers on the North Atlantic seaboard 
were retiring to rest, the station at Cape 
Race intercepted the talk of the Titanic 
270 miles away, and flashed the message 
out far and wide ; so that Government 
tugs and ships with steam up in harbours, 
and everything afloat in the vicinity which 
heard the news might hurry to the rescue. 
Cape Race soon heard that the Virginian 
was on her way to the Titanic 's position, 
then that the Olympic and Carpathia had 
altered their courses and were making for 
the wounded ship, and so on. Through- 
out the night the rumours in the air were 
busy, while still the steady calls came out 
in firm electric waves from the Titanic 
still calling, still flashing " C.Q.D." At 


i. 20 she whispered to the Olympic, " Get 
your boats ready; going down fast by 
the head." At 1.35 the Frankfurt (after 
an hour and a half's delay) said, "We are 
starting for you." Then at 1.41 came a 
message to the Olympic, "C.Q.D., boilers 

"Are there any boats round you al- 
ready?" asked the Olympic-, but there 
was no answer. 

Other ships began to call, giving en- 
couraging messages: "We are coming," 
said the Birma, " only fifty miles away "; 
but still there was no answer. 

All over the North Atlantic men in 
lighted instrument rooms sat listening 
with the telephones at their ears; they 
heard each other's questions and waited 
in the silence, but it was never broken 
again by the voice from the Titanic. 
4 All quiet now," reported the Birma 
to the Olympic-, and all quiet it was, 


except for the thrashing and pounding 
of a score of propellers, and the hiss 
of a dozen steel stems as they ripped the 
smooth waters on courses converging to 
the spot where the wireless voice had sud- 
denly flickered out into silence. 

But of all those who had been listening 
to the signals Captain Rostron of the 
Carpathia knew that his ship would most 
likely be among the first to reach the 
spot. It was about midnight on Sunday 
that the passengers of the Carpathia first 
became aware that something unusual 
was happening. The course had been 
changed and a certain hurrying about on 
the decks took the place of the usual mid- 
night quiet. The trembling and vibration 
increased to a quick jumping movement 
as pressure of steam was gradually in- 
creased and the engines urged to the ex- 
treme of their driving capacity. The chief 
steward summoned his staff and set them 


to work making sandwiches and pre- 
paring hot drinks. All the hot water was 
cut off from the cabins and bath rooms, 
so that every ounce of steam could be 
utilized for driving the machinery. 

The Carpathia was nearly seventy miles 
from the position of the Titanic when she 
changed her course and turned north- 
ward; she had been steaming just over 
four hours when, in the light of that won- 
derful dawn, those on the look-out de- 
scried a small boat. As they drew nearer 
they saw other boats, and fragments of 
wreckage; and masses of ice drifting 
about the sea. Captain Rostron stopped 
while he was still a good distance from 
the boats, realizing that preparations must 
be made before he could take passengers 
on board. The accommodation gangway 
was rigged and also rope ladders lowered 
over the sides, and canvas slings were 
arranged to hoist up those who were too 


feeble to climb. The passengers crowded 
along the rail or looked out of their port- 
holes to see the reaping of this strange 
harvest of the sea. The first boat came up 
almost filled with women and children- 
women in evening dress or in fur coats 
thrown over nightgowns, in silk stock- 
ings and slippers, in rags and shawls. 
The babies were crying ; some of the 
women were injured and some half-faint- 
ing; all had horror on their faces. Other 
boats began to come up, and the work of 
embarking the seven hundred survivors 
went on. It took a long time, for some of 
the boats were far away, and it was not 
until they had been seven hours afloat 
that the last of them were taken on board 
the Carpathia. Some climbed up the lad- 
ders, others were put into the slings and 
swung on board, stewards standing by 
with rum and brandy to revive the faint- 
ing; and many willing hands were occu- 


