In accordance with Executive Orders 01912TG, published June 15th, 1912, (which

superseded Executive Order 1863CWZ, as amended) the executive agencies of The

United States, Newfoundland and Ireland have declassified this document.

Titanic of the Dead

A survivor and witness account

BY LAWRENCE BEESLEY (Scholar of Gonville and Caius College)

TITANIC SURVIVOR

BY STEPHEN A. DYMARCIK II (Scholar of Stern and Romero College)

AUTHOR, TITANIC HISTORIAN AND ARTIST

BY T.R. CONKLIN (Rhodes Scholar)

CO-AUTHOR

The great ship drifted about with her cargo of misery and death. No help had come:
Loss of appetite, furnace fever, eyes bloodshot then pale, nostrils and lips
crimson, tongue swollen with thirst, black vomit, delirium, collapse, and death;
all the usual accompaniments of a plague… yet these dead rise and feed.

PREFACE The circumstances in which this book came to be written are as follows.
Five weeks after the survivors of the Titanic landed in New York, I was the guest
at luncheon of Samuel J. Elder and Charles T. Gallagher, both well-known lawyers in
Boston. After the luncheon I was asked to relate to those present the experiences
of the survivors in relation to the Titanic and our reaching the Carpathians.

When I had done so, Mr. Robert Lincoln O'Brien, the editor of the Boston Herald,
was so shocked, he urged me to seek medical help. I assured him I was quite well.
He asked once more for the account in full detail. The good man inquired if I had
fallen ill with Dipsomania. I again assured him I hadn't any medical condition
involving an uncontrollable craving for alcohol. The attendees could tell from my
tone, I was serious. It was at this point I was urged, as a matter of public
interest, to write the true history of the Titanic disaster, his reason being that
publications were in preparation by the government.

Several newspaper accounts were prepared hours before the ill-fated ship was sunk.
The covered up descriptions of the events were convenient. He said that these
publications would be erroneous, full of highly coloured details, the iceberg
theory being widely accepted as fact and generally calculated to calm the public
thought on the matter. He was supported in his request by all present, and under
this general pressure I accompanied him to Houghton Mifflin, where we discussed the
question of publication.

He took exactly the same view that I did, that it was not advisable to put on
record the unique incidents which led up to the Titanic being purposely sunk: it
seemed better to forget the details as rapidly as possible, however, we decided to
take a few days to think about it. At our next meeting we found ourselves in
agreement again, but this time on the common ground that it would be a wise thing
to write a history of the Titanic disaster as correctly as possible. I was
supported in this decision by the fact that the totally fictitious short accounts
that appeared in all the American, English, and Colonial papers were all being
accepted as fact; the truth remaining hidden.

This encouraged me to correct the fabricated story. Another matter aided me in

coming to a decision; the duty that we, as survivors of the disaster, owe to those
who went down with the sickness, who went down with the ship, and those unfortunate
souls who were devoured alive, to see that the reforms so urgently needed are not
allowed to be forgotten. Whoever reads this account of the cries, the panicked
screams, and the growling moans that came to those of us across the water, afloat
on the sea, from the souls of those sinking in to the ice-cold water, must remember
that they were heard, and that the duty of seeing that truth be told, must be done,
no matter how hard it is to comprehend the events the night the Titanic sank

CONTENTS

I. CONSTRUCTION AND PREPARATIONS FOR THE FIRST VOYAGE

II. FROM SOUTHAMPTON TO THE NIGHT OF THE DISASTER

III. THE DISASTER AND EMBARKATION IN LIFEBOATS

IV. THE SINKING OF THE TITANIC, SEEN FROM A LIFEBOAT

V. THE RESCUE CHAPTER I

CONSTRUCTION AND PREPARATIONSFORTHE FIRSTVOYAGE The history of the R.M.S. Titanic,

of the White Star Line, is one of the most tragically short that is possible to
conceive. The world had waited expectantly for its launching and again for its
sailing; had read accounts of its tremendous size and its unexampled completeness
and luxury; had felt it a matter of the greatest satisfaction that such a
comfortable, and, above all, such a safe boat had been designed and built; the
"unsinkable lifeboat”. Then in a moment, to hear that it had gone to the bottom of
the deeps, as if it had been the veriest tramp steamer of a few hundred tons; and
with it fifteen hundred passengers, to some of them their known world over! The
improbability of such a thing ever happening was what staggered humanity.

