CHAPTER IX.

HOW ASTOR WENT TO DEATH.

The heroism of the majority of the men who went down to death with the Titanic has been told over and over again. How John Jacob Astor kissed his wife and saluted death as he looked squarely into its face; the devotion of Mrs. Isidor Straus to her aged husband and the willingness with which she went to her doom with his loving arms pressed tenderly around her, the tales of life sacrificed that women might be saved brought some need of comfort to the stricken.

G. A. Brayton, of Los Angeles, Cal, says: “John Jacob Astor went to one of the officers and told them who he was, and asked to go in the lifeboat with his wife. The officer told him he could not go in the lifeboat. Astor then kissed his wife good-bye and she was put in the lifeboat. Astor said: ‘I resign myself to my fate’ and saluted in farewell.”

“Colonel Astor and Major Archibald Butt died together on the bridge of the ill-fated ship,” said Dr. Washington Dodge, of San Francisco, one of the survivors. “I saw them standing there side by side. I was in one of the last boats, and I could not mistake them. Earlier during the desperate struggle to get the boats cleared I had seen them both at work quieting passengers and helping the officers maintain order.

“A few minutes before the last I saw Colonel Astor help his wife, who appeared ill, into a boat, and I saw him wave his hand to her and smile as the boat pulled away.”

Before the lifeboats left the ship, not far from the woman who would not let her husband meet death alone, Colonel Astor stood supporting the figure of his young bride, says another survivor. A boat was being filled with women. Colonel Astor helped his wife to a place in it. The boat was not filled, and there seemed no more women near it. Quietly the Colonel turned to the second officer, who was superintending the loading.

“May I go with my wife? She is ill,” he asked. The Officer nodded. The man of millions got into the boat. The crew were about to cast off the falls. Suddenly the Colonel sprang to his feet, shouting to them to wait. He had seen a woman running toward the boat. Leaping over the rail, he helped her to the place he had occupied.

TRIED TO CLIMB FROM THE BOAT.

Mrs. Astor screamed and tried to climb from the boat. The Colonel restrained her. He bent and tenderly patted her shoulder.

“The ladies first, dear heart,” he was heard to say.

Then quietly he saluted the second officer and turned to help in lowering more boats.

Miss Margaret Hayes gave another version of the manner in which Colonel Astor met his death: “Colonel Astor, with his wife, came out on deck as I was being assisted into a lifeboat,” said Miss Hayes, “and both got into another boat. Colonel Astor had his arms about his wife and assisted her into the boat. At the time there were no women waiting to get into the boats, and the ship’s officer at that point invited Colonel Astor to get into the boat with his wife. The Colonel, after looking around and seeing no women, got into the boat, and his wife threw her arms about him.

“The boat in which Colonel Astor and his wife were sitting was about to be lowered when a woman came running out of the companionway. Raising his hand, Colonel Astor stopped the preparations to lower his boat and, stepping out, assisted the woman into the seat he had occupied.

“Mrs. Astor cried out, and wanted to get out of the boat with her husband, but the Colonel patted her on the back and said something in a low tone of voice.”

A nephew of Senator Clark, of Butte, Montana, said Astor stood by the after rail looking after the lifeboats until the Titanic went down.

Brayton says: “Captain Smith stood on the bridge until he was washed off by a wave. He swam back, stood on the bridge again and was there when the Titanic went to the bottom.” Brayton says that Henry B. Harris, the theatrical manager, “tried to get on a lifeboat with his wife, but the second officer held him back with a gun. A third-class passenger who tried to climb in the boats was shot and killed by a steward. This was the only shooting on board I know of.”

Another account of Captain Smith’s death is as follows:

CAPTAIN SMITH DIED A HERO

Captain Smith died a hero’s death. He went to the bottom of the ocean without effort to save himself. His last acts were to place a five-year-old child on the last lifeboat in reach, then cast his life belt to the ice ridden waters and resign to the fate that tradition down the ages observed as a strict law.

It was left to a fireman of the Titanic to tell the tale of the death of Captain Smith and the last message he left behind him. This man had gone down with the vessel and was clinging to a piece of wreckage about half an hour before he finally joined several members of the Titanic’s company on the bottom of a boat which was floating among other wreckage.

Harry Senior, the fireman, with his eight or nine companions in distress, had just managed to get a firm hold on the upturned boat, when they saw the Titanic rearing preparatory to her final plunge. At that moment, according to the fireman’s tale, Captain Smith jumped into the sea from the promenade deck of the Titanic with an infant clutched tenderly in his arms.

It only took a few strokes to bring him to the upturned lifeboat, where a dozen hands were stretched out to take the little child from his arms and drag him to safety.

“Captain Smith was dragged on the upturned boat,” said the fireman. “He had on a life buoy and a life preserver. He clung there a moment and then he slid off again. For a second time he was dragged from the icy water. Then he took off his life preserver, tossed the life buoy on the inky waters and slipped into the water again with the words; ‘I will follow the ship.’”

At that time there was only a circle of troubled water and some wreckage to show the spot where the biggest of all ocean steamers had sunk out of sight.

