One man stands out in a most unenviable light amid the narratives of heroism and suffering attending the great Titanic sea tragedy. This man is J. Bruce Ismay, managing director of the White Star Line, who, according to accounts of survivors, made himself the exception to the rule of the sea, “Women first,” in the struggle for life.

Some of these survivors say he jumped into the first life boat, others that he got into the third or fourth. However that may be, he is among the comparatively few men saved, and the manner of his escape aroused the wrath and criticism of many.

A woman with a baby was pushed to the side of the third boat, says one survivor. Ismay got out; he then climbed into the fourth boat. “I will man this boat,” he said, and there was no one who said him nay.

“Mr. Ismay was in the first lifeboat that left the Titanic,” declared William Jones, an eighteen-year-old stoker, who was called to man one of the lifeboats. Jones comes from Southampton, England, and this was his first ocean voyage. He left the Carpathia tottering. “There were three firemen in each boat,” he said. “I don’t know how many were killed in the boiler explosion which occurred after the last lifeboat had put off. I saw four boats, filled with first cabin passengers, sink. In the boat I was in, two women died from exposure. We were picked up about 8 o’clock.”

Mrs. Lucien P. Smith, of Huntingdon, W. Va., daughter of Representative James Hughes, West Virginia, was in the third boat that was launched, and in that boat was Mrs. John Jacob Astor. “My niece saw Mr. Ismay leaving the boat. He was attended by several of the crew and every assistance was given him to get into the boat,” says Mrs. Smith. “And when the Carpathia finally came along and rescued the shipwrecked passengers, some of the crew of the Carpathia, together with men of the Titanic, actually carried Mr. Ismay to spacious rooms that had been set aside for him. As soon as Mr. Ismay had been placed in this stateroom a sign was placed on the door: “Please don’t knock.”

MRS. W. J. CARDEZA’S NARRATIVE.

According to Mrs. W. J. Cardeza, of Philadelphia, who gave her narrative after she had arrived at the Ritz-Carlton with T. D. M. Cardeza, J. Bruce Ismay was not only safely seated in a lifeboat before it was filled, but he also selected the crew that rowed the boat. According to Mrs. Cardeza, Mr. Ismay knew that Mr. Cardeza was an expert oarsman and he beckoned him into the boat. Mr. Cardeza manned an oar until Mr. Ismay’s boat was picked up about two hours later.

The White Star Line, through Ismay, disclaimed responsibility, saying that it was “an act of God.” Ismay defended his action in taking to the lifeboat. He said that he took the last boat that left the ship. “Were there any women and children left on the Titanic when you entered the boat?” he was asked. The reply was, “I am sure I cannot say.”

J. Bruce Ismay described to a reporter how the catastrophe occurred. “I was asleep in my cabin,” said Mr. Ismay, “when the crash came. It woke me instantly. I experienced a sensation as if the big liner were sliding up on something.

“We struck a glancing blow, not head on, as some persons have supposed. The iceberg, so great was the force of the blow, tore the ship’s plates half way back, I think, although I cannot say definitely. There was absolutely no disorder.

“I left in the last boat. I did not see the Titanic sink. I cannot remember how far away the lifeboat in which I was had been rowed from the ship when she sank.”

Mr. Ismay began his interview by reading a prepared statement, to this effect:

“In the presence and under the shadow of so overwhelming a tragedy I am overcome with feelings too deep for words. The White Star Line will do everything humanly possible to alleviate the sufferings of the survivors and the relatives of those who were lost.

“The Titanic was the last word in ship building. Every British regulation had been complied with and her masters, officers and crew were the most experienced and skillful in the British service.

WELCOMES EXHAUSTIVE INQUIRY.

“I am informed that a committee of the United States Senate has been appointed to investigate the accident. I heartily welcome a most complete and exhaustive inquiry as the company has absolutely nothing to conceal and any aid that my associates or myself, our ship builders or navigators can render will be at the service of both the United States and the British Governments.”

“How soon did she sink after she struck?” Mr. Ismay was asked. “Let me see, it was two hours and twenty-five minutes, I think. Yes, that is right.”

“In other words, there would have been ample time to have taken everybody off if there had been enough lifeboats?” he was asked. “I do not want to talk about that now,” was the reply.

“Did you go off in the first boat?” some one asked. “What do you mean?”

“Were you in the first boat that left the ship?” “No,” he replied, slowly and firmly, “I was not. I was in the last boat. It was one of the forward boats.”

“Did the captain tell you to get in the boat?” “No.”

“What was the captain doing when you last saw him?” “He was standing on the bridge.”

“It is not true that he committed suicide?” “No. I heard nothing of it.”

Mr. Ismay was asked to explain the delay in the sending of the news of the wreck from the Carpathia. He said:

“I can’t say anything about that now except that I sent the first telegram announcing what had happened to Mr. Franklin about 11 o’clock on the morning that we were picked up. I am told that that telegram did not reach its destination here until yesterday.”

In response to requests for more details Mr. Ismay said: “I must refuse to say more until to-morrow, when I appear before the Congressional Committee.”

“For God’s sake, get me something to eat. I’m starved. I don’t care what it costs or what it is. Bring it to me.”

AN OFFICER’S COMPLETE ACCOUNT.

This was the first statement made by Ismay, a few minutes after he was landed on board the Carpathia. It is vouched for by an officer of the Carpathia. This officer gave one of the most complete accounts of what happened aboard the Carpathia from the time she received the Titanic’s appeal for assistance until she landed the survivors at the Cunard line pier.

“Mr. Ismay reached the Carpathia in about the tenth lifeboat,” said the officer. “I didn’t know who he was, but afterward I heard the others of the crew discussing his desire to get something to eat the minute he put his foot on deck. The steward who waited on him, McGuire, from London, says Mr. Ismay came dashing into the dining room, and, throwing himself in a chair, said, ‘Hurry, for God’s sake, and get me something to eat; I’m starved. I don’t care what it costs or what it is; bring it to me.’