If it’s true history had to be written in a single paragraph it would look somewhat
as follows: "The R.M.S. Titanic was built by Harland & Wolff at their ship-building
works at Queen's Island, Belfast, side by side with her sister ship, the Olympic.
The twin vessels marked such an increase in size that specially laid-out joiner and
boiler shops were prepared to aid in their construction, and the space usually
taken up by three building slips was given over to them. The keel of the Titanic
was laid on March 31, 1909, and she was launched on May 31, 1911; she passed her
trials before the Board of Trade officials on March 31, 1912, at Belfast, arrived
at Southampton on April 4, and sailed the following Wednesday, April 10, with 2208
passengers and crew, on her maiden voyage to New York. She called in at Cherbourg
the same day, Queenstown on Thursday and left for New York in the afternoon,
expecting to arrive the following Wednesday morning. But the voyage was never
completed.”

Such is the record of the Titanic, the largest ship the world had ever seen, she
was three inches longer than the Olympic and one thousand tons more in gross
tonnage, and her end was the greatest maritime disaster known. The whole civilized
world was stirred to its depths when the full extent of loss of life was learned,
and it has not yet recovered from the shock. Which is, without doubt, a good thing.
It should not recover from it until the possibility of such a disaster occurring
again has been utterly removed from human society, whether by separate legislation
in different countries or by international agreement. No living person should seek
to dwell for one moment on such a disaster; except in the endeavour to glean from
it knowledge that will be of profit to the whole world in the future. When such
knowledge is practically applied in the construction, equipment, and navigation of
passenger steamers, and not until then, will the time be to cease to think of the
Titanic disaster and of the hundreds of men and women sacrificed. A few words on
the events leading up to the sinking will be necessary in order to make clear the
many points that will arise in the course of this account.

Prior to boarding the ill-fated ship in Cherbourg, Mrs. Margaret Brown, the gold
Baroness, was in Egypt with her friends John Jacob Astor and his new bride.
Margaret purchased many curiosities on her trip. Amongst her many purchases were
several barrels of Mumia. Mumia is a black substance made from the ground remains
of mummies. Since mummies remained preserved for thousands of years, the thought
was that the substance could be ingested or worn in cosmetics, to help maintain and
retain a youthful appearance, however, this substance is known to carry with it
disease. There have been many cases of cholera reported when Mumia was in use.
Since then the powder companies stopped selling Mumia for medicinal purposes. What
were dear Mrs. Brown’s intentions when bringing this volatile substance aboard the
Titanic? Was it ignorance, vanity, or was it merely just meant to be. There were
warnings signs, if you will. Prior to her departure from Egypt, Mrs. Brown had seen
a fortune teller. “Water and death” was all she would mutter to Mrs. Brown when
reading her hand.

To fully grasp the severity of the tragedy, understanding the construction and
layout of the boat is necessary. She was fitted with 16 lifeboats 30 feet long,
swung on davits of the Welin double-acting type. She was divided into 16
compartments by 15 transverse watertight bulkheads reaching from the double bottom
to the upper deck in the forward end and to the saloon deck in the rear end.
Communication between the engine rooms and boiler was through watertight doors,
which could all be closed instantly from the captain's bridge: a single switch,
controlling powerful electro-magnets, operated them. They could also be closed by
hand with a lever. These compartments were so designed that if the two largest were
flooded with water, a most unlikely contingency in the ordinary way, the ship would
still be quite safe. Of course, more than two were flooded the night of the
disaster, but exactly how many is not yet thoroughly established.