“No,” said the stoker, as he waved a sandwich above his head, holding a glass of beer in the other hand, “Captain Smith never shot himself. I saw what he did. He went down with that ship. I’ll stake my life on that.”

THE SAME STORY REPEATED.

Oddly enough, a Swedish stoker and survivor, named Oscar Ingstrom, at another hotel in the same vicinity, gave to one of the most prominent Swedish newspaper men in New York City practically the same tale that Senior told.

Wilson Potter, whose mother, Mrs. Thomas Potter, Jr., of Mt. Airy, Pa., was one of the survivors, told how she had urged Colonel Astor and his wife to leave the Titanic before the vessel went down.

“My mother was one of the first to leave the Titanic,” he said. “As the lifeboats were filling up, she called to Colonel and Mrs. Astor to come aboard. Mrs. Astor waved her off, exclaiming, ‘We are safer here than in that little boat.’

“Hundreds of other passengers thought the same way. So much so, that the first lifeboat, which my mother boarded, was large enough to hold forty persons besides the crew; still only ten came along. All were of the opinion that the Titanic would remain afloat until aid came from another steamer.”

Mr. Potter also related another version of how J. B. Thayer, Jr., and his mother were rescued.

“As the crash came Mrs. Thayer fainted. Young Mr. Thayer carried her to one of the lifeboats. As she was lifted in father and son lost their hold and fell between the sinking steamer and the lifeboat.

“After struggling in the water for several minutes Young Mr. Thayer was picked up by a raft. Two hours later the raft was found by the Carpathia.”

A third remarkable escape as related by Mr. Potter was that of Richard Norris Williams.

“Mr. Williams remained on the stern of the Titanic,” said Mr. Potter. “He says the stern of the boat went down, then came up. As it started to go down a second time Mr. Williams says he dived off and swam to a raft, which was picked up two hours later by the Carpathia.”

UTTERLY EXHAUSTED FROM HER EXPERIENCE.

When utterly exhausted from her experience, Mrs. John Jacob Astor was declared by Nicholas Biddle, a trustee of the Astor estate, to be in no danger whatever. Her physicians, however, have given orders that neither Mrs. Astor nor her maid, who was saved with her, be permitted to talk about the disaster.

On landing from the Carpathia, the young bride, widowed by the Titanic’s sinking, told members of her family what she could recall of the circumstances of the disaster. Of how Colonel Astor met his death, she has no definite conception. She recalled, she thought, that in the confusion, as she was about to be put into one of the boats, the Colonel was standing by her side. After that, as Mr. Biddle recounted her narrative, she had no very clear recollection of the happenings until the boats were well clear of the sinking steamer.

Mrs. Astor, it appears, left in one of the last boats which got away from the ship. It was her belief that all the women who wished to go had been taken off. Her impression was that the boat she left in had room for at least fifteen more persons.

The men, for some reason, which, as she recalled it, she could not and does not now understand, did not seem to be at all anxious to leave the ship. Almost every one seemed dazed.

“I hope he is alive somewhere. Yes, I cannot think anything else,” the young woman said of her husband to her father as she left the latter to go to the Astor home, according to some who overheard her parting remarks.

The chief steerage steward of the Titanic, who came in on the Carpathia, says that he saw John Jacob Astor standing by the life ladder as the passengers were being embarked. His wife was beside him, the steward said. The Colonel left her to go to the purser’s office for a moment, and that was the last he saw of him.

WRITER GOES DOWN WITH THE SHIP.

Mrs. May Futrelle, whose husband, Jacques Futrelle, the writer, went down with the ship, was met here by her daughter, Miss Virginia Futrelle, who was brought to New York from the Convent of Notre Dame in Baltimore.

Miss Futrelle had been told that her father had been picked up by another steamer. Mrs. Charles Copeland, of Boston, a sister of the writer, who also met Mrs. Futrelle, was under the same impression.

“I am so happy that father is safe, too,” declared Miss Futrelle, as her mother clasped her in her arms. It was some time before Mrs. Futrelle could compose herself.

“Where is Jack?” Miss Copeland asked.

Mrs. Futrelle, afraid to let her daughter know the truth, said: “Oh! he is on another ship.”

Mrs. Copeland guessed the truth and became hysterical. Then the writer’s daughter broke down.

“Jack died like a hero,” Mrs. Futrelle said, when the party became composed. “He was in the smoking-room when the crash came—the noise of the smash was terrific—and I was going to bed. I was hurled from my feet by the impact. I hardly found myself when Jack came rushing into the stateroom.

“The boat is going down, get dressed at once!” he shouted. When we reached the deck everything was in the wildest confusion. The screams of women and the shrill orders of the officers were drowned intermittently by the tremendous vibrations of the Titanic’s bass foghorn.

“The behavior of the men was magnificent. They stood back without murmuring and urged the women and children into the lifeboats. A few cowards tried to scramble into the boats, but they were quickly thrown back by the others. Let me say now that the only men who were saved were those who sneaked into the lifeboats or were picked up after the Titanic sank.

“I did not want to leave Jack, but he assured me that there were boats enough for all and that he would be rescued later.