pied with caring for the sufferers, taking 
them at once to improvised couches and 
beds, or conducting those who were not 
so exhausted to the saloon where hot 
drinks and food were ready. But it was a 
ghastly company. As boat after boat 
came up, those who had already been 
saved eagerly searched among its occu- 
pants to see if their own friends were 
among them; and as gradually the tale 
of boats was completed and it was known 
that no more had been saved, and the ter- 
rible magnitude of the loss was realized 
then, in the words of one of the Car- 
pathias people, " Bedlam broke loose." 
Women who had borne themselves 
bravely throughout the hours of waiting 
and exposure broke into shrieking hys- 
terics, calling upon the names of their 
lost. Some went clean out of their minds; 
one or two died there in the very moment 
of rescue. The Carpathia s passengers 


gave up their rooms and ransacked their 
trunks to find clothing for the more than 
half-naked survivors; and at last ex- 
haustion, resignation, and the doctor's 
merciful drugs did the rest. The dead 
were buried ; those who had been snatched 
too late from the bitter waters were com- 
mitted to them again, and eternally, with 
solemn words; and the Carpathia was 
headed for New York. 


THE Californian had come up while 
the Carpathia was taking the sur- 
vivors on board, and it was ar- 
ranged that she should remain and search 
the vicinity while the Carpathia made all 
haste to New York. And the other ships 
that had answered the call for help either 
came up later in the morning and stayed 
for a little cruising about in the forlorn 
hope of finding more survivors, or else 
turned back and resumed their voyages 
when they heard the Carpathia 's tidings. 
In the meantime the shore stations 
could get no news. Word reached New 
York and London in the course of the 
morning that the Titanic had struck an 
1 80 


iceberg and was badly damaged, but 
nothing more was known until a mes- 
sage, the origin of which could not be 
discovered, came to say that the Titanic 
was being towed to Halifax by the Vir- 
ginian^ and that all her passengers were 
saved. With this news the London even- 
ing papers came out on that Monday, 
and even on Tuesday the early editions 
of the morning papers had the same story, 
and commented upon the narrow escape 
of the huge ship. Even the White Star 
officials had on Monday no definite news; 
and when their offices in New York were 
besieged by newspaper men and relatives 
of the passengers demanding informa- 
tion, the pathetic belief in the Titanic 's 
strength was allowed to overshadow 
anxieties concerning the greater disaster. 
Mr. Franklin, the vice-president of the 
American Trust to which the White Star 
Company belongs, issued the following 


statement from New York on Mon- 

"We have nothing direct from the 
Titanic, but are perfectly satisfied that 
the vessel is unsinkable. The fact that 
the Marconi messages have ceased means 
nothing; it may be due to atmospheric 
conditions or the coming up of the ships, 
or something of that sort. 

" We are not worried over the possible 
loss of the ship, as she will not go down, 
but we are sorry for the inconvenience 
caused to the travelling public. We are 
absolutely certain that the Titanic is able 
to withstand any damage. She may be 
down by the head, but would float in- 
definitely in that condition." 

Still that same word, "unsinkable," 
which had now indeed for the first time 
become a true one : for it is only when 
she lies at the bottom of the sea that any 


ship can be called unsinkable. On Tues- 
day morning when the dreadful news was 
first certainly known, those proud words 
had to be taken back. Again Mr. Frank- 
lin had to face the reporters, and this 
time he could only say: 

" I must take upon myself the whole 
blame for that statement. I made it, and 
I believed it when I made it. The acci- 
dent to the Olympic, when she collided 
with the cruiser Hawke, convinced me that 
these ships, the Olympic and Titanic, 
were built like battleships, able to resist 
almost any kind of accident, particularly 
a collision. I made the statement in good 
faith, and upon me must rest the re- 
sponsibility for error, since the fact has 
proved that it was not a correct descrip- 
tion of the unfortunate Titanic." 