Her crew had a complement of 860, made up of 475 stewards and cooks, 320 engineers,
and 65 engaged in her navigation. The machinery and equipment of the Titanic was
the finest obtainable and represented the last word in marine construction. All her
structure was of steel, of a weight, size, and thickness greater than that of any
ship yet known; the girders, beams, bulkheads, and floors all of exceptional
strength. It would hardly seem necessary to mention this, were it not that there is
an impression among a portion of the general public that the provision of Turkish
baths, gymnasiums, and other so-called luxuries involved a sacrifice of some more
essential things, the absence of which was responsible for the loss of so many
lives. But this is quite an erroneous impression. All these things were an
additional provision for the comfort and convenience of passengers, and there is no
reason why they should not be provided on these ships. There were places on the
Titanic's deck where more lifeboats could have been stored without sacrificing
these things. The fault lay in not providing them, not in designing the ship
without places to put them. For how can the dead make their way to board a
lifeboat? Does not the very word lifeboat imply one must be alive to use one? This
was the true tragedy; the disaster before the final disaster.

Why would fate put me upon the Titanic? The ship was quite a sight, the largest
ship ever built. The first-class quarters were beautiful. I'd been on other ships
before, yet the first-class quarters of the Titanic were something of biblical
proportions. When arranging a tour around the United States, I had decided to cross
in the Titanic for a couple reasons; one being that it was rather a novelty to be
on board the largest ship yet launched and two being that my friends who had
crossed in the Olympic described her as a most comfortable boat in a seaway. It was
reported that the Titanic had been still further improved in this respect by having
a thousand tons more built in to steady her. I went on board at Southampton at 10
A.M. Wednesday, April 10, after staying the night in the town.

It is pathetic to recall that as I sat that morning in the breakfast room of my

hotel, there sat behind me three of the Titanic's passengers discussing the coming
voyage and estimating, among other things, the probabilities of an accident at sea
to the ship. From the windows of the dining room, the four huge funnels of the
Titanic could be seen, towering over the roofs of the various shipping offices
opposite, as well as the procession of stokers and stewards wending their way
towards the ship. As I rose from breakfast, I glanced at the group, but they were
not among the number who answered to the roll-call on the Carpathians on the
following Monday morning. However, I did recognize them later, on the boat, before
the disaster had occurred. Or was it after? When their eyes were bloodshot and
cataracted and drool hung from their lips?

Before the ship could make her grand voyage, the passengers spent their morning
loading onto the boat. There were three levels to the ship for the loading of
passengers. Third class passengers loaded at ground level. Second class passengers
were loaded at midsection of the boat by a gilded white gangplank. First class
passengers were loaded at the top level by special observation deck. I recall a
number of passengers of the first-class almost fainting while boarding. The fall
from such a height would surely kill you. Each gangplank, regardless of class, was
identical; narrow passages that even a thin woman or small child would brush their
arms on as they pass through.

I looked down upon the crowd, each person smiling, each person looking forward to
this fine journey. The third class lines were long. This was due in part to two
factors. The third class passengers appeared to be mostly immigrants making their
way to New York Harbor, they seemed to have many children which slowed down line
considerably. Secondly, with the health officers stationed at ground level, each
one doing a thorough inspection for signs sickness, head lice and other such
pestilence. The second class loading platform had a health officer as well. This
line moved much faster, in my observation, due to the fact that these health
officers appeared to be primarily ceremonial; I noticed no such inspections second
class passengers. The first class, of course, had no stationed health officers on
the upper loading platforms. The clamor of the crowd was intoxicating. The
gentleman behind me mentioned to his wife the movement of the crowd and how
luxurious the boat appeared.