LIFTED INTO A LIFE-BOAT AND KISSED.

“Hurry up, May, you’re keeping the others waiting,” were his last words, as he lifted me into a lifeboat and kissed me good-bye. I was in one of the last lifeboats to leave the ship. We had not put out many minutes when the Titanic disappeared. I almost thought, as I saw her sink beneath the water, that I could see Jack, standing where I had left him and waving at me.”

Mrs. Futrelle said she saw the parting of Colonel John Jacob Astor and his young bride. Mrs. Astor was frantic. Her husband had to jump into the lifeboat four times and tell her that he would be rescued later. After the fourth time, Mrs. Futrelle said, he jumped back on the deck of the sinking ship and the lifeboat bearing his bride made off.

George D. Widener and his son, Harry Elkins Widener, lost in the wreck of the Titanic, died the death of heroes. They stood back that the weaker might have a chance of being saved.

Mrs. Widener, one of the last women to leave the ship, fought to die with her husband and her son. She would have succeeded probably had not sailors literally torn her from her husband and forced her on to a life-raft.

As she descended the ladder at the ship’s side, compelled to leave despite her frantic, despairing pleas, she called to Mr. Widener and to her son pitifully:

“Oh, my God!” she cried. “Good-bye! George! Harry! Good-bye! Good-bye! Oh, God! this is awful!” And that was the last she saw of her husband and of her son, who waved a brave farewell as she disappeared down the ladder.

Mr. Widener, according to James B. McGough, 708 West York street, Philadelphia, a buyer for the Gimbel store, one of those rescued, was as calm and collected, except at the time of the final parting from his wife, as though he were “taking a walk on Broad street.”

HELPED WOMEN AND CHILDREN.

The financier’s son, too, was calm. The two men helped the women and the children to make their escape, but always stood back themselves when a boat or raft was launched. As soon as the vessel had struck the iceberg Mr. and Mrs. Widener had sought out Captain Smith.

“What is the outlook?” Mr. Widener was heard to inquire.

“It is extremely serious,” was the quick reply. “Please keep cool and do what you can to help us.” And this is what Mr. Widener did.

Mr. McGough, when he returned to his home, contributed to the several versions of the escape of John B. Thayer, Jr., son of John B. Thayer, second Vice president of the Pennsylvania Railroad, who was lost. One version was that the boy jumped from the Titanic just as she sank, and that he swam about among big cakes of ice until taken aboard a lifeboat.

Mr. McGough in his account of the lad’s rescue says the boy jumped as the vessel sank, but that he alighted near a life-raft, to which, half frozen, he clung until taken aboard a boat.

Another statement by Mr. McGough was that when a man, presumably an Associated Press correspondent, boarded the Carpathia off Cape Cod, and tried to wireless a message ashore a ship officer seized it and threw it into the ocean.

Several weeks ago Mr. McGough was sent abroad on a purchasing trip for his firm. With him were J. D. Flynn, of New York, formerly of Philadelphia, and N. P. Calderhead, also a former Philadelphian.

When the gang plank was thrown down from the Carpathia, Mr. McGough was the first passenger from the ill-starred Titanic to land, waiting for him were his wife, Mrs. Mary McGough, and his three brothers, Philip A., Thomas and Andrew McGough, all of 252 South Seventh street, Philadelphia. His wife saw him first. Stretching out her arms, she threw herself from the police lines toward him, and in a moment he had her clasped in his embrace.

SENDS A MESSAGE TO HIS MOTHER.

Afterward he rushed through the crowd and took a motor car to the home of a relative. Thence he went to the Imperial Hotel. From the hotel he sent a message to his mother at 252 South Seventh street.

“I am here, safe,” the message read.

“The collision which caused the loss of the Titanic,” Mr. McGough said, “occurred about 11.40 o’clock. I had an outer state-room on the side toward the iceberg against which the ship crashed. Flynn who occupied the room with me, had just gone to bed. Calderhead was in bed in a stateroom adjoining.

“When the crash came, I ran to the porthole. I saw the ice pressed close against the side of the ship. Chunks of it were ground off, and they fell into the window. I happened to glance at my watch, and it showed me exactly the hour.

“I knew that something was seriously wrong, and hastily got into my clothes. I took time, also, to get my watch and money. Flynn, in the meantime, had run over to Calderhead’s stateroom and had awakened him. When I had dressed I ran outside.

“I saw the iceberg. The boat deck stood about ninety feet out of the water and the berg towered above us for at least fifty feet. I judge the berg stood between 140 and 150 feet out of the water.

“Many of the women on board, I am sure, did not leave their staterooms at once. They stayed there, at least for a time. I believe that many of them did not awaken to their danger until near the last.

“One statement I want to correct, the lights did not go out, at least not while I was on board. When I ran to the deck I heard Captain Smith order that the air chambers be examined. An effort was made to work the doors closing the compartments, but to no avail. When the ship ran upon the iceberg, the sharp-pointed berg cut through both thicknesses of the bottom and left it in such a position that it filled rapidly.

MIGHT HAVE PERISHED.