And for three days while the Carpathia 
was ploughing her way, now slowly 


through ice-strewn seas, and now at full 
speed through open water, and while 
England lay under the cloud of an un- 
precedented disaster, New York was in a 
ferment of grief, excitement, and indigna- 
tion. Crowds thronged the streets out- 
side the offices of the White Star Line, 
while gradually, in lists of thirty or forty 
at a time, the names of the survivors 
began to come through from the Car- 
pathia. And at last, when all the names 
had been spelled out, and interrogated, 
and corrected, the grim total of the figures 
stood out in appalling significance seven 
hundred and three saved, one thousand 
five hundred and three lost. 

It is not possible, nor would it be very 
profitable, to describe the scenes that took 
place on these days of waiting, the alter- 
nations of hope and grief, of thankfulness 
and wild despair, of which the shipping 
offices were the scene. They culminated 


on the Thursday evening when the Car- 
pathia arrived in New York. The greatest 
precautions had been taken to prevent the 
insatiable thirst for news from turning 
that solemn disembarkation into a battle- 
field. The entrance to the dock was care- 
fully guarded, and only those were ad- 
mitted who had business there or who 
could prove that they had relations among 
the rescued passengers. Similar precau- 
tions were taken on the ship; she was not 
even boarded by the Custom officials, nor 
were any reporters allowed on board, al- 
though a fleet of steam launches went out 
in the cold rainy evening to meet her, 
bearing pressmen who were prepared to 
run any risks to get a footing on the 
ship. They failed, however, and the small 
craft were left behind in the mist, as the 
Carpathia came gliding up the Hudson. 
Among the waiting crowd were nurses, 
doctors, and a staff of ambulance men 


and women; for all kinds of wild rumours 
were afloat as to the condition of those 
who had been rescued. The women of New 
York had devoted the days of waiting to 
the organization of a powerful relief com- 
mittee, and had collected money and cloth- 
ing on an ample scale to meet the needs 
of those, chiefly among the steerage pas- 
sengers, who should find themselves des- 
titute when they landed. And there, in the 
rain of that gloomy evening, they waited. 
At last they saw the Carpathia come 
creeping up the river and head towards 
the White Star pier. The flashlights of 
photographers were playing about her, 
and with this silent salute she came into 
dock. Gateways had been erected, shut- 
ting off the edge of the pier from the sheds 
in which the crowd was waiting, and the 
first sight they had of the rescued was 
when after the gangway had been rigged, 
and the brief formalities of the shore com- 


plied with, the passengers began slowly 
to come down the gangway. A famous 
English dramatist who was looking on at 
the scene has written of it eloquently, de- 
scribing the strange varieties of bearing 
and demeanour ; how one face had a 
startled, frightened look that seemed as 
if it would always be there, another a set 
and staring gaze; how one showed an 
angry, rebellious desperation, and another 
seemed merely dazed. Some carried on 
stretchers, some supported by nurses, and 
some handed down by members of the 
crew, they came, either to meetings that 
were agonizing in their joy, or to blank 
loneliness that would last until they died. 
Five or six babies without mothers, some 
of them utterly unidentified and unidentifi- 
able, were handed down with the rest, so 
strangely preserved, in all their tenderness 
and helplessness, through that terrible 
time of confusion and exposure. 


And in the minds of those who looked 
on at this sad procession there was one 
tragic, recurrent thought: that for every 
one who came down the gangway, ill 
perhaps, maimed perhaps, destitute per- 
haps, but alive and on solid earth again, 
there were two either drifting in the slow 
Arctic current, or lying in the great sub- 
marine valley to which the ship had gone 
down. They were a poor remnant indeed 
of all that composite world of pride, and 
strength, and riches ; for Death winnows 
with a strange fan, and although one 
would suit his purpose as well as an- 
other, he often chooses the best and the 
strongest. There were card-sharpers, and 
orphaned infants, and destitute consump- 
tives among 'the saved; and there were 
hundreds of heroes and strong men 
among the drowned. There were among 
the saved those to whom death would 
have been no great enemy, who had no 