The steam whistle let off the warning that ship was about to sail. As I was
crossing the gangplank my flyer was ripped from my hand by an upper burst of wind,
floated about 6 feet out from the gangplank at eye level, and spun around on an
invisible cushion of air. It continued to rise higher and higher until it
disappeared from my line of vision. Between the time of going on board and sailing,
I inspected, in the company of two friends who had come from Exeter to see me off,
the various decks, dining-saloons and libraries; and so extensive were they that it
is no exaggeration to say that it was quite easy to lose one's way on such a ship.
We wandered casually into the gymnasium on the boat deck, and were engaged in
bicycle exercise when the instructor came in with two photographers and insisted on
our remaining there while his friends, as we thought at the time, made a record for
him ofhis apparatus’s in use. It was only later that we discovered that they were
the photographers of one of the illustrated London papers. More passengers came in,
and the instructor ran here and there, looking the very picture of a robust, rosy-
cheeked health and "fitness" instructor, in his white flannels, placing one
passenger on the electric "horse," another on the "camel," while the laughing group
of onlookers watched the inexperienced riders vigorously shaken up and down as he
controlled the little motor which made the machines imitate so realistically horse
and camel exercise. Much like the camels Mrs. Brown and the Astor's road in Egypt.

It is related that on the night of the disaster, right up to the time of the
Titanic's sinking, while the musicians grouped outside the gymnasium doors played
with such supreme courage in face of the rage filled, blood lust, of Titanic's
breathing dead and the water which rosefoot by foot before their white eyes, the
instructor was on duty inside, with passengers on the bicycles and the rowing-
machines, still assisting and encouraging to the last. Along with the bandsmen it
is fitting that his name, which I do not think has yet been put on record--it is
McCawley--should have a place in the honourable list of those who did their duty
faithfully to the ship and the line they served.

CHAPTER II

FROMSOUTHAMPTON TO THE NIGHTOF THE DISASTER After the sun made its way past noon,
the whistles blew for friends to go ashore, the gangways were withdrawn, and the
Titanic moved slowly down the dock, to the accompaniment of last messages and
shouted farewells of those on the quay. There was no cheering or hooting of
steamers' whistles from the fleet of ships that lined the dock, as might seem
probable on the occasion of the largest vessel in the world being put to sea on her
maiden voyage. The whole scene was quiet and rather ordinary, with little of the
picturesque and interesting ceremonial which the imagination paints as usual in
such circumstances. But if this was lacking, two unexpected dramatic incidents
supplied a thrill of excitement and interest to the departure from dock. The first
of these occurred just before the last gangway was withdrawn; a knot of stokers ran
along the quay, with their kit slung over their shoulders in bundles, and made for
the gangway with the evident intention of joining the ship, but a petty officer
guarding the shore end of the gangway firmly refused to allow them on board; they
argued, attempting to explain the reasons why they were late, but he remained firm
and waved them back with a determined hand, As the gangway was dragged back amid
their protests, putting an ending to their determined efforts to join the Titanic.
They threw a small container shouting it belonged to Mrs. Molly Brown. It was
expensive cosmetics. The officer almost threw it back, when Mrs. Brown stepped up
to claim her prized Mumia. Those stokers must be thankful men today that some
circumstance, whether their own lack of punctuality, or some unforeseen delay over
which they had no control, prevented their being in time to run up that last
gangway! They will have told, and will no doubt tell for years, the story of how
their lives were probably saved by being too late to join the Titanic.

The second incident occurred soon afterwards, and while it has no doubt been
thoroughly described at the time by those on shore, perhaps a view of the
occurrence from the deck of the Titanic will not be without interest. As the
Titanic moved majestically down the dock, the crowd of friends keeping pace with us
along the quay, we came together level with the steamer, New York, lying moored to
the side of the dock, along with the Oceanic. The crowd waving "goodbyes" to those
on board as well as they could, for the intervening bulk of the two ships made it
hard to wave their final farewells, but as the bows of our ship came about level
with those of the New York, there came a series of reports like those of a
revolver, and on the quay side of the New York, snaky coils of thick rope flung
themselves high in the air and fell backwards among the crowd, which retreated in
alarm to escape the flying ropes. We hoped that no one was struck by the ropes, but
a sailor next to me was certain he saw a woman carried away to receive attention.
Then, to our amazement, the New York crept towards us, slowly and stealthily, as if
drawn by some invisible force, which she was powerless to withstand. It reminded me
instantly of an experiment I had shown many times to a form of boys, learning the
elements of physics in a laboratory, in which a small magnet is made to float on a
cork in a bowl of water and small steel objects placed on neighbouring pieces of
cork are drawn up to the floating magnet by the magnetic force. It reminded me,
too, of seeing in my little boy's bath, how a large celluloid floating duck would
draw towards itself, by what is called capillary attraction, smaller ducks, frogs,
beetles, and other animal folk, until the menagerie floated about as a unit,
oblivious of their natural antipathies and reminding us of the "happy families" one
sees in cages on the seashore.