“I remember that it was a beautiful night. There was no wind and the sea was calm. But for this it is certain that when the boats were launched most all of us would have perished in the ice-covered sea. At first the captain ordered the hatches over the steerage fastened down. This was to prevent the hysterical passengers in that part of the ship rushing to the deck and increasing the panic. Before we left, however, those passengers were released.

“Two sailors were put into each of the boats. When the boats were lowered the women hung back. They feared to go down the long, steep ladder to the water. Seeing them hesitate, I cried: ‘Someone has to be first,’ and started down the ladder.

“I had hardly started before I regretted I had not waited on deck. But I feel if I had not led the way the women would not have started and the death list would have been much larger. Flynn and Calderhead led the way into other boats.

“It was only a short time before the boat was filled. We had fifty-five in our boat, nearly all of them women. We had entered the craft so hastily that we did not take time to get a light.

“For a time we bobbed about on the ocean. Then we started to row slowly away. I shall never forget the screams that flowed over the ocean toward us from the sinking ship. At the end there was a mad rush and scramble.

“It was fearfully hard on the women. Few of them were completely dressed. Some wore only their night gowns, with some light wrapper or kimono over them. The air was pitilessly cold.

“There were so few men in the boat the women had to row. This was good for some of them, as it kept their blood in circulation, but even then it was the most severe experience for them imaginable. Some of them were half-crazed with grief or terror. Several became ill from the exposure.

“I saw Mr. Widener just before I left, and afterward, while we were rowing away from the vessel I had a good glimpse of him. He appeared as calm and collected as though he were taking a walk on Broad st. When the rush for the boats began he and his son Harry, stood back.

SHIP GOES DOWN AT 2.30 O’CLOCK.

“At the end sailors had to tear Mrs. Widener from him, and she went down the ladder, calling to him pitifully. The ship went down at 2.20 o’clock exactly. The front end went down gradually. We saw no men shot, but just before the finish we heard several shots.

“I was told that Captain Smith or one of the officers shot himself on the bridge just before the Titanic went under. I heard also that several men had been killed as they made a final rush for the boats, trying to cut off the women and children.

“While we were floating around the sailors set off some redfire, which illuminated the ocean for miles around. This was a signal of distress. Unfortunately there was no one near enough to answer in time.

“John B. Thayer, Jr., was saved after he had gone down with the ship. Just as the vessel took the plunge he leaped over the side. He struck out for a life raft and reached it. There he clung for several hours until, half-frozen, he was taken into one of the boats which was a trifle less crowded than the others.

“For six hours we bobbed around in the ocean. We rowed over to a boat that was provided with a light, and tied the two small craft together. Finally daylight came, and the sun rose in a clear sky. There we were, a little fleet, alone in the limitless ocean, with the ice cakes tossing about on all sides.

“It was after 8 o’clock in the morning when we saw the masts of a steamship coming up over the horizon. It was the most blessed sight our eyes ever saw. It meant an end to the physical suffering, a relief to the strain under which we had been laboring. Many broke down when they saw it.

“The ship, of course, was the Carpathia. While it was hurrying toward us the crew and passengers had made the most generous preparations for us. When they took us on board they had blankets, clothing, food and warm liquids all ready. Their physicians were ready to care for the sick. The passengers gave up their warm beds to us.

BUMPED INTO FLOATING BODIES.

“During the time we were in the water we bumped frequently into the bodies that floated about us. A great many of the men jumped into the water before the boat sank, and they were their bodies that we struck.”

D. H. Bishop, a rich lumber man of Dowagaic, Mich., who with his wife, was returning from a bridal trip to Egypt, is the last person known to have seen George D. Widener alive. Mr. Bishop said:

“My wife and I had just retired when we heard the jar and felt a decided tilt of the ship. I got up and started to investigate, but soon became reassured and went back to bed. A few minutes later we heard calls to put on life belts.

“My wife felt very alarmed and kneeled to pray. She said she knew we would be lost, though at that time there was no reason to think so, and she remarked: ‘What is the use bothering with jewelry if we are going to die?’ Accordingly she left in her stateroom jewelry worth about $11,000, but strangely enough insisted upon me running back and getting her muff.

“As we came up the stairway we met Captain Smith and Colonel John Jacob Astor talking hurriedly. What they said I do not know. When we got on deck there were not more than fifty people there and no one seemed excited and no one appeared to want to get into the lifeboats, though urged to do so. Mrs. Bishop and I were literally lifted into the first lifeboat.

“At that time I observed Mr. and Mrs. Widener, and I saw the former leave his wife as she was getting into the lifeboat and, accompanied by his son, go toward the stairway. I did not see them again, as our lifeboat with only twenty-eight persons in it and only half-manned, was lowered over the side at that moment. An instant later there was an apparent rush for the lifeboats and as we rowed away they came over the side with great rapidity.

“Before we were a hundred yards away men were jumping overboard, and when we were a mile away the ship went down with cries from the men and women aboard that were heart-rending.