“McGuire brought Mr. Ismay a load of stuff, and when he had finished it he handed McGuire a two-dollar bill. ‘Your money is no good on this ship.’ McGuire told him. ‘Take it,’ insisted Mr. Ismay, shoving the bill in McGuire’s hand. ‘I am well able to afford it. I will see to it that the boys of the Carpathia are well rewarded for this night’s work.’ This promise started McGuire making inquires as to the identity of the man he had waited on. Then we learned that he was Mr. Ismay. I did not see Mr. Ismay after the first few hours. He must have kept to his cabin.

“The Carpathia received her first appeal from the Titanic about midnight, According to an officer of the Titanic, that vessel struck the iceberg at twenty minutes to 12 o’clock and went down for keeps at nineteen minutes after 2 o’clock. I turned in on Sunday night a few minutes after 12 o’clock. I hadn’t closed my eyes before a friend of the chief steward told me that Captain Rostron had ordered the chief steward to get out 3,000 blankets and to make preparations to care for that many extra persons. I jumped into my clothes and was informed of the Titanic. By that time the Carpathia was going at full speed in the direction of the Titanic.

THE CREW TOLD WHAT IS EXPECTED OF THEM.

“The entire crew of the Carpathia was assembled on deck and were told of what had happened. The chief steward, Harry Hughes, told them what was expected of them.

“‘Every man to his post and let him do his full duty like a true Englishman,’ he said. ‘If the situation calls for it, let us add another glorious page to British history.’

“After that every man saluted and went to his post. There was no confusion. Everything was in readiness for the reception of the survivors before 2 o’clock. Only one or two of the passengers were on deck, one of them, Mr. Beachler, having been awakened by a friend, and the other because of inability to sleep. Many of the Carpathia’s passengers slept all through the morning up to 10 o’clock, and had no idea of what was going on.

“We reached the scene of the collision about 4 o’clock. All was black and still but the mountain of ice just ahead told the story. A flare from one of the lifeboats some distance away was the first sign of life. We answered with a rocket, and then there was nothing to do but wait for daylight.

“The first lifeboat reached the Carpathia about half-past 5 o’clock in the morning, and the last of the sixteen boats was unloaded before 9 o’clock. Some of the lifeboats were only half filled, the first one having but two men and eleven women, when it had accommodations for at least forty. There were few men in the boats. The women were the gamest lot I have ever seen. Some of the men and women were in evening clothes, and others among those saved had nothing on but night clothes and raincoats.

IMAGINE THEIR HUSBANDS PICKED BY OTHER VESSELS.

“As soon as they were landed on the Carpathia many of the women became hysterical, but on the whole they behaved splendid. Men and women appeared to be stunned all day Monday, the full force of the disaster not reaching them until Tuesday night. After being wrapped up in blankets and given brandy and hot coffee, their first thoughts were for their husbands and those at home. Most of them imagined that their husbands had been picked up by other vessels and then began flooding the wireless rooms with messages. We knew that those who were not on board the Carpathia had gone down to death, and this belief was confirmed Monday afternoon when we received a wire from Mr. Marconi himself asking why no news had been sent.

“We knew that if any other vessel could by any chance have picked them up it would have communicated with land. After a while, when the survivors failed to get any answer to their queries, they grew so restless that Captain Rostron posted a notice that all private messages had been sent and that the wireless had not been used to give information to the press, as had been charged. Little by little it began to dawn on the women on board, and most of them guessed the worst before they reached here. I saw Mrs. John Jacob Astor when she was taken from the lifeboat. She was calm and collected. She kept to her stateroom all the time, leaving it only to attend a meeting of the survivors on Tuesday afternoon.”

J. R. Moody was a quartermaster on the bridge beside First Officer Murdock when the Titanic struck the berg. “There is no way of telling the approach of the berg, and, besides, I do not intend to go into that now,” said Moody. “We struck, and we paid dearly for it, and that is all there is to that now. We were running between twenty-two and twenty-three knots an hour. It seemed incredible that much damage had been done at first, we struck so lightly. There was a little jar. Almost immediately, though, Captain Smith rushed to the bridge and took charge. Afterward I saw Murdock, standing on the first deck. I saw him raise his arm and shoot himself. He dropped where he stood.

“As far as Mr. Bruce Ismay goes, he was in the second boat that left the Titanic. The first boat swamped. I am sure of that, and Mr. Ismay was bundled into the second boat, regardless of his protests, to take charge of it in place of First Officer Murdock, who had shot himself.

“When the Titanic started to sink Captain Smith was on the bridge. I saw him. The first lurch brought the bridge almost under water, and the captain was washed off. He clambered back, and must have been there another ten minutes. When the bridge sank slowly down and he was washed off for the second time, a boat tried to make back to him, but he waved for it to keep back. The last anybody saw of him he was fighting his way back to the Titanic. He drowned fighting to reach her.”

“J. Bruce Ismay never showed himself once during the whole voyage and on the voyage on the Carpathia. We never saw him from the time the vessel took up the survivors until we reached the dock. Personally I do not think that Captain Smith was responsible for the high rate of speed at which the Titanic was traveling when the ship foundered. I kept a record during the voyage. From noon of Saturday to noon of Sunday the Titanic traveled 546 knots. I believe they were trying to break records. When the crash came the boat was traveling at top speed.”

HENRY E. STENGEL’S STORY.

This was the statement which Henry E. Stengel gave early today at his residence, 1075 Broad st., Newark, N. J. Shaken with the horrors of the wreck and the nerve-racking voyage on the rescue ship Carpathia, Mr. Stengel spoke in stern terms of the recklessness which made the accident so appalling. Although it was near to midnight when he and his wife reached Newark, there were a hundred friends waiting to receive them, all of whom hung breathlessly on the recital of the perils which the two escaped.

Mr. Stengel and his wife had one of the most remarkable reunions of any persons on the ship. The two did not escape in the same boat. Mrs. Stengel being in the first launched, while her husband was in the very last boat from the starboard side. Mrs. Stengel looked many years older than when she left the other side a few weeks ago, and was even more emphatic than her husband in criticism of the shortcomings of the White Star officials.

“There was absolutely no water in our boat. We would have died of thirst if rescue had not been near at hand,” she said. “I understand it was the way in all the other lifeboats, few of which even had lanterns. I have heard that a couple of them were provided with bread at the last moment, but our boat was absolutely without any food.”

