The History of the R.M.S. Titanic

"Iceberg Right Ahead!"

At 11.40 p.m., lookout Frederick Fleet rang the crow's nest bell three times and telephoned the bridge immediately afterwards to warn of an "iceberg right ahead." First Officer Murdoch, in command at that time, rushed to the engine room telegraph signalling "full speed astern", while ordering "hard a' starboard." Several seconds later, the ship began to turn slowly and it looked as if the Titanic was going to escape a collision, but as the iceberg moved alongside the vessel, a scraping noise could be heard. Several chunks of ice fell onto the deck. After realising that the Titanic had struck the iceberg, Murdoch closed the watertight doors by throwing a switch. Moments later, Captain Smith rushed onto the bridge and was informed by Murdoch of the collision.

Many passengers did not even notice the collision or did not realise that it was serious, only the sudden absence of the engine noise and of the vibration alerted them. Several passengers started some investigation in order to find out what had happened.
Meanwhile, Captain Smith gave orders to inspect the ship for damage. A few minutes later, the carpenter arrived at the bridge informing the captain that the ship was making water. Soon afterwards, John Bruce Ismay visited the bridge to get to know what had happened. He arrived just in time to witness the statement of Mr. Thomas Andrews who, after a thorough investigation, had determined that with the first five watertight compartments hopelessly flooding and the sixth damaged, the liner had about an hour and a half, or two hours at the most, to live.
Soon after midnight, the order was given to prepare the lifeboats for lowering. In the meantime, the stokers in boiler room No. 6, the forwardmost one, as well as the steerage passengers whose berths in the bow began to flood, tried to escape from the water rushing in. Ten minutes later, the order was given to the passengers to put the lifebelts on and assemble on deck. This order was executed, though many passengers were reluctant to leave their warm cabins and to stay outside on the boat deck were it was very cold and loud due to the roar from the pipes created by excess steam from the boilers which was being released. What is more, most passengers did not believe that there was a real danger. This false sense of security was even reinforced by some crewmen who claimed that there was no need to worry.
Whilst the passengers were making their way up to the boat deck, Captain Smith visited the wireless room and instructed the wireless operators to send a call for assistance. The first vessel to respond was the Frankfurt, which was 170 miles away – too far away to come to the rescue of the stricken liner. At about 12.25 a.m. on Monday morning, the Carpathia's wireless operator, Harold Cottam, heard the distress signals by pure chance: He was only awake because he was waiting for the confirmation of the receipt of a transmission. Cottam immediately informed his captain, Arthur H. Rostron, who ordered to steam towards the Titanic at once. Another ship, the Californian, which was stopped and surrounded by ice some 20 miles to the North, did not receive the call for assistance because its wireless operator was asleep – a twenty-four-hour radio watch was not common in these days.

"Women and Children First!"

At 12.25 a.m., Captain Smith ordered to man the lifeboats after being asked for permission to do so by some officers. At 12.45 a.m., the first lifeboat, No. 7, was lowered. The progress in lowering was quite slow, for the crew was unfamiliar with the equipment, and because they had no training or exercise in such skills as there was no boat drill. Furthermore, there were only a few seamen who could handle the davits, therefore the boats could not be lowered simultaneously, but only one after the other.
On the starboard side, where the odd numbered lifeboats were situated, First Officer Murdoch was in charge. He was less strict in applying the rule "Women and children first" than Second Officer Lightoller who was overseeing the lowering of the lifeboats on the port side. For Lightoller, the rule meant "Women and children only", whereas Murdoch put in women and children first, and filled the boats up with men. Quite a few men also jumped in the boats that were being lowered, or jumped in the water when a lifeboat was lowered, and were helped in afterwards. By that way, some male passengers managed to get into the port boats, too.
The first boats to leave the Titanic were only partially filled since it was feared that fully loaded boats might buckle because of the weight, although they were tested with 65 people aboard, but the officers were not aware of this fact. Another reason for the few people aboard was the attitude of the passengers who still believed that the ship was unsinkable. As the band was playing lively ragtime tunes, and everything seemed to be okay (The list forward was not noticeable until 12.30 a.m.), most of the passengers did not realise the danger until rockets were fired – the first at 12.45 a.m., followed by seven others in intervals of five minutes. From then on, the lifeboats were more and more filled up to capacity. Due to the fact that a lot of the passengers considered that the Titanic was perfectly safe and solid compared to the cold Atlantic, there was no sign of panic, even after the first rockets were fired. It was not until the very end that men tried to rush the boats, and had to be prevented to do so by crewmen.
Most occupants of the boats were first- and second-class passengers, though the steerage passengers were not prevented from getting into the boats – but they were not helped either. Most of them were left to their own (only some members of the crew guided small groups to the boats) and had to find their way through a veritable maze of corridors. Some doors leading to the first and second class were locked, whereas others were opened. A lot of steerage passengers did not speak English either, which made it impossible for them to read the signs. This is why only 25 per cent of the steerage passengers were saved, compared with the 32 per cent of the ship's total complement.
While being lowered, some boats were ordered to come along the after gangway which was found closed. Others were told to pull for the nearby light (which could be seen approximately ten miles away), to drop off the women, and to return for more passengers. In order to alert this nearby vessel, Fourth Officer Boxhall began signalling her with the morse lamp, but got no answer. It is supposed by some that this vessel was the Californian whose wireless operator was, as reported above, asleep when the Titanic sent her distress call. The officer in command of the Californian later testified that he had seen rockets fired which had seemed to come from a ship on the horizon and had reported it to his Captain, Stanley Lord, who had later no recollection of being informed that more than one rocket was seen. He told his officer to signal the ship with the morse lamp, but no further action was taken.
All in all, the loading and lowering of the lifeboats went on very well though sometimes quite slowly. Only once, a disaster was only prevented in the last moment: Boat No. 13 was forced astern by exhaust water from the nearby condenser discharge and floated under boat No. 15 which was almost lowered on top of it. With only a few seconds to spare, the ropes attaching boat No. 13 to the davits were cut loose, and it was pushed away.
As soon as the lifeboats reached the water, they usually tried to escape as quickly as possibly, for the suction was feared which might be created by the huge vessel when sinking. Despite the fact that Captain Smith ordered the partially filled boats to come back, all boats stood clear of the ship.
The last two lifeboats properly lowered were two collapsible boats which were called that way because they had canvas sides which ought to be erected before loading. Whilst the last but one lifeboat, collapsible C, was being lowered, Mr. Bruce Ismay (who had been engaged in patrolling the deck, giving orders to the crew, and overseeing the loading of the boats till then) stepped aboard because "there were no other passengers waiting in the vicinity." He was subsequently pilloried for this behaviour.
At about 2.00 a.m., shortly after boat C was lowered away, the bow dipped beneath the surface. It was now obvious that the liner would sink in a few minutes. This was maybe the reason why several men tried to rush the last boat, collapsible D. Lightoller got the men out of the boat by threatening them with his revolver and had a ring formed around the area of the boat by the crew through which only women could pass. There have been reports of an officer shooting two passengers and committing suicide afterwards, which cannot, however, be verified nor dismissed. At 2.05 a.m., boat D was lowered, too.