“There is nothing to say concerning the blame, except that I do know that icebergs were known to be in our vicinity and that it was the subject of much talk that the Titanic was out for a record. Captain Smith was dining with J. Bruce Ismay, managing director of the White Star Line, and of course was not on the bridge. It was rumored on the Carpathia that Captain Smith tried to save himself in a lifeboat at the last minute, but of this I know nothing.

CHAPTER X.

NOTABLE WOMAN SAVED.

From William E. Carter, Bryn Mawr, Pa., who, with his wife and two children, Lucille and William E. Carter, Jr., was saved from the wreck of the Titanic, it was learned today that the three women probably most notable among the survivors were in the same lifeboat. They were Mrs. John Jacob Astor, Mrs. George D. Widener and Mrs. John B. Thayer. In the same boat were Mrs. Carter and her two children.

Colonel Astor, Mr. Thayer, Mr. Widener and Mr. Carter separated as soon as the ladies were safely in the lifeboats, and Mr. Carter never saw the three men again.

Mr. Carter was a passenger on the lifeboat in which J. Bruce Ismay, managing director of the White Star Line, made his escape from the sinking liner. Mr. Carter declared that the boat was the last to leave the starboard side of the Titanic and was nearly the last which left the vessel.

When entered by Mr. Carter and Mr. Ismay the boat was occupied entirely by women of the third cabin. Every woman on the starboard side of the vessel had been sent off in lifeboats when Mr. Ismay and he got into the boat, Mr. Carter said.

Mr. Carter and his family were staying for a few days at the home of his brother-in-law, William C. Dickerman, 809 Madison ave., New York. Mr. Carter expressed the greatest admiration for the discipline maintained by the officers of the Titanic, and voiced the opinion that Mr. Ismay should not be held open to criticism.

“If there had been another woman to go, neither Mr. Ismay nor myself would have gotten into the boat. There can be no criticism of Mr. Ismay’s action.”

In describing his experience Mr. Carter said he had urged Harry Elkins Widener to go with him to the starboard side of the vessel. Young Mr. Widener, thinking that there was no immediate danger, remarked that he would take his chances on the vessel.

Mr. Carter said he was in the smoking room of the Titanic when the crash came. “I was talking to Major Butt, Clarence Moore and Harry Widener,” he explained. “It was just seventeen minutes to 12 o’clock.

“Although there was quite a jar, I thought the trouble was slight. I believe it was the immense size of the Titanic which brought many of the passengers to believe there was no danger. I went on deck to see what had happened. Almost as I reached the deck the engines were stopped.

VESSEL LISTS TO PORT.

“I hurried down to see about my family and found they were all in bed. Just then the vessel listed a little to port, and I told my wife and children they had better get up and dress.

“Just then orders were issued for everyone to get on life preservers. When we came out on the deck boats were being lowered. Mrs. Carter and the children got into the fourth or fifth boat with Mrs. Astor, Mrs. Widener and Mrs. Thayer.

“After I got my family into the boat and saw it pushed off the Titanic listed more and more to one side. I decided that I had better look out for myself and went up to a deck on the starboard side. In the meantime a good many boats were getting off.

“There were no women on the starboard side when I reached there except one collapsible raft load of third-class women passengers. Mr. Ismay and myself got into the boat, which was either the last or the next to the last to leave the Titanic.

“As we left the ship the lights went out and the Titanic started to go down. The crash had ripped up the side and the water rushing into the boiler-room caused the boilers to explode.

“We were a good distance off when we saw the Titanic dip and disappear. We stayed in the boat until about 5 o’clock, Mr. Ismay and myself pulling on the oars with three members of the crew practically all the time.

“Never in my life have I seen such splendid discipline as was maintained by Captain Smith and his men. There was no panic and the order was splendid.

“Before I left Harry Widener I urged him to come with me to the starboard side of the ship, and it was then he told me he would take his chances on the vessel. He had on a life belt, as did every other passenger, many of whom stayed in the smoking room playing bridge.

MR. WIDENER PARTED FROM HIS WIFE.

“I saw Colonel Astor place his wife in the same boat that I put my family in, and at the same time Mr. Widener parted from his wife and Mr. Thayer put Mrs. Thayer in the boat. I did not see the men again.”

Major Arthur Puechen, a wealthy resident of Toronto, Canada, was the last man on the Titanic to say good-bye to Charles M. Hays, president of the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway, who lost his life.

After assisting members of the crew in filling up the first five boats, Major Puechen who is an experienced yachtsman, was assigned by the second mate to take charge of boat No. 6. Major Puechen said he declined to accept such a post, not desiring to have any preference over any of his fellow passengers.

Captain Smith, wishing an experienced boatsman on boat No. 6, directed the second officer to give the Major a written order to take charge of it. Major Puechen displayed this order to some of his friends last night, so as to make it plain that it was at the demand of the ship’s officers that he undertook the assignment.

Just as the Major was about to leave in the lifeboat, his old friend, Charles M. Hays, of the Grand Trunk, came up and said good-bye. Mr. Hays had no idea, according to Major Puechen that the ship would sink as soon as it did, but believed that help would be at hand sufficient to care for all before the vessel went down.

Mr. Hays remarked to the Major that the ship could not possibly sink within eight hours, and that long before then every body would be taken off safely. Mr. Hays expressed no fear that he would be lost by remaining on board the ship.