Mrs. Stengel was worn by the constant strain which had been pressing upon her in the last five days. “This has been such a terrible worry that I feel as though I could never sleep again,” she said. “Oh, it was horrible, horrible. Sometimes I think that I would have been better dead than to have so much to remember. You see when the crash first came no one realized the awful seriousness of the situation. It was a loud, grinding crash and it shook the boat like a leaf, but we had all become so filled with the idea that the Titanic was a creation greater than the seas that no one was terror-stricken. Some of the women screamed and children cried, but they told us it was all right and that nothing serious could happen.

DID NOT WANT TO LEAVE HER HUSBAND.

“I was just preparing for sleep when the crash came, and throwing on some clothes, I rushed on deck with my husband. In a short time we were told that the women would be sent in the boats. I did not want to leave my husband, but he laughed and told me that the boating was only temporary. There was very little confusion when we put off and the men in the first and second cabins were absolutely calm. Mr. Stengel kissed me and told me not to worry, that he would come in a later boat, unless it was decided to bring us back on the ship.

“For some reason no attention was paid to the men who were put in our boat. One of them was an undersized Chinaman and the other was an Oriental of some kind. When the lifeboat struck the water they crawled up in the bottom and began to moan and cry. They refused to take their places at the oars and first class women passengers had to man many of the rowlocks. Still none of us thought that the great Titanic would sink. We rowed two hundred yards away, as they had told us, watching the great ship. Then the lights began to go out and then came a terrible crash like dynamite.

“I heard a woman in the bow scream and then came three more terrific explosions. The boat gave a sudden lurch and then we saw the men jumping from the decks. Some of us prayed and I heard women curse, but the most terrible thing was the conduct of the Chinaman and the Oriental. They threw themselves about the boat in absolute fits and almost upset the boat. They were a menace during the whole night and in the morning when the light began to come in the east and when the women were exhausted from trying to man the oars, the two of them found some cigarettes and lay in the bottom of the boat and smoked while we tried to work the oars.”

There is no survivor better qualified to tell of the last incidents aboard the vessel than Mr. Stengel is. He was one of the last three men to leave the boat. He is a man of scientific turn of mind and is in possession of some valuable data concerning the wreck.

LITTLE DISORDER ON BOARD.

“As my wife has told you, there was but little disorder on board after the crash,” he said. “I realized the seriousness of the situation immediately, because I saw Captain Smith come out of the cabin. He was closely followed by Mr. and Mrs. George Widener, of Philadelphia.

“‘What is the outlook?’ I heard Mr. Widener inquire. ‘It is extremely serious, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Please keep cool and do what you can to help us.’”

Deck stewards rushed through the corridors rapping frantically on the doors of the occupied cabins. All were told that the danger was imminent. Some heeded and grasping the first clothing they could find, they rushed on deck. Others refused to come out. They would not believe there was danger.

On deck the boat crews were all at their posts. The big lifeboats had been shoved around ready to be put over the side. Women and children were picked up bodily and thrown into them. The rule of the sea, women and children first, was being enforced.

One after the other the boats went over the side. Then a cry was set up: “There are no more boats!” was the shout. Consternation seized upon all that remained. They had believed there would be room for all. Uncontrollable terror seized many. They fought for the life belts. Some frantically tried to tear loose deck fittings hoping to make small rafts that would sustain them until help would come. But everything was bolted fast. Then, fearful that they would be dragged to death in the swirling suction that would follow, the men began to leap into the ice filled ocean.

They jumped in groups, seemingly to an agreed signal, according to the stories of the survivors tonight. Some who jumped were saved, coming up near lifeboats and being dragged into them by the occupants.

Slowly, steadily and majestically, the liner sank. One deck after the other was submerged. Whether the boilers exploded is a question. Robert W. Daniel, a Philadelphia banker, says that when the icy water poured into the boiler room two separate explosions followed that tore the interior out of the liner. Others say they did not hear any explosions.

PISTOL SHOTS FIRED.

Pistol shots were fired. Some survivors say they were fired at men who tried to force women and children out of the way. No one who claimed to be an eye-witness to the shooting could be located. One account related in circumstantial detail that the captain and his first officer shot themselves, but Daniel and other passengers positively say they saw the white bearded, grizzled face of the veteran mariner over the top of the bridge just before the railing disappeared. They say that not until then did he jump into the ocean to drown in the suction that marked the last plunge of the Titanic.

The plight of the survivors in the boats was pitiful in the extreme. Few of the women or children had sufficient clothing, and they shivered in the bitter cold blasts that came from the great field of ice which surrounded them. The bergs and cakes of drift ice crashed and thundered bringing stark terror to the helpless victims.

Frail women aided with the heavy oars tearing their tender hands until the blood came. Few of the boats were fully manned, sailors had stood aside deliberately, refusing life that the women might have a chance for safety although their places were in the boats.

Daybreak found the little flotilla bobbing and tossing on the surface of the ocean. It was not known whether help was coming. Panic seized some of the occupants, some of the women tried to jump into the water, and had to be forcibly restrained. The babies, little tots, just old enough to realize their position, found themselves heroes. They set an example which moved their elders to tears as they told of it to-night. Some tried to comfort their stricken parents.

Finally, off in the distant horizon, a sailor in the leading boat, discerned smoke. “We are saved,” went up the cry, and the rescue came just in time, for before the Carpathia had taken aboard the occupants of the last frail craft the waves were increasing in height, kicked up by the wind that had increased with the rising of the sun.

All were tenderly cared for on the Cunard liner. The regular passengers willingly gave up their cabins to their unfortunate refugees, medical aid was forthcoming, and nothing left undone that could relieve the distress.

DID NOT SEE ANY SHOTS FIRED.

“It was his face, more than anything else, which made me fearful,” continued Mr. Stengel. “He looked like an old, old man. I heard him give instructions to his officers, and they took their stations at the boats. I did not see anyone shot during the whole wreck. They fired three shots in the air to show the steerage men that the guns were loaded, but I was on the boat almost to the last, and I didn’t see anyone shot. The boat which saved me was not a regular lifeboat, but a light emergency boat. There was a great rush for it. By the time it was launched the first fear had subsided. It was the last to be lowered from the starboard side.