On the New York there was shouting of orders, sailors running to and fro, paying
out ropes and putting mats over the side where it seemed likely we should collide;
the tug, which had a few moments before cast off from the bows of the Titanic, came
up around our stern and passed to the quay side of the New York's stern, made fast
to her and started to haul her back with all the force her engines were capable of;
but it did not seem that the tug made much impression on the New York. Apart from
the serious nature of the accident, it made an irresistibly comic picture to see
the huge vessel drifting down the dock with a snorting tug at its heel; like a
small boy dragging a diminutive puppy down the road, with its teeth locked on a
piece of rope, its feet splayed out, its head and body shaking from side to side in
the effort to get every ounce of its weight used to the best advantage. At first
all appearance showed that the sterns of the two vessels would collide; but from
the stern bridge of the Titanic an officer directing operations stopped us dead,
the suction ceased, and the New York, with her tug trailing behind, moved obliquely
down the dock, her stern gliding along the side of the Titanic, some few yards
away. It gave an extraordinary impression of the absolute helplessness of a big
liner in the absence of any motive power to guide her. Yet all excitement was not
yet over; the New York turned her bows inward towards the quay, her stern swinging
just clear of and passing in front of our bows, and moved slowly, head on for the
Teutonic, lying moored to the side; mats were quickly got out and so deadened the
force of the collision, which from where we were, seemed to be too slight to cause
any damage. Another tug came up and took hold of the New York by the bows, and
between the two of them, they dragged her round the corner of the quay, which just
here came to an end on the side of the river.

We now moved slowly ahead, and passed the Teutonic at a creeping pace, but
notwithstanding this, the latter strained at her ropes so much, that she heeled
over several degrees in her efforts to follow the Titanic. The crowd were pushed
back, a group of gold-braided officials, probably the harbour-master and his staff,
standing on the sea side of the moored ropes, jumped back over them as they drew up
taut to a rigid line, and urged the crowd back still farther. Yet we were just
clear, and as we slowly turned the corner into the river, I saw the Teutonic swing
slowly back into her normal station, relieving the tension of the ropes, and the
minds of all who witnessed the incident.

Unpleasant as this incident was, it was interesting to all the passengers, leaning
over the rails, to see the means adopted by the officers and crew of the various
vessels to avoid collision, to see on the Titanic's docking-bridge (at the stern),
an officer and seamen telephoning and ringing bells, hauling up and down little red
and white flags, as the danger of collision was diminished. No one was more
interested than a young American kinematograph photographer, who, with his wife,
followed the whole scene with eager eyes, turning the handle of his camera with the
most evident pleasure as he recorded the unexpected incident on his films. It was
obviously quite a windfall for him to have been on board at such a time, but
neither the film nor those who exposed it, reached the other side, and the record
of the accident from the Titanic's deck has never been displayed on the screen.

As we steamed down the river, the scene we had just witnessed was the topic of
every conversation; the comparison with the Olympic-Hawke collision was drawn in
every little group of passengers. It seemed to be generally agreed that this would
confirm the suction theory, which was so successfully advanced by the cruiser Hawke
in the law courts, but which many people scoffed at when the British Admiralty
first suggested it as the explanation of the cruiser ramming the Olympic. Since
this is an attempt to chronicle facts as they happened on board the Titanic, it
must be recorded that there were, among the passengers and the crew, who I heard
speak on the matter, the direst misgivings at the incident we had just witnessed.
Sailors, by nature, are highly superstitious; few people are prone to follow their
lead, or, indeed, the lead of any one who asserts a statement with an air of
conviction and the opportunity of constant repetition; the sense of mystery that
shrouds a prophetic utterance, particularly if it be an ominous one, apparently is
the human mind, that will receive the impress of an evil prophecy, and few readily
pay attention to the intuition God gave them. There are signs and patterns in this
world that lay the ground work for what has yet to become. I believe in that, yet
it was not always the case, I was a skeptic; but that was before Titanic. I wish in
a later chapter to discuss the subject of intuition, in its reference to our life
on board the Titanic, but will anticipate events here a little by relating a second
“bad omen" which was hatched at Queenstown.