Peter D. Daly, of New York, jumped from the deck of the Titanic after it was announced that there were only boats enough for the women and children. As he saw the ship settling gradually he swam away with all his might to prevent being carried down with the suction of the sinking liner.

PICKED UP BY CARPATHIA.

“For six hours I beat the water with hands and feet to keep warm,” he said. “Then I was picked up by one of the Carpathia’s boats, which was cruising around looking for survivors. I was numb from the cold, after a fight which I can scarcely bear to discuss.

“Even after I recovered from the chill and shock, I was practically prostrated by the nervous strain, and every mention of the disaster sends a shiver through me.

“There was no violent impact when the vessel collided with the ice. I rushed to the deck from my cabin, got a life preserver and, when things began to look serious, threw myself into the water. The boat had already begun to settle.”

A huge cake of ice was the means of aiding Emile Portaluppi, of Aricgabo, Italy, in escaping death when the Titanic went down. Portaluppi, a second class passenger, was awakened by the explosion of one of the boilers of the ship. He hurried to the deck, strapped a life preserver around him and leaped into the sea. With the aid of the preserver and by holding to a cake of ice he managed to keep afloat until one of the lifeboats picked him up. There were thirty-five people in the boat when he was hauled aboard.

Mrs. Lucine P. Smith, of Huntington, W. Va., daughter of Representative James P. Hughes, of West Virginia, a bride of about eight weeks, whose husband was lost in the wreck, gave her experience through the medium of her uncle, Dr. J. H. Vincent, of Huntington, West Virginia.

“The women were shoved into the lifeboats,” said Dr. Vincent. “The crew did not wait until the lifeboat was filled before they lowered it. As a matter of fact there were but twenty-six people in the boat, mostly all women, when an officer gave instructions to lower it. Mr. Smith was standing alongside the boat when it was lowered. There was plenty of room for more people to get into the lifeboats, the capacity being fifty.

APPEALS TO CAPTAIN WERE IGNORED.

“Mrs. Smith implored Captain Smith to allow her husband in the boat, but her repeated appeals, however, were ignored. This lifeboat was permitted to be lowered with but one sailor in it and he was drunk. His condition was such that he could not row the boat and therefore the women had to do the best they could in rowing about the icy waters.

“As the boat swung out from the side it was evident that the three men knew absolutely nothing about rowing and Mrs. Kenyon said she and another woman seized the oars and helped the sailors to pull clear. Gradually the small boat was worked away from the Titanic. The boat had gone quite a distance when suddenly all heard a terrific explosion and in the glare which followed they saw the body of a man hurled from the bridge high in the air. Then darkness fell. At 6.30 the boat was picked up by the Carpathia.”

Mrs. Elizabeth Dyker, of Westhaven, Conn., a bride whose husband perished, lost besides her husband all her worldly possessions.

“When the crash came,” said Mrs. Dyker, “I met Adolph on deck. He had a satchel in which were two gold watches, two diamond rings, a sapphire necklace and two hundred crowns. He couldn’t go in the boat with me but grabbed a life preserver and said he would try to save himself. That was the last I saw of him. When the lifeboat came alongside the Carpathia one of the men in it threw my satchel to the deck. I have not seen it since.”

Kate Mullin, of County Longford, Ireland, told of how stewards had tried to keep back the steerage women. She said she saw scores of men and women jump overboard and drown.

Bunar Tonglin, a Swede, was saved in the next to the last boat which left the Titanic. Before getting into the boat he placed two hysterical women in another boat. Then he heard a cry, and, looking up, saw a woman standing on the upper deck. The woman, he said, dropped from her arms her baby, which Tonglin caught, and gave to one of the women he had put in the boat. Then he got into his own boat, which was lowered, and shortly afterwards came the two explosions, and the plunge downward of the Titanic. Tonglin declared that he had seen numerous persons leap from the decks of the Titanic and drown.

HELPS HIS WIFE TO A PLACE IN THE BOAT.

Mrs. Fred R. Kenyon, of Southington, Conn., was one of the Titanic’s survivors. Her husband went down with the vessel rather than take the place of a woman in a boat. Mrs. Kenyon said that when the call was given for the women to take places near the boat davits, in readiness to be placed in the boats as they were swung off, Mr. Kenyon was by her side. When it came her turn to enter the boat, Mr. Kenyon helped his wife to a place and kissed her good-bye. Mrs. Kenyon said she asked him to come with her, and he replied: “I would not with all those women and children waiting to get off.”

In an instant Mr. Kenyon had stepped back and other women took their places and the boat swung clear and dropped to the water. In the boat Mrs. Kenyon said there were one sailor and three men who had been ordered in because they said they could row.

Mrs. John B. Thayer, whose husband, the second vice-president of the Pennsylvania Railroad, went down with the Titanic, after heroically standing aside to allow his wife’s maid to take his place in the lifeboat, and whose young son, John B. Thayer, Jr., was pulled aboard a lifeboat after being thrown from the giant liner just before she sank, seemed too dazed by what she had gone through to realize the awful enormity of the tragedy when she reached her home at Haverford, Pa.