love for life or ties to bind them to it; 
and there were those among the drowned 
for whom life was at its very best and 
dearest; lovers and workers in the very 
morning of life before whom the years 
had stretched forward rich with promise. 
And when nearly all had gone and the 
crowd in the docks was melting away, 
one man, who had until then remained 
secluded in the ship came quietly out, 
haggard and stricken with woe : Bruce 
Ismay, the representative and figure-head 
of that pride and power which had given 
being to the Titanic. In a sense he bore 
on his own shoulders the burden of every 
sufferer's grief and loss; and he bore it, 
not with shame, for he had no cause for 
shame, but with reticence of words and 
activity in such alleviating deeds as were 
possible, and with a dignity which was 
proof against even the bitter injustice of 
which he was the victim in the days that 


followed. There was pity enough in New 
York, hysterical pity, sentimental pity, 
real pity, practical pity, for all the obvious 
and patent distress of the bereaved and 
destitute; but there was no pity for this 
man who, of all that ragged remnant that 
walked back to life down the Carpathids 
gangway, had perhaps the most need 
of pity. 


THE symbols of Honour and Glory 
and Time that looked so hand- 
some in the flooding sunlight of 
the Tttanic's stairway lie crushed into 
unrecognizable shapes and splinters be- 
neath the tonnage of two thousand 
fathoms of ocean water. Time is no more 
for the fifteen hundred souls who perished 
with them; but Honour and Glory, by 
strange ways and unlooked-for events, 
have come into their own. It was not 
Time, nor the creatures and things of 
Time, that received their final crown 
there; but things that have nothing to 
do with Time, qualities that, in their 
power of rising beyond all human limita- 
tions, we must needs call divine. 


The Titanic was in more senses than 
one a fool's paradise. There is nothing 
that man can build that nature cannot 
destroy, and far as he may advance in 
might and knowledge and cunning, her 
blind strength will always be more than 
his match. But men easily forget this; 
they wish to forget it; and the beautiful 
and comfortable and agreeable equipment 
of this ship helped them to forget it. You 
may cover the walls of a ship with rare 
woods and upholster them with tapestries 
and brocades, but it is the bare steel walls 
behind them on which you depend to keep 
out the water; it is the strength of those 
walls, relatively to the strength of such 
natural forces as may be arrayed against 
them, on which the safety of the ship de- 
pends. If they are weaker than some- 
thing which assails them, the water must 
come in and the ship must sink. It was 
assumed too readily that, in the case of 


the Titanic, these things could not hap- 
pen; it was assumed too readily that if in 
the extreme event they did happen, the 
manifold appliances for saving life would 
be amply sufficient for the security of the 
passengers. Thus they lived in a serene 
confidence such as no ship's company 
ever enjoyed before, or will enjoy again 
for a long time to come. And there 
were gathered about them almost all 
those accessories of material life which 
are necessary to the paradise of fools, 
and are extremely agreeable to wiser 

It was this perfect serenity of their con- 
dition which made so poignant the tragedy 
of their sudden meeting with death that 
pale angel whom every man knows that 
he must some day encounter, but whom 
most of us hope to find at the end of 
some road a very long way off waiting 
for us with comforting and soothing 



hands. We do not expect to meet him 
suddenly turning the corner of the street, 
or in an environment of refined and 
elegant conviviality, or in the midst of 
our noonday activities, or at midnight on 
the high seas when we are dreaming on 
feather pillows. But it was thus that 
those on the Titanic encountered him, 
waiting there in the ice and the starlight, 
arresting the ship's progress with his out- 
stretched arm, and standing by, wait- 
ing, while the sense of his cold presence 
gradually sank like a frost into their 