“The Titanic seemed to be floating safely, and a lot of people preferred it to the flimsy looking rowboats. A deckhand told me that there was a vacant place in it. There I found Sir Cosmo Duff-Gordon, Lady Duff-Gordon and their maid, Miss Francatelli. Just as the boat was being lowered Mr. A. L. Solomon jumped in. We had gone but a little way from the ship when the first boiler explosion came. It was followed in quick succession by three others, at intervals of about one second apart.”

In the boat which harbored Mr. Stengel were three stokers and two members of the steerage. Mr. Stengel told graphically of the last plunges of the ship and its final sinking. He declared that there was a little eddy and no whirlpool when it sank. Many of the men on the Titanic jumped into sea before the decks were awash. In telling of the long night on the sea Mr. Stengel gave great credit to a member of the crew who had taken three green lanterns on board just as the small lifeboat was manned.

He said that it was the only beacon which the other lifeboats had for guidance, and said that without it many more would surely have been lost.

Mrs. Stengel spoke particularly of the calmness of the night.

“When the sun rose there was not a ripple on the water,” she said. “It was as calm as a little lake in Connecticut. Words cannot express the wonderful terrible beauty of it all—but of course I couldn’t appreciate it, because I thought my husband had gone down in the sea.

“The shout of ‘land’ ever uttered by an explorer was not half so joyful as the shout of ‘ship!’ which went up when the Carpathia appeared on the horizon that morning,” she said. “The first dim lights which appeared were eagerly watched and when it was really identified as a ship, men and women broke down and wept.”

The reunion of Mr. and Mrs. Stengel was on the Carpathia. Each was mourning the other as lost for more than an hour after they had been on the vessel, when they met on the promenade deck. Their separation and subsequent reunion was generally considered one of the most remarkable in the history of the wreck.

CHAPTER VII.

WOMAN’S THRILLING NARRATIVE.

J. Bruce Ismay, managing director of the White Star Line, who has been widely charged with cowardice in saving himself when the Titanic was wrecked, has found his first defender in the person of August H. Weikman, “commodore” barber of that company’s fleet, who was chief ship’s barber on the ill-fated vessel.

Weikman declares that he was a witness of the scene when Ismay left the vessel, and that he literally was thrown into the lifeboat by a seaman, who did not recognize him, and thought he was interfering with the work. He asserts that Ismay was striving valiantly to help in the work of launching the boats, and went overboard only under physical compulsion.

Weikman was accompanied to his home in Palmyra, N. J., by his brothers-in-law, A. H. and John Henricks, who tell of a vexatious experience in getting him off the Carpathia. Weikman was badly injured when he was blown off the ship by the explosion of the boilers.

A. H. Henricks charges that the custom officials refused him a pass to the pier because he wanted to get a member of the ship’s crew, and the official said they were not bothering about the crew. The brothers finally made their way to the pier by running between double lines of automobiles. Weikman was brought off the Carpathia on a rolling chair too late to catch the special train which came to this city, and the Pennsylvania Railroad officials provided him with a berth free of charge.

“I was in my barber shop reading,” said Weikman, “when I felt a slight jar and realized we had struck something. I went to the gymnasium to see whether others had noticed it. I found some of the men punching the bag, while Colonel Astor, Mr. Widener and a number of others were watching them.

“I had known Mr. Widener for some time, and I advised him to put on a life belt. He laughed at me.

“‘What sense is there in that? This boat isn’t going to sink,’ he said to me. ‘There is plenty of time. We’re safer here than in a small boat, anyway.’

“Then came the order to man the boats and I went on deck to help. I saw Mr. Ismay at the rail, directing and helping the men. One of them did not recognize him and said: ‘What are you interfering for? You get back out of the way.’

“GET BACK OR GO OVERBOARD.”

“Another seaman warned the first man that he was speaking to the head of the line. ‘I don’t care who he is; he’s got to get back or go overboard. We can’t be bothered with him and his orders now,’ was the reply. Mr. Ismay stuck to his place and continued giving orders and directing the men.

“The rule was observed of sending over four women and then a man to look after them. When four women had been put over, the seaman turned to Mr. Ismay and ordered him over the side. Mr. Ismay refused to go, when the seaman seized him, rushed him to the rail and hurled him over. I saw that myself, and I know that Mr. Ismay did not go of his own accord and that the charge of cowardice is unfair and untrue.

“While I was still helping at the boats there came an explosion from below-decks and the ship took an awful lunge, throwing everybody into a heap. I was hurled clear of the vessel’s side and landed on top of a bundle of deck-chairs which was floating on the water. I was badly bruised and my back was sprained. My watch stopped at 1.50 A. M. and I believe it was at that time I was thrown into the water.

“While I lay floating on the bundle of chairs there came another terrific explosion and the ship seemed to split in two. There was a rain of wreckage and a big piece of timber fell on me, striking my lifebelt. I believe if it had not been for the belt I would have been killed. I floated for what I believe was about two hours. Then arms reached down and drew me aboard a life raft. The man who did this was a seaman named Brown, whose life I probably had saved two years ago by hurrying him to a hospital in England when he was taken ill suddenly.

“There were six persons on the raft and others were in the water up to their necks, hanging on to the edges of the raft. The raft was already awash, and we could not take them aboard. One by one, as they became chilled through, they bade us good-bye and sank. In the bottom of the raft was a man whom I had shaved that morning, and whom I had been told was worth $5,000,000. I did not know his name. He was dead.

PICKED UP BY THE CARPATHIA.

“And so we floated on the raft, bereft of hope and stupefied by the calamity, until picked up by the Carpathia. I was so badly injured they had to take me on board in a boatswain’s chair.”

The happiness of husbands at seeing their wives put in the way of safety from the Titanic was described by Mrs. Turrell Cavendish, daughter of Henry Siegel. She said: “I was with my husband in our stateroom when the accident happened. He awakened me, I remember it was midnight and told me something was the matter with the boat.

“My husband kissed me and put me into a boat, in which were twenty-three women. He told me to go and that he would stay on the ship with the other men. They were happy to see their wives lowered away in the boats. They kept telling us they would be all right because the ship could not sink.