After reaching the Thayer home Mrs. Thayer was put to bed and the greatest precautions were taken to see that neither she nor young “Jack” Thayer was disturbed. Detectives from the Pennsylvania Railroad, assisted by two members of the Lower Merion police force, guarded the house both front and rear. All callers were told that both Mrs. Thayer and her son were too much overcome by their heart-breaking experience to see any one.

DIED TO SAVE WIFE’S MAID.

Mrs. Thayer, young John B. Thayer, junior no longer, Miss Eustis, a sister of Mrs. Walter B. Stephenson, of Haverford, and Margaret Fleming, Mrs. Thayer’s maid, for whose safety Mr. Thayer sacrificed his own life, all arrived at the Haverford Station at 12.30 o’clock. They had made the trip from Jersey City in a special train consisting of an engine, baggage car and Pullman, with two day coaches to add the necessary weight to make the train ride easily. The special left the Pennsylvania Station at 10.16 and drew up at the Haverford Station just two hours and fourteen minutes later.

Harry C. Thayer, of Merion, a brother of Mr. Thayer, met his sister-in-law and nephew at the New York pier where the Carpathia docked, together with Dr. R. G. Gamble, of Haverford, the Thayers’ family physician. Mrs. Thayer, though seemingly composed, is really in a very serious condition, according to Dr. Gamble. Her hours of exposure in an open boat, her uncertainty as to the fate of her son, whom she saw jump overboard, just before the Titanic sank, carrying her husband to a watery grave, was more than any woman could be expected to bear.

Eight or ten friends and relatives of the Thayer family, together with Captain Donaghy, of the Lower Merion police department, and a squad of his men, were awaiting the special train at the Haverford Station. A big limousine automobile was also on hand with the motor running, ready to whisk the party to the Thayer home, “Redwood,” just back of the Merion Cricket Club.

As the train slowed up, the relatives and friends formed a double line opposite the Pullman car. The moment the train stopped, Mrs. Thayer was helped down the steps and to the automobile. Wearing heavy brown furs, a dark hat with a half veil, Mrs. Thayer looked dazed and walked as one asleep, as she was assisted into the motor car. Her son, young “Jack” Thayer, was at her side, with Miss Eustis and the maid, Margaret Fleming, bringing up the rear. The boy, a husky youngster, looked little the worse for his experiences and bore himself in manly fashion.

TOO OVERCOME TO BE QUESTIONED.

There was a clang of the motor car door, a crashing bang as the gears were shoved into place and the machine was off at top speed for the Thayer residence. Dr. Gamble, whose car was also in waiting, acted as spokesman for all. Mrs. Thayer, he said, was too overcome to be questioned, but he had gleaned from young “Jack” Thayer and from Margaret Fleming, the maid, a few details that brought out in vivid relief the quiet heroism of Mr. Thayer.

The son, also had proven, himself in the critical moment. Shortly after the Titanic crashed into the iceberg, said the doctor, Mr. Thayer had collected his wife, his son and his wife’s maid and gotten them in line for a lifeboat. Realizing that there was not enough room for the men, Mr. Thayer forced his wife and her maid into the boat and then tried to get his son in also.

The lad, however, refused to desert his father. Stepping back, he made room for some one else, said to have been a grown man, and grasping his father’s hand, said he “guessed he would stick by dad.” Before Mr. Thayer could protest or forcibly place his son in the lifeboat, it had been launched and the opportunity was gone.

A few seconds before the Titanic sank, however, Mr. Thayer seemed to grasp the fact that the end was near. Picking up the boy he threw him into the sea. “Swim to a boat, my boy,” he said.

Young Thayer, taken by surprise, had no chance to object. Before he knew what had happened, he was struggling in the icy waters of the ocean. Striking out, the lad swam to a lifeboat, said Mr. Gamble, but was beaten off by some of those aboard, as the boat was already overcrowded.

But the pluck that has made so many Thayers famous as athletes in many branches of sport was deeply implanted in young “Jack” Thayer. Turning from the lifeboat from which he had been beaten off, he swam to another. Once again he was fended away with a long oar. And all this time Mrs. Thayer, safe in another boat, watched her son struggle for life, too overcome with horror to even scream.

NOT AS MUCH SUCTION AS EXPECTED.

A few seconds later the Titanic went down. There was a swirling of the waters, though not as much suction as had been expected. To save himself from the tug of the indraw waters, young Thayer grasped a floating cake of ice. To this he clung until another boat, filled with people of more kindly hearts, came by and pulled him aboard.

In this boat was Miss Brown, a friend of the boy’s mother. She took charge of him until they were taken on board the Carpathia. Mrs. Thayer had not seen the rescue of her son. She had fainted, it is said, but revived a few moments later and did yeoman service at the oars. Other survivors in her boat spoke in the highest terms of her calm courage, which served to keep up the spirits of the women, half frozen from the bitter cold, insufficiently clad and bereft of their loved ones. Taking an oar, without waiting to be asked, she used every ounce of her strength for long hours before the Carpathia arrived, aiding the few sailors aboard to keep the boat’s head to the sea and to dodge the myriads of ice cakes.