To say that all the men who died on 
the Titanic were heroes would be as absurd 
as to say that all who were saved were 
cowards. There were heroes among both 
groups and cowards among both groups, 
as there must be among any large number 
of men. It is the collective behaviour and 
the general attitude towards disaster that 


is important at such a time; and in this 
respect there is ample evidence that death 
scored no advantage in the encounter, 
and that, though he took a spoil of bodies 
that had been destined for him since the 
moment of their birth, he left the hearts 
unconquered. I n that last half-hour before 
the end, when every one on the ship was 
under sentence of death, modern civiliza- 
tion went through a severe test. By their 
bearing in that moment those fated men 
and women had to determine whether, 
through the long years of peace and in- 
crease of material comfort and withdrawal 
from contact with the cruder elements of 
life, their race had deteriorated in courage 
and morale. It is only by such great 
tests that we can determine how we stand 
in these matters, and, as they periodically 
recur, measure our advance or decline. 
And the human material there made the 
test a very severe one; for there were 


people on the Titanic who had so en- 
trenched themselves behind ramparts of 
wealth and influence as to have wellnigh 
forgotten that, equally with the waif and 
the pauper, they were exposed to the 
caprice of destiny; and who might have 
been forgiven if, in that awful moment of 
realization, they had shown the white 
feather and given themselves over to 
panic. But there is ample evidence that 
these men stood the test equally as well 
as those whose occupation and training 
made them familiar with the risks of the 
sea, to which they were continually ex- 
posed, and through which they might 
reasonably expect to come to just such 
an end. There was no theatrical heroism, 
no striking of attitudes, or attempt to 
escape from the dread reality in any form 
of spiritual hypnosis ; they simply stood 
about the decks, smoking cigarettes, talk- 
ing to one another, and waiting for their 


hour to strike. There is nothing so hard, 
nothing so entirely dignified, as to be 
silent and quiet in the face of an ap- 
proaching horror. 

That was one form of heroism, which 
will make the influence of this thing 
deathless long after the memory of it has 
faded as completely from the minds of 
men as sight or sign of it has faded from 
that area of ocean where, two miles above 
the sunken ship, the rolling blue furrows 
have smoothed away all trace of the 
struggles and agonies that embittered it. 
But there was another heroism which 
must be regarded as the final crown and 
glory of this catastrophe not because it 
is exceptional, for happily it is not, but 
because it continued and confirmed a 
tradition of English sea life that should 
be a tingling inspiration to everyone who 
has knowledge of it. The men who did 
the work of the ship were no composite, 


highly drilled body like the men in the 
navy who, isolated for months at a time 
and austerely disciplined, are educated 
into an esprit de corps and sense of re- 
sponsibility that make them willing, in 
moments of emergency, to sacrifice in- 
dividual safety to the honour of the ship 
and of the Service to which they belong. 
These stokers, stewards, and seamen were 
the ordinary scratch crew, signed on at 
Southampton for one round trip to New 
York and back; most of them had never 
seen each other or their officers before; 
they had none of the training or the se- 
curities afforded by a great national serv- 
ice; they were simply especially in the 
case of the stokers men so low in the 
community that they were able to live no 
pleasanter life than that afforded by the 
stoke-hold of a ship an inferno of dark- 
ness and noise and commotion and in- 
sufferable heat men whose experience of 


the good things of life was half an hour's 
breathing of the open sea air between 
their spells of labour at the furnaces, or 
a drunken spree ashore whence, after 
being poisoned by cheap drink and robbed 
by joyless women of the fruits of their 
spell of labour, they are obliged to return 
to it again to find the means for another 
debauch. Not the stuff out of which one 
would expect an austere heroism to be 
evolved. Yet such are the traditions of 
the sea, such is the power of those tradi- 
tions and the spirit of those who interpret 
them, that some of these men not all, 
but some remained down in the Titanic s 
stoke-holds long after she had struck, and 
long after the water, pouring like a cataract 
through the rent in her bottom and rising 
like a tide round the black holes where 
they worked, had warned them that her 
doom, and probably theirs, was sealed. 
In the engine-room were another group 