“We were lowered into the water without any light, only one man tried to get into the boat. He was pushed back by a sailor. Most of the women in the boat I was in were in their bare feet. I can still see those husbands kissing their wives and telling them good-bye. I can see the sailors standing by so calm and brave. The sight of those good men who gave their lives for others will always be with me. Words can’t tell the tale of their sacrifice.

“The hours we spent in that small boat after those heroic men went down were hours of torture. When we got on the Carpathia we were treated with the utmost consideration.

“I saw Mr. Ismay when he came on board. He was trembling from head to foot and kept saying, ‘I’m Ismay, I’m Ismay’.”

Immediately upon their disembarkation from the Carpathia Mr. and Mrs. William E. Carter, Miss Lucille Carter and William E. Carter, Jr., of Newport, Bryn Mawr, and 2116 Walnut street, Philadelphia, about whom so much anxiety was felt for the first twenty-four hours after the news of the Titanic disaster reached the mainland, went in taxicabs to the home of William Dickerman, at 89 Madison avenue. Mr. Dickerman is a brother-in-law of Mr. Carter.

IT WAS LIFE OR DEATH.

“I kissed my husband good-bye and as he stood on the deck I went down the side to a lifeboat. There were no seamen there. It was life or death. I took an oar and started to row,” said Mrs. Carter, who was formerly Miss Lucille Polk, of Baltimore, when seen later at the Madison avenue house.

Mrs. Carter had just come from the ship, and the tears were still in her eyes; glad tears from the welcome she had received from her relatives, among whom was Anderson Polk, who had come to New York to meet her. She told of being roused from her sleep at fourteen minutes of twelve on Sunday night by the sudden crash, of rushing out on the deck to find the chaos of destruction quickly form itself into the decisive action of brave men about to face their death.

Clasping her hands tightly she told how the men had stood back or else helped to lower away the lifeboats, and then, kissing their wives, bade them a good-bye which they thought would be forever. In brief words, tensely spoken, she told of going into the lifeboat and taking an oar. At ten minutes past 1 o’clock there was a sudden explosion and the giant hulk of the Titanic blew up, rearing in the water like a spurred horse and then sinking beneath the waves.

She had to pull hard with her oars in the desperate attempt which the poorly manned lifeboat had to make to keep from being sucked down with the diving Titanic. After minutes of work with the desperation of death, they made their way out of the suction and were saved. It was not until she was taken aboard the Carpathia that she met her husband, saved because he had to man an oar in another lifeboat.

DID NOT ANTICIPATE TROUBLE.

“We had a pleasant voyage from England,” began Mrs. Carter. “The ship behaved splendidly, and we did not anticipate any trouble at all. I had retired on Sunday night, an hour before we struck the iceberg. The men were in the cabin smoking. Most of them were in the smoking-room when the ship hit.

“The first I knew of the accident was a tremendous thump which nearly threw me out of my berth. I realized that something must have happened, and feared that it was a bad accident. A moment later my husband came down to the stateroom and told me that we had struck an iceberg.

“There was no confusion. I dressed myself hurriedly and went on deck with my children. The ship was badly damaged. The officers thought at first that she would not sink and we were told to be calm. But it was not long before we knew that the ship could not long stand the strain of the water which was pouring into the bow and bearing the ship down on her forward part.

“Then came the time when we knew that it must either be the lifeboats or stay on the ship and sink with her. The seamen began to lower away the lifeboats. One after another they released whatever machinery held them and they dropped into the ocean. There was ice all about us and the night being comparatively clear we could see the floes around us when we peered down over the side of the ship.

“When the boats had been lowered then it was that the time of parting came. There was no excitement. Every one of the men whose wives or women folk were with them took them to the side of the ship where a lifeboat was waiting and kissed them over the side.

“Major Archibald Butt remained on board and went down with the ship. Colonel Astor also went down with the ship. Mrs. Astor was in my boat. The Colonel took her to the side and kissed her and saw her over the side.

“When I went over the side with my children and got in the boat there were no seamen in it. Then came a few men, but there were oars with no one to use them. The boat had been filled with passengers and there was nothing else for me to do but to take an oar.

WARNED TO PULL AWAY FROM SHIP.

“We could see now that the time of the ship had come. She was sinking and we were warned by the cries from the men above to pull away from the ship quickly. Mrs. Thayer, wife of the Vice president of the Pennsylvania Railroad, was in my boat, and she, too, took an oar.

“It was cold and we had no time to clothe ourselves with warm overcoats. The rowing warmed me. We started to pull away from the ship. We could see the dim outlines of the decks above, but we could not recognize anybody.

“We had pulled our lifeboat away from the Titanic for a distance of about a city block, that is about all, I should say—when the Titanic seemed to shake to pieces. The ship had struck about fourteen minutes to 12. It was ten minutes past 1 when we saw her lunge.

“She had exploded. There was a rumbling noise within her, then she gave a lurch and started to go down. We realized what it meant. That the sinking ship would suck us under with her. It was a moment later that the suction struck us. It was all we could do to keep from being caught, so strong was the drag down that followed the Titanic.

“But we pulled away at last, after straining as hard as we could at the oars. Then we were alone in the boat, and it seemed darker. We remained in the boat all night waiting for daylight to come. It came at last, and when it broke over the sea we saw ice floes all about it.

“It was about 8.30 o’clock when the Carpathia came into sight. I can’t tell how I felt when I saw her. I had believed that my husband had gone down on the ship. It was not until after we were taken over the side of the Carpathia that I saw him.

“Mr. Carter had been compelled to take an oar in a lifeboat that was not sufficiently manned. That is how he came to be saved. All of the men waited for the women to go first. Mr. Carter was among the number. When he put me into a lifeboat he stayed back, and I had thought when I saw the ship blow up and sink that he had gone down with her.

DOES NOT DESERVE CRITICISM.

“Mr. Ismay does not deserve any criticism for being saved. He was another of those who had to man an oar in a lifeboat, so as to get the boats out of danger by being sucked under by the sinking Titanic.”

Three French survivors, Fernand Oment, Pierre Marechal, son of the well-known French Admiral, and Paul Chevre, the sculptor, conjointly cabled to the “Matin” a graphic narrative of the disaster to the Titanic, in which they repeatedly insist that more lives could have been saved if the passengers had not had such dogged faith that the Titanic was unsinkable. Several boats, they declared, could have carried double the number.