"Every Man for Himself"

A short time after lowering boat D, hundreds of third-class passengers, both men and women, suddenly began pouring from the first-class entrance. They had practically nowhere to go, for only the two collapsible boats on the roof of the officer's quarters remained. Some men tried to cut them loose (they were still securely lashed), and finally succeeded in getting them both down onto the boat deck, though collapsible B landed upside down.
Whilst these boats were freed, Captain Smith entered the wireless room to release the wireless operators. Nevertheless, the two operators kept on sending distress signals until their equipment failed due to lack of power. At 2.17 a.m., they both left the cabin.

The captain now released all crew members from their duty. Then, he presumably went onto the bridge where he met his end. The exact fate of Captain Smith, however, will never be known.
It was claimed by many survivors that the band kept playing until then, though there was much confusion about the tune they played. Some declared that they heard the hymn "Nearer My God to Thee," whereas others rather suggested the popular waltz "Songe d'Automne," claiming that the mentioned hymn would be a tactless warning of death, creating panic.

At 2.18 a.m., water began pouring over the forward railing onto the bridge, washing the two collapsibles off the deck. Several men managed to clamber onto boat B, whereas almost all occupants of collapsible A were washed out. Boat A finally floated away with only a few occupants and the canvas-sides not yet erected. Suddenly, the forward funnel toppled toward the bow, nearly crushing collapsible B and washing everybody off.
By now, the deck was so steep that people began sliding off it into the water. The occupants of the lifeboats could hear a strange sound as if "everything loose inside the ship were crashing and breaking." Simultaneously, the lights went out. Abruptly, the ship began to split between the third and fourth funnel. The bow started to slide below the surface, while the stern settled back momentarily – almost to an even keel. Then the forward part went under, and the aft section rose higher and higher until it was nearly perpendicular and – remained motionless. After about one minute, the final plunge began. The stern picked up speed as it went down, and at 2.20 a.m. on April 15, 1912, the unsinkable ship disappeared beneath two and a half miles of water, never to be seen again – so they thought at that time.

"She's Gone!" – "Don't You Think We Ought to Pray?"

In the meantime, the Carpathia was racing to the rescue at a speed of 17½ knots instead of her 14½ knots maximum speed. Aboard the vessel, every possible preparation was made within an hour of receiving the distress call: Captain Rostron had the ship's cabins and public rooms prepared to receive the survivors, and lines, chair slings, and ladders were ready to bring the survivors aboard.
At the place of the sinking, terrible scenes were going on: A mixture of cries, screams and shouts – "the most nightmarish sound imaginable" – could be heard. But (almost) nothing was done to rescue those struggling in the ice-cold water – only one lifeboat returned! Sometimes, the crew wanted to go for the rescue, but the passengers refused, sometimes it was the other way round. In lifeboat No. 6, for example, Mrs. Margaret Brown – later known as "the Unsinkable Molly Brown" – wanted to return, but the seaman at the tiller refused.
Some of those in the water managed to reach collapsible A or B, others were rescued by boat No. 14, the only boat to return. Fifth Officer Lowe was in charge of this boat and had five lifeboats tied together before, had transferred his passengers to the four other boats, and had returned later after waiting until the crowd had "thinned out" in order to prevent being swamped. Unfortunately, he waited too long and rescued only four swimmers, of whom one died within an hour.
Aboard the collapsible boats A and B, the situation grew worse and worse: Standing up to the waist (boat A) or knees (boat B) in the water, one occupant after the other died and was thrown overboard by the others. The remaining occupants were finally rescued by some other lifeboats, after having spent about three hours aboard the collapsibles.
At 3.30 a.m., the survivors noticed a faint, faraway glow to the south-east. Then came a slight boom, and then the light died – it was the Carpathia firing rockets!

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