of heroes, men of a far higher type, with 
fine intelligences, trained in all the sub- 
tleties and craft of modern ships, men 
with education and imagination who could 
see in their mind's eye all the variations 
of horror that might await them. These 
men also continued at their routine tasks 
in the engine room, knowing perfectly 
well that no power on earth could save 
them, choosing to stay there while there 
was work to be done for the common 
good, their best hope being presently to 
be drowned instead of being boiled or 
scalded to death. All through the ship, 
though in less awful circumstances, the 
same spirit was being observed ; men who 
had duties to do went on doing them be- 
cause they were the kind of men to whom 
in such an hour it came more easily to 
perform than to shirk their duties. The 
three ship's boys spent the whole of that 
hour carrying provisions from the store- 


room to the deck; the post-office em- 
ploye's worked in the flooded mail-room 
below to save the mail-bags and carry 
them up to where they might be taken off 
if there should be a chance; the purser 
and his men brought up the ship's books 
and money, against all possibility of its 
being any use to do so, but because it was 
their duty at such a time to do so; the 
stewards were busy to the end with their 
domestic, and the officers with their ex- 
ecutive, duties. In all this we have an ex- 
ample of spontaneous discipline for they 
had never been drilled in doing these 
things, they only knew that they had to 
do them such as no barrack-room disci- 
pline in the world could match. In such 
moments all artificial bonds are useless. 
It is what men are in themselves that de- 
termines their conduct ; and discipline and 
conduct like this are proofs, not of the 
superiority of one race over another, but 


that in the core of human nature itself 
there is an abiding sweetness and sound- 
ness that fear cannot embitter nor death 

The twin gray horses are still at their 
work in Belfast Lough, and on any sum- 
mer morning you may see their white 
manes shining like gold as they escort you 
in from the sunrise and the open sea to 
where the smoke rises and the din resounds. 

For the iron forest has branched again, 
and its dreadful groves are echoing anew 
to the clamour of the hammers and the 
drills. Another ship, greater and stronger 
even than the lost one, is rising within the 
cathedral scaffoldings; and the men who 
build her, companions of those whom the 
Titanic spilled into the sea, speak among 
themselves and say, "this time we shall 

May 1912. 



Men . 

Carried. Saved. 
17-j rg 

Per cent. 
Lost. saved. 

I I r IA 


... 144 139 

5 5 

1 *3 OT- 

5 97 


Total . 

322 2O2 

1 20 63 

Carried. Saved. 

Per cent. 
Lost. saved. 

Men . . 

. . . 160 13 
... 93 78 

... 24 24 

147 8 
i5 84 


Total . 

... 277 115 

162 42 


Carried. Saved. 

Per cent. 
Lost. saved. 

Men . 

454 55 
... 179 98 
... 76 23 

399 12 
8' 55 
53 30 

Total . 

... 709 176 

533 2 5 





Per cent. 





Men . . 

... 787 





. 416 





... 105 




Total . 

. . . I 3 o8 





Per cent. 





Men . 

. . . 875 





... 23 



9 1 

Total . 

... 898 






Per cent. 





Men . 

. 1662 






33 6 




... I0 5 

5 2 



Total . 

. 2206 



S 2 




With Frontispiece in colour by Norman Wilkinson. 
Portrait, Maps, Illustrations, Appendices and a Note 
on the Navigation of Columbus's First Voyage by 
the Earl of Dunraven, K. P. Large Post 8vo, cloth, gilt. 
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" Mr. Filson Young has done nothing better . . . there is not 
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" Mr. Young has given us an estimate of the man which is 
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' Indias' very much as Columbus saw them, with his keen eyes, 
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Empires of the Far East. (Two 

i is. net. 

Oxford, its Buildings and Gardens. 
The Tragedy of Russia in Pacific 
Asia. (Two Vols. ) 

:6s. net. 

The Great Pacific Coast. 
Pekin to Paris. 

155. net. 