The three Frenchmen say that they were playing bridge with a Philadelphian when a great, crunching mass of ice packed up against the port holes. As they rushed on deck there was much confusion, but this quickly died down. One of the officers when questioned by a woman passenger humorously replied:

“Do not be afraid. We are merely cutting a whale in two.”

Presently the captain appeared to become somewhat nervous and ordered all to put on life preservers. The boats were then lowered, but only a few people stirred and several of the boats put off half empty, one with only fifteen persons in it.

When the Frenchmen’s boat rowed off for half a mile the Titanic presented a fairylike picture illuminated from stem to stern. Then suddenly the lights began to go out and the stern reared up high in the air. An immense clamor rose on all sides, and during an hour anguished cries rang out.

It was, say the narrators, like a great chorus chanting a refrain of death with wild obstinacy. Sometimes the cries died out and then the tragic chorus began again more terribly and more despairingly.

The narrative continues:

“Those shrieks pursued us and haunted us as we pulled away in the night. Then one by one the cries ceased, and only the noise of the sea remained. The Titanic was engulfed almost without a murmur. Her stern quivered in a final spasm and then disappeared.”

The Frenchmen and their companions suffered bitterly from the cold. They cried out to attract attention, and a German baron, who was with them, emptied his revolver in the air. When finally the Carpathia appeared a feeble hurrah went up from the small boats, every one of which moved as swiftly as possible toward the liner.

The Frenchmen related tragic incidents as they were leaving the sides of the Titanic. After all the boats had been launched many of the passengers who had stayed behind too long tried to embark on a collapsible raft, which worked badly. Fifty persons climbed onto the raft, which was half filled with water.

One after another the passengers on the raft were drowned, or perished with the cold. When a body was found in the way it was thrown overboard, and only fifteen of the fifty who had taken refuge on the raft were saved by the Carpathia.

CHAPTER VIII.

SURVIVORS’ STIRRING STORIES.

Standing at the rail of the main deck of the ill-fated Titanic, Arthur Ryerson, of Gray’s lane, Haverford, Pa., waved encouragement to his wife as the lifeboat in which she and her three children—John, Emily and Susan—had been placed with his assistance glided away from the doomed ship. A few minutes later, after the lifeboat with his loved ones had passed beyond the range of his vision, Mr. Ryerson met death in the icy water into which the crushed ship plunged.

It is now known that Mr. Ryerson might have found a place in one of the first lifeboats to be lowered, but made no effort to leave the ship’s deck after assuring himself that his wife and children would be saved.

It was not until the Carpathia reached her dock that relatives who were on hand to meet the survivors of the Ryerson family knew that little “Jack” Ryerson was among the rescued. Day by day since the first tidings of the accident to the Titanic were published, “Jack” had been placed among the missing.

Perhaps of all those who came up from the Carpathia with the impress of the tragedy upon them, the homecoming of Mrs. Ryerson was peculiarly sad.

While motoring with J. Lewis Hoffman, of Radnor, Pa., on the Main Line, on Monday a week before, Arthur L. Ryerson, her son, was killed. His parents abandoned their plans for a summer pleasure trip through Europe and took passage on the first home-bound ship, which happened to be the Titanic, to attend the funeral of their son. And now upon one tragedy a second presses.

Upon leaving the Carpathia Mrs. Ryerson, almost too exhausted and weak to tell of her experiences, was taken in a taxicab to the Hotel Belmont. With her were her son “Jack” and her two daughters, Miss Emily and Miss Susan Ryerson.

The young women were hysterical with grief as they walked up from the dock, and the little lad who had witnessed such sights of horror and tragedy clung to his mother’s hand, wide eyed and sorrowful.

Mrs. Ryerson said that she and her husband were asleep in their staterooms, as were their children, when the terrible grating crash came and the ship foundered.

The women threw kimonos over their night gowns and rushed barefooted to the deck. Master Ryerson’s nurse caught up a few articles of the little boy’s clothing and almost as soon as the party reached the deck they were numbered off into boats and lowered into the sea.

HARROWING AND TERRIBLE.

Mrs. John M. Brown, whose husband was formerly a well-known Philadelphian, but now lives in Boston, described her experience on the Titanic as the “most harrowing and terrible that any living soul could undergo.”

“Oh, it was heart-rending to see those brave men die,” Mrs. Brown said, half-sobbingly, after she had left the pier in a taxicab brought by her husband.

Mr. Brown, for his part, said the days of agony which he had experienced, when the lists of Titanic survivors were altered, diminished and published incomplete, leaving him indecisive as to his wife’s fate, was almost on a par what she had undergone.

In contradiction to several other statements, Mrs. Brown declared that she saw no signs of panic or disorder on the Titanic and did not know until later that there had been shooting on board the vessel.

“I was in my berth when the crash came,” Mrs. Brown said, “and after the first shock when I knew instinctively that the vessel was sinking I was comparatively calm.

“I had hardly reached deck when an officer called to me to enter a lifeboat. I did so, and saw the huge liner split in half, with a pang almost as keen as if I had seen somebody die.”

Mrs. Brown said that John B. Thayer, Jr., after jumping from the deck of the liner, clad only in pajamas, swam through cakes of floating ice to a broken raft. He was picked up by the boat of which Mrs. Brown was an occupant.

Mrs. Brown said that it was about two hours after the Titanic sank that their boat came within sight of an object bobbing up and down in the cakes of ice, about fifty yards away.

Nearing, they made out the form of a boy clinging with one leg and both arms wrapped around the piece of wreckage. Young Thayer uttered feeble cries as they pulled alongside.

LAD PULLED INTO LIFE-BOAT.

The lad was pulled into the already crowded lifeboat exhausted. With a weak, faint smile, Mrs. Brown said, the lad collapsed.

Women, who were not rowing or assisting in maneuvering the boat, by vigorous rubbing soon brought Thayer to consciousness and shared part of their scanty attire to keep him from dying from exposure. In the meantime the boat bobbed about on the waves like a top, frequently striking cakes of ice.

Mrs. Brown said for several hours more they battled with the sea before help arrived.