As one of the tenders containing passengers and mails neared the Titanic, some of
those on board gazed up at the liner towering above them, and saw a stoker's head,
black from his work in the stokehold below, peering out at them from the top of one
of the enormous funnels, a dummy one for ventilation, that rose many feet above the
highest deck. He had climbed up inside for a joke, but to some of those who saw him
there, the sight was seed for the growth of an "omen," which bore fruit in an
unknown dread of dangers to come. An American lady, may she rest in peace, had
related to me shortly after leaving port with deep conviction and earnestness of
manner, that she saw the man, and attributes the sinking of the Titanic largely to
that. Further she quoted, she saw children cast out in the darkness, and a gnashing
of teeth. Arrant foolishness, you may say! Yes, indeed, but not to those who
believe in it; yet is it helpful to have such prophetic thoughts of danger and
still do nothing? I found my way to my room adequately; the room had beautiful red
wood panel walls with gold inlay, window dressings were silk, and the lights gold.
This was a true steam driven wonder. I made my way from my room to the deck to have
a look at the ocean. The crisp wind held the seagulls still.

We dropped down Spithead, past the shores of the Isle of Wight, looking superbly
beautiful in new spring foliage. We exchanged salutes with a White Star tug, lying-
to waiting for one of their liners inward bound, and saw in the distance several
warships, with attendant black destroyers guarding the entrance from the sea. In
the calmest weather we made it to Cherbourg, just as it grew dusk, and left again
about 8.30, after taking on board passengers and mail. We reached Queenstown on
about noon on Thursday, after a most enjoyable passage across the Channel, although
the wind was almost too cold to allow sitting out on deck on Thursday morning.

The coast of Ireland looked very beautiful as we approached Queenstown Harbour, the
brilliant morning sun showing the green hillsides and picking out groups of
dwellings, dotted here and there, above the rugged grey cliffs that fringed the
coast. We took on board our pilot, ran slowly towards the harbour with the
sounding-line dropping all the time, and came to a stop well out to sea, with our
screws churning up the bottom, and turning the sea all brown with sand from below.
It had seemed to me that the ship stopped rather suddenly, and in my ignorance of
the depth of the harbour entrance, that perhaps the sounding-line had revealed a
smaller depth than was thought safe for the great size of the Titanic. This seemed
to be confirmed by the sight of sand churned up from the bottom, but this is a mere
supposition. Passengers and mail were put on board from two tenders, and nothing
could have given us a better idea of the enormous length and bulk of the Titanic,
than to stand as far astern as possible and look over the side from the top deck,
forwards and downwards to where the tenders rolled at her bows, the merest
cockleshells beside the majestic vessel, that rose deck after deck above them.
Truly she was a magnificent boat! There was something so graceful in her movement,
as she rode up and down on the slight swell in the harbour, a slow, stately dip and
recover, only noticeable by watching her bows in comparison with some landmark on
the coast in the near distance; the two little tenders tossing up and down like
corks beside her, illustrated vividly the advance made in comfort of motion from
the time of the small steamer.