Round the World in a Motor Car. 
The Complete Wildfowler. 
Queens ol Old Spain. 

i2s. 6d. net. 

Mediterranean Moods. 

Manet and the French Impres- 

The Third French Republic. 


Venus and Cupid. 

Ten Years of Motors and Motor 

los. 6d. net. 
Evolution in Italian Art. 
Shamrock Land. 
The Romance of Steel. 

75. 6d. net. 

More Rutland Barrington. 
The Corsican. 
My Restless Life. 
A Shrophire Lad (yapp). 
Thomas Chatterton. 

The Saints' Everlasting Rest. 
Submarine Warfare. 

73. net. 

Aristophanes and Others. 

6s. net. 

The Menace of Socialism. 
Egypt of Yesterday and To-day. 
Health, Strength, and Happiness. 
A Shropshire Lad (buckram). 
Grimm's Fairy Tales. 
Garden Week by Week. 
The Book of Georgian Verse. 
Finn the Wolfhound. 
Man's Survival after Death. 
Notes on Xenophon and Others. 
The Perfect Garden. 
Popular Garden Flowers. 



Love, and Extras. 
Phrynette and London. 
Marrying Money. 
The Doctor's Lass. 
Adventures of a Nice Young Man. 
The Children of the Gutter. 
Easy Money. 
The Man from the Moon. 
A Babe Unborn. 
Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford. 

The Upper Hand. 
The Boys' Book of Airships. 
The Boys' Book of Railways. 
The Boys' Book of Steamships. 
The Boy's Book of Locomotives. 
The Boys' Book of Warships. 
The Crimson Conquest 
Arsene Lupin versus Holmlock 


Index of Prices 

6s. (ctmt.) 
The Grip of Fear. 
The Limit. 

The Living Strong Bo.r. 
Multitude and Solitude. 

The Last Persecution. 
The Passer-by. 
The Bronze Bell. 
The Cliff End. 
The Heart Line. 
The Dual Heritage. 
The Individualist. 
The Japanese Spy. 
Love's Shadow. 
Captain Margaret. 
Aunt Maud. 
Beatrix of Clare. 
The Armada Gold. 
The Black Bag. 

When Kings go forth to Battle. 
Roses and Rue. 
When the Tide Turns. 
The Scoundrel. 
The Unpardonable Sin. 
The Genteel A. B. 
The Brass Bowl. 
The Sands of Pleasure. 

The Message. 
The Twelfth Hour. 
The Hill of Dreams. 
The House of Souls. 
The Blue Star. 
The Miracle Worker. 
The Private War. 
The Broken Law. 
The Earthquake. 
Parson Brand. 
The Same Clay. 
The Pool of Flame. 
The Black Motor Car. 
A Tangled I. 
In Pastures New. 
The Butcher of Bruton Street. 
A Comedy of Mammon. 

53. net. 

More Mastersingers. 
The Last Episode of the French 


The Theory of the Theatre. 
Household Administration. 
A Garland of Childhood. 
^Esop's Fables. 
The Riddle of Personality. 
Cawein's New Poems. 
Fleet Street and other Poems. 

53. net (cent.) 

Materials and Methods of Fiction. 
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. 
The Story of Sir Galahad. 
Memory Harbour. 
The Call of the Sea (persian yapp) , 
Bernard Shaw. 
The Wagner Stories (leather and 


Mastersingers (leather and cloth) 
The Pocket Book of Poems and 

Songs for the Open Air (persian 


Traveller's Joy (persian yapp.) 
Mammon and his Message. 
The Triumph of Mammon. 
The Theatrocrat. 
Essays in Socialism. 
The Gourmet's Guide to Europe. 


The Sunken Submarine. 

The Chase of the Golden Meteor. 

43. 6d. net. 

D. Junii Juvenalis Saturae. 
M. Manilii Astronomicon I. 

43. net. 

The Book of Camping and Wood- 

The Call of the Sea (cloth). 