“It was a blessed sight when all saw the Carpathia heading in our din,” she declared. “We had hopes that a ship would come to our rescue and all on board prayed for safe deliverance.

“No one can realize our feeling of gratitude when the Carpathia hoved into sight. With increased energy the men, aided by the women, pulled on the oars. We were soon taken aboard. Young Thayer was hurried into the hospital on board the boat and was given stimulants and revived.

“Three survivors died soon after; they were buried at sea. Mrs. Brown said that Mrs. John Jacob Astor, the wife of Colonel John Jacob Astor, who proved himself a hero, was also an occupant of her boat.

“Mrs. Astor was frantic when she learned that her husband had gone with the Titanic, but between sobs said he died a hero,” Mrs. Brown said.

“The colonel kissed her and pushing his bride to the side of the ship told her to hurry to the lifeboats awaiting below.

“Mrs. Astor refused to listen to her husband’s entreaties until he assured her that he would follow on the next boat, although all the time he knew that he would sink.”

“The following horrors have never left me, day or night,” Mrs. Brown continued.

DEAD BODIES OF BRAVE MEN.

“I saw dead bodies of brave men float past the lifeboats. I heard the death cries of women and saw the terrible desolation of the wreck by dawn.”

In the boat with Mrs. Brown were her two sisters, Mrs. Robert Cornell, wife of Judge Robert Cornell, and Mrs. S. P. Appleton.

They followed each other down the long, roughly constructed rope ladder, a distance of more than fifty feet, into the tenth lifeboat. All were thinly clad. They had retired for the night and were tumbled from their berths when the crash came.

When the Titanic sank and the first news came of the disaster, there appeared in the list of first cabin passengers the name of “Washington Logue.” Until J. Washington Logue, of Philadelphia, could be found to explain that he was not on the high seas, many of his friends feared that he had been on the Titanic.

When he landed from the Carpathia, Washington Dodge, of San Francisco, was told how his name had been confused in the wireless reports from the Olympic. He said he congratulated Mr. Logue on having been no closer to disaster than this.

Mr. Dodge, who is a millionaire; Mrs. Dodge and their four-year-old son, Washington Dodge, Jr., were among the first to land on the dock from the Cunarder. Mr. Dodge carried a life preserver of the Titanic as a memento.

“Nearly all the passengers had retired when the crash came, about twenty minutes passed 10 o’clock,” said Mr. Dodge. “The liner was struck on the starboard side, near the bow. The bow, it seemed, withstood the crash, but water rushed into several compartments at the same time.”

“There was complete order among the passengers and crew. We really didn’t think there was any danger. We were assured that the ship would float and that there were plenty vessels in the reach of wireless to come to our aid if that should become necessary.

“Then the sinking of the Titanic by the head began and the crew was ordered to man the boats. There was no panic. The officers told the men to stand back and they obeyed. A few men were ordered into the boats. Two men who attempted to rush beyond the restraint line were shot down by an officer who then turned the revolver on himself. I could see Mrs. Isador Straus. She clung to her husband and refused to leave him.

FLOATED FOR FOUR HOURS.

“We floated for four hours until we were picked up. Mr. Ismay left the Titanic on a small boat.

“I did not see the iceberg. When we got into the boat she was gone.

“As the Titanic went down, Major Archibald Butt was standing on the deck. I saw him.”

The body of one black coward, a member of the Titanic’s crew, lies alone in the wireless “coop” on the highest deck of the shadowy bulk of what was once the world’s greatest ship two miles down in the dark of unplumbed ocean depths. There is a bullet hole in the back of his skull.

This man was shot by Harold Bride, the second wireless man aboard the Titanic, and assistant to the heroic Phillips, chief operator, who lost his life. Bride shot him from behind just at the instant that the coward was about to plunge a knife into Phillips’ back and rob him of the life preserver which was strapped under his arm pits. He died instantly and Phillips, all unconscious at that instant that Bride was saving his life, had but a brief little quarter of an hour added to his span by the act of his assistant, and then went down to death.

This grim bit of tragedy, only a little interlude in the whole terrible procession of horror aboard the sinking boat, occurred high above the heads of the doomed men and women who waited death in the bleak galleys of the decks.

“I had to do it,” was the way Bride put it.

“I could not let that coward die a decent sailor’s death, so I shot him down and left him alone there in the wireless coop to go down with the hulk of the ship. He is there yet, the only one in the wireless room where Phillips, a real hero, worked madly to save the lives of two thousand and more people.”

NEW YORK PHYSICIAN’S ESCAPE.

Miss Alice Farnan Leader, a New York physician, escaped from the Titanic on the same boat which carried the Countess Rothes.

“The Countess is an expert oarswoman,” said Dr. Leader, “and thoroughly at home on the water. She took command of our boat, when it was found that the seamen who had been placed at the oars could not row skilfully. Several of the women took their places with the Countess at the oars and rowed in turns while the weak and unskilled stewards sat quietly in one end of the boat.”

“The men were the heroes,” said Mrs. Churchill Candee, of Washington, one of the survivors, “and among the bravest and most heroic, as I recall, were Mr. Widener, Mr. Thayer and Colonel Astor. They thought only of the saving of the women and went down with the Titanic, martyrs to their manhood.

“I saw Mr. and Mrs. Isador Straus on the deck of the Titanic as I was lowered into one of the lifeboats. Mrs. Straus refused to leave the ship unless her husband could accompany her. They were on the top deck, and I heard her say she would not leave her husband. She went down with him as she had lived and traveled with him. Life without him did not concern her, seemingly. ‘I’ve always stayed with my husband, so why should I leave him now? I’ll die with him,’ I heard her say.

“Captain Smith, I think, sacrificed safety in a treacherous ice field for speed. He was trying to make 570 miles for the day, I heard. The captain, who had stood waist deep on the deck of the Titanic as she sank, jumped as the ship went down, but he was drowned. All of the men had bravely faced their doom for the women and children.

“The ship settled slowly, the lights going out deck after deck as the water reached them. The final plunge, however, was sudden and accompanied by explosions, the effect of which was a horrible sight. Victims standing on the upper deck toward the stern were hurled into the air and fell into the treacherous ice-covered sea. Some were rescued, but most of them perished. I cannot help recalling again that Mr. Widener and Mr. Thayer and Colonel Astor died manfully.