Presently the work of transfer was ended, the tenders cast off, and at 1.30 P.M.,
with the screws churning up the sea bottom again, the Titanic turned slowly through
a quarter-circle until her nose pointed down along the Irish coast, and then
steamed rapidly away from Queenstown. In our wake soared and screamed hundreds of
gulls, which had quarreled and fought over the remnants of lunch pouring out of the
waste pipes as we lay-to in the harbor entrance, and now they followed us in the
expectation of further spoil. I watched them for a long time and was astonished at
the ease with which they soared and kept up with the ship, with hardly a motion of
their wings; picking out a particular gull, I would keep him under observation for
minutes at a time, and see no motion of his wings downwards or upwards to aid his
flight. He would tilt all of a piece to one side or another, as the gusts of wind
caught him: rigidly unbendable, as an aeroplane tilts sideways in a puff of wind,
yet with graceful ease he kept pace with the Titanic forging through the water at
twenty knots, and as the wind met him, he would rise upwards and obliquely
forwards, and come down slantingly again, his wings curved in a beautiful arch, his
tail feathers outspread as a fan. It was plain that he possessed a secret we are
only just beginning to learn, the utilizing of air-currents, which he can glide at
will with the expenditure of the minimum amount of energy, or of using them as a
ship does when it sails within one or two points of a head wind. Aviators, of
course, are imitating the gull, and soon perhaps we may see an aeroplane or a
glider dipping gracefully up and down in the face of an opposing wind, and all the
time forging ahead across the Atlantic Ocean. The gulls were still behind us when
night fell, and still they screamed and dipped down into the broad wake of foam
which we left behind; but in the morning they were gone, perhaps they had seen in
the night a steamer bound for their Queenstown home, and had escorted her back.

All afternoon we steamed along the coast of Ireland, with grey cliffs guarding the
shores, and hills rising behind gaunt and barren; as dusk fell, the coast rounded
away from us to the northwest, and the last we saw of Europe was the Irish
mountains, dim and faint in the dropping darkness. With the thought that we had
seen the last of land until we set foot on the shores of America, I retired to the
library to write letters, little knowing that many things would happen to us all;
many experiences, sudden, vivid and impressive to be encountered, many perils to be
faced, and many good and true people, for whom we will have to mourn, before we see
land again.

From the time of leaving Queenstown,
calm, that very few were absent from
"fresh" as the daily chart described
to sit out on deck to read or write,
time in the library. I wrote a large
in the box outside the library door;
on Thursday to Sunday morning, the sea was
meals: the wind westerly and southwesterly,
it, but often rather cold, generally too cold
so that many of us spent a good part of the
number of letters and posted them, day by day
they did not reach their final destinations…

Each morning the sun rose behind us, in a sky of circular clouds, stretching round
the horizon in long, narrow streaks, and rising tier upon tier above the sky-line,
red and pink and fading from pink to white, as the sun rose higher in the sky. It
was a beautiful sight to one who had not crossed the ocean before, or indeed been
out of sight of the shores of England, to stand on the top deck and watch the swell
of the sea extending outwards from the ship, in an unbroken circle until it met the
skyline with its hint of infinity. Behind the wake of the vessel, white with foam
where, my thoughts suggested, the propeller blades had cut up the long Atlantic
rollers and with them made a level white road, bounded on either side by blue-green
waves, that would presently sweep away the white road, though as yet it stretched
back to the horizon and dipped over the edge of the world, back to Ireland and the
gulls, while along it the morning sun glittered and sparkled. Each night the sun
sank right in our eyes, along the sea, making an undulating glittering pathway, a
golden track charted on the surface of the ocean. Our ship followed unswervingly,
until the sun dipped below the edge of the horizon, and the pathway ran ahead of us
faster than we could steam, and slipped over the edge of the skyline, as if the sun
had been a

golden ball and had wound up its thread of gold too quickly for us to follow. From
the noon of Thursday, to noon Friday, we ran 386 miles, and Friday to Saturday, 519
miles.At the midday meal, conversations about the Titanic’s speed were common sport
for us passengers. We would take great pride in the afternoon metrics, as if we,
ourselves had something to do with it. Saturday to Sunday we traveled 546 miles.
The second day's run of 519 miles was, the purser told us, a disappointment, and we
should not dock until Wednesday morning instead of Tuesday night, as we had
expected; however, on Sunday we were glad to see a longer run had been made, and it
was thought we should make it to New York, on Tuesday night. The purser remarked,
"They are not pushing her this trip and don't intend to make any fast running. I
don't suppose we shall do more than 546 now; it is not a bad day's run for the
first trip." This too, was at lunch, and I remember the conversation then turned to
the young girl whom had fallen ill. "It's merely a bilious fever," the young girl's
mother replied, "she'll be up and around in no time."