The exercise, however, served to keep her warm, and when she was lifted to the deck of the Carpathia she did not need hospital treatment. Her son, however, was in bad shape when he was rescued. His clothing was frozen to his body and he was exhausted from his battle with the ice-filled sea. Restoratives and hot water bottles in the Carpathia’s hospital brought him around in time, however, and the moment he was able to stand on his feet he rushed through the ship, seeking his mother. That was a joyful reunion for both, but particularly for Mrs. Thayer, as she had given her son up for lost.

STAYED ON BOARD UNTIL SHE SANK.

Broken in spirits, bowed with grief, Mrs. Thayer stepped off the Carpathia at New York with the other few hundreds of survivors last night. With her was her young son, John B. Thayer, Jr., who stayed on board the vessel until she sank to share his father’s fate, but who proved more fortunate than the railroad magnate, and was saved. She was heavily veiled and was supported by the son, who seemed, with his experience, to have aged twice his sixteen years.

Awaiting her arrival was a special train, sent by officers of the Pennsylvania Railroad for her arrival. One of the cars was that in which she and Mr. Thayer frequently had taken trips together. It was in this car that she rode to Philadelphia, the last time she ever will enter it.

Every arrangement had been made for the care and comfort of Mrs. Thayer. Immediately upon her arrival at the pier where the rescue ship, Carpathia, docked, relatives and representatives of the railroad were ready to receive her.

A motor car had been held in readiness and when she disembarked from the vessel, leaning upon the arm of her young son, she was led silently to it. They were the first of the Philadelphia survivors to arrive at the Pennsylvania station. It was exactly 10 o’clock when the car in which she and her son had ridden, pulled up outside the great building erected when her husband was one of the directing heads of the road. With her was Dr. Neidermeier, the station physician, who had been sent to take care of her during the short time she stayed in New York. Tenderly he lifted Mrs. Thayer to the pavement and then led her inside and across the central floor toward the train.

Garments had been brought from her home for Mrs. Thayer, to take the place of those which she had worn when, scantily clad, she bade her husband good-bye and climbed down the ladder of the Titanic to the waiting lifeboats. But the widow was too worn physically and too greatly bowed down with grief to make the change. She wore a thin raincoat which reached nearly to the ground. Its folds were wrinkled. A heavy veil completely covered her head, crushing down her hat.

MET AT THE CUNARD PIER.

Following her from the cab came her son and Henry Thayer, a brother of the former railroad man. Dr. Gamble, the family physician, and Mr. Norris, a relative of Mrs. Thayer, were also in the party which had met her at the Cunard pier.

As the widow of their former chief passed them, the employes of the railroad stopped and removed their hats. T. DeWitt Cuyler, a director of the Pennsylvania Railroad, saw her coming and stepped toward her. As he did so, Dr. Neidermeier quickly grasped his arm and drew him to one side where Mrs. Thayer would not hear.

“Mr. Thayer is dead,” the physician whispered silently. Mr. Cuyler gripped the doctor’s hand and then, his face working violently, he turned quickly away.

It was only a few minutes after Mrs. Thayer had stepped on board the car that the train started for Philadelphia. It left the station at 10.19 o’clock.

“I was with father,” said “Jack” Thayer, speaking for himself of his experience. “They wanted me to go into a boat, but I wanted to stay with him. Men and women kept calling to me to hurry and jump in a boat, but it wasn’t any use. I knew what I was doing. It didn’t seem to be anything to be afraid about. Some of the men were laughing. Nobody appeared to be excited. We had struck with a smash and then we seemed to slide off backwards from the big field of ice. It was cold, but we didn’t mind that.

“The boats were put off without much fuss. Mother was put into one of the boats. As I said, she wanted me to go with her. But I said I guessed I would stick with dad. After awhile I felt the ship tipping toward the front. The next thing I knew somebody gave me a push and I was in the water. Down, down, down, I went, ever so far. It seemed as if I never would stop. I couldn’t breathe. Then I shot up through the water just as fast as I went down. I had just time to take a long, deep breath when a wave went over me.

“When I came to the surface a second time I swam to a boat. They wouldn’t take me in. Then I tried another. Same result. Finally, when I was growing weak, I bumped against something. I found it was an overturned lifeboat. It was a struggle to pull myself upon it, but I did it after a while. My, it was cold! I never suffered so much in my life. All around were the icebergs.

“I could see boats on all sides. I must have shouted, because my throat was all raw and sore, but nobody seemed to notice. I guess they all were shouting, too. Every part of me ached with the cold. I thought I was going to die. It seemed as if I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“The time was so long and I was so weak. Then I just couldn’t feel anything any more. I knew if I stayed there I would freeze. A boat came by and I swam to it. They took me aboard. The next thing I remember clearly was when the boat from the Carpathia came and I was taken into it and wrapped up in the coats of the men. They told me I was more than three hours on that raft and in that open boat. It seemed more like three years to me.”

CHAPTER XI.

MAJOR BUTT, MARTYR TO DUTY.