TWO DISTINCT SHOCKS.

“The ice pack which we encountered,” explained Mrs. Candee, “was fifty-six miles long, I have since heard. When we collided with the mountainous mass it was nearly midnight Sunday. There were two distinct shocks, each shaking the ship violently, but fear did not spread among the passengers immediately. They seemed not to realize what had happened, but the captain and other officers did not endeavor to minimize the danger.

“The first thing I recall was one of the crew appearing with pieces of ice in his hands. He said he had gathered them from the bow of the boat. Some of the passengers were inclined to believe he was joking. But soon the situation dawned on all of us. The lifeboats were ordered lowered and manned and the word went around that women and children were to be taken off first. The men stood back as we descended to the frail craft or assisted us to disembark. I now recall that huge Woolner Bjomstrom was among the heroic men.”

“The Philadelphia women behaved heroically.”

This was the way Mrs. Walter B. Stephenson, of Haverford, a survivor of the wreck of the fated Titanic, began her brief but graphic account of the disaster at her home in Haverford, which she reached on the special train that brought Mrs. John B. Thayer and others over from New York.

Worn by hours of terrible uncertainty on the frail lifeboats in the open sea, almost distracted by the ordeal of waiting for news of those left behind on the big liner, Mrs. Stephenson bore herself as did the women whom she described heroically indeed.

She told how John B. Thayer, Jr., fell overboard when the boats were launched, and how he was saved from the death that his father met, by the crew of the lifeboat. She described tersely, to linger sadly as she finished with the words, “But we never saw Mr. Thayer, Sr., at all.”

OCCUPANTS OF THE SAME BOAT.

Mrs. Thayer, Mrs. J. Boulton Earnshaw, of Mt. Airy, and Mrs. George D. Widener were occupants of the same boat that carried Mrs. Stephenson to safety, and, like Mrs. Stephenson, they witnessed the final plunge of the Titanic.

“We were far off,” said Mrs. Stephenson, “but we could see a huge dark mass behind us. Then it disappeared.” That was all she could tell of the fate of those left on board.

“Then it disappeared,” she paused and her voice choked. “We weren’t sure but what we might have been mistaken. A lingering hope remained until long after the Carpathia picked us up. Then the wireless told the terrible tidings. We were the sole survivors.”

Mrs. Stephenson wore the same dress that she hastily donned when the crash occurred. It was a simple gown of dark texture, showing the wear in its crumpled shape. Over it she had managed to throw a cape, and to the covering she clung, as if yet fearful of the icy blasts of the Northern Ocean.

Conveyed in a taxicab to the Pennsylvania Railroad Station from the Cunard wharf, Mrs. Stephenson alighted, hastened across the train shed and into a waiting elevator. She walked unaided. Relatives who had rushed from Philadelphia to convey her in safety, were solicitous for her welfare, but she assured them that she was well.

“And she is well,” said T. DeWitt Cuyler, a director of the Pennsylvania Railroad who met the train. “She has borne up remarkably under the strain.”

“I was wakened in my cabin by the shock,” Mrs. Stephenson began. “It was nearly 12 o’clock, but I cannot be sure. The shock was great, but not as great as the one I experienced in the San Francisco earthquake. I was staying in the St. Francis Hotel at the time of the earthquake. Even this terrible disaster cannot shake the memory of that night from my mind.

ASSURANCE OF NO IMMEDIATE DANGER.

“I rose hastily from my berth and was about to hasten to the deck when my maid assured me that there was no immediate danger and that I would have time to dress; I put on this dress that I am wearing and threw a cape around my shoulders. Then I went on deck.

“Scarcely had I gotten out in the air when an officer ordered me to don a life belt. I returned to the cabin to buckle one around me. When I returned I heard the order to man the lifeboats. There was no disorder. The crew was under perfect discipline. Quickly and without any excitement I was lifted into a lifeboat. Beside me I found Mrs. Thayer, Mrs. Earnshaw and Mrs. Widener. Like myself they had no clothing except what they wore.

“John B. Thayer, Jr., was with us. As the boat was lowered by the davits, he slipped and fell into the water; luckily he wore a life belt and was kept afloat until a sailor lifted him safely aboard. We never saw Mr. Thayer, Sr., at all.

“As the boat pushed off from the ship Mrs. Widener collapsed. She was finally revived. The Philadelphia women behaved heroically. They stood up splendidly under the suspense, which was terrible. The sailors rowed our boat some distance away. We thought we saw the Titanic sink, but we couldn’t be sure. Behind us we could see a dark shape. Then it disappeared. We despaired of any others being saved, but some hope remained until long after the Carpathia had picked us up. Then the wireless told the sad tale.

WAIFS FROM TITANIC RESTORED TO MOTHER’S ARMS.

Lola and Momon, the little waifs of the Titanic disaster, snatched from the sea and kept for a month in a big, strange land, were clasped in the arms of their mother Mme. Marcelle Navratil, who arrived in New York, on May 16, from France on the White Star liner Oceanic.

Hurrying down the gangplank, after kindly customs officials had facilitated her landing, Mme. Navratil, who is an Italian, 24 years old, of remarkable beauty, rushed to Miss Margaret Hays, the rescuer of the two little boys, who, with her father, was waiting on the pier. They took her in a cab to the Children’s Society rooms, and there she was reunited with her children.

The little boys, four and two years old, were thrust into one of the last of the lifeboats to leave the sinking Titanic by an excited Frenchmen, who asked that they be cared for. A steward told him he could not enter the boat and he said he did not want to, but must save his boys.

Arriving in New York on the Carpathia, Miss Hays at first could learn nothing of the children’s identity, and she planned to care for them. Then developed another chapter of the weird story of the disaster in the ice fields. The Frenchman’s body was recovered and taken to Halifax, where it was found that he was booked on the passenger list under the name of “Hoffman.”

Cable messages to France brought the information that Mme. Navratil’s husband, from whom she was separated, had kidnapped her children and said he was going to America. He often used the name “Hoffman.” Photographs of the boys were sent to Mme. Navratil in France, and she identified them as her children.