The Pocket Book of Poems and 
Songs for the Open Air (cloth). 

Traveller's Joy (cloth). 

33. 6d. net. 
Great Kleopatra. 
Romance and Reality. 
An Imperial Commonwealth. 
Inspired Millionaires. 
Fifty Years of Modern Painting. 
Apollonius of Tyana. 
The Validity of English Ordina- 

Jack the Giant Killer, Junior. 
Testament of John Davidson. 
Favourite Fish and Fishing. 
The Tragedy of Nan. 
The Land of Never Was. 
Top o' the World. 
England's Story for Children. 
Great Musicians. 
Great English Poets. 
Great English Novelists. 
Great English Painters. 
Great Soldiers. 
Her Brother's Letters. 
Ireland at the Cross Roads. 


Index of Prices 

33. 6d. net (cont.) 
Grant Allen's Historical Guides. 
Holiday and Other Poems. 
The Happy Motorist. 
The Canker at the Heart. 
Psyche and Soma. 
A Night of Wonders. 
The Bird in Song (leather). 

33. 6d. 

A Commentary. 
The Woman Who Did. 

33. net. 

Burne-Jones (leather). 
Rodin (leather). 
G. F. Watts (leather). 
Rossetti (leather). 
Turner (leather). 
Whistler (leather). 
Religio Medici (leather). 

as. 6d. net. 

The Nation and the Army. 
The Agamemnon of ^Eschylus. 
Mister Sharptooth. 
Consule Planco. 
Poems by Miriam Smith. 
Through Finland. 
The Lever's Hours. 
The Chapbooks (leather). 
Through Portugal. 
The Defenceless Islands. 
Confessions of an Anarchist. 
A Shropshire Lad (hand -made 


The Future Prime Minister. 
Chats about Wine. 

28. 6d. 
Letters from a Grandmother. 

as. net. 
Powder and Jam. 
Omar Repentant. 
Burne-Jones (cloth). 
Rodin (cloth). 
G. F. Watts (cloth). 
Rossetti (cloth). 
Turner (cloth). 
Whistler (cloth). 
The Bird in Song (cloth). 
The Christmas Book (leather). 
Religio Medici (cloth). 

is. 6d. net. 

The Tragedy of Nan (sewed). 
Waistcoat Pocket Guides. 
The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 
(Persian yapp). 

is. 6d. net (cont.) 
Early Poems of D. G. Rossetti 

(Persian yapp). 

The Song of Songs (persian yapp). 
Sister Benvenuta (persian yapp). 
A Shropshire Lad (persian yapp). 
English Nature Poems (persian 


In Memoriam (persian yapp). 
Love Poems of Herrick (persia 

Everyman (persian yapp). 


is. net. 

The Unpardonable Sin. 
Confessions of an Anarchist. 
Susan (sewed). 

Flare of the Footlights (sewed). 
The Sands of Pleasure (sewed). 
The Same Clay (sewed). 
Business Success (cloth). 
The Message (sewed). 
Bernard Shaw (sewed). 
The Rector and the Rubrics. 
The Earthquake (sewed). 
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 

Early Poems of D. G. Rossetti 


The Song of Songs (leather). 
Sister Benvenuta (leather). 
A Shropshire Lad (leather). 
English Nature Poems (leather). 
In Memoriam (leather). 
Love Poems of Herrick (leather). 
Everyman (leather). 
The Christmas Book (cloth). 

6d. net. 

Business Success (sewed). 
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 


The Song of Songs (cloth). 
The Early Poems of D. G. Rossetti 


Sister Benvenuta (cloth). 
A Shropshire Lad (cloth). 
English Nature Poems (cloth). 
In Memoriam (cloth). 
Love Poems of Herrick (cloth). 
Everyman (cloth). 
The Venetian Series. 
The Woman's Charter of Rights 

and Liberties. 

Essays in Socialism. 

London: StranqewaijK. Printers. 


A 000 684 991 3 


University of C