Mrs. Brown had taken a special interest in the girl, since we first left dock. The
young girl's name was Ms. Erica J. Conklin. Ms. Conklin had become extremely
concerned about the welfare of a young lady, whom had been struck by the rope when
we first departed. Mrs. Brown, a friend of the Conklin family, lavished Ms. Conklin
with sweet smelling perfumes, hair ribbons, and cosmetics, in an attempt to lift
the young girl spirits. It seemed to be working, until Erica, fell ill. On Friday,
she looked alabaster white. I recall her asking to be excused several times before
her mother could hear her faint voice. The poor dear was absent on Saturday and
again on Sunday, as she was being treated in her first-class cabin. On this day,
the ship’s Doctor, one of several, returned to our table.

“Her symptoms are quite strange and I fear this is more than a fever,” he said. He
sat for a moment, pondering it seemed, then continued. “The furnace that radiates
from her brow, will likely burn her up from within. Her capillaries crimson, yet
her eyes gaze aimlessly. The weakened condition is shocking, so quickly she fell
with sickness. The tongue is swollen purple, and her vomit is black, like tar.” Her
mother excused herself as politely as one could, as she went to aid her poor
daughter. Dr. William O'Loughlin apologized for his remarks; he didn't realize the
mother was at the table. The conversation then returned to pleasant topics like
wine, cigars, and the cut of a new jacket. That is the human way, to ignore
unpleasantness and ignore reality; we simply hate to accept things. Horrible things
like uncertainty. The acceptance of uncertainty is like oil to water, for man and
woman alike. As unsettling as Dr. Laughlin's words were, I learned to accept
uncertainty a long time ago. As a lad, I was taught that all our days are numbered.

My older brother Christopher expired, while eating a Sunday’s dinner; he was all
but the age of 16. One moment he was alive enjoying London broil, the next, he was
no more. He simply choked; nothing more, nothing less. I find it quite odd, that so
much time is devoted to escaping this fact; the certainty of deaths approach. It is
not only foolish, but it tasks the mind to fancy such folly. King Solomon said such
pursuits are like chasing the wind. It is much simpler to accept it and move on. It
really is quite a liberating feeling.

Allow me for a moment to return to the motion of the Titanic, it was interesting to
stand on the boat-deck, as I frequently did, in the between lifeboats 13 and 15
(two boats I have every reason to remember, for the first carried me in safety to
the Carpathians, and it seemed likely at one time that the other would come down on
our heads as we sat in 13 trying to get away from the rising water, desperate
survivors, and the ones who rose again.). Watching the general motion of the ship
through the waves, resolve itself into two motions, one to be observed by
contrasting the docking bridge, from which the log-line trailed away behind in the
foaming wake, with the horizon, and observing the long, slow heave as we rode up
and down. It was while watching the side roll that I became aware, while looking
down from the boat deck to the steerage quarters, of how the third class passengers
were enjoying every minute of the time; a most uproarious skipping game of the
mixed-double type was the great favourite, while "in and out and roundabout" went a
Scotchman with his bagpipes, playing something that Gilbert says "faintly resembled
an air."

Standing aloof from all of them, on the raised stern deck above the "playing
field," was a man of about twenty to twenty-four years of age, well-dressed, always
gloved and nicely groomed, and obviously quite out of place among his fellow-
passengers; he never looked happy all the time. I watched him, and classified him
at hazard, as the man who had been a failure in some way at home and had received
the proverbial shilling, plus third-class fare, to America; he did not look
resolute enough or happy enough to be working out his own problem. Another
interesting man was travelling steerage, but had placed his wife in a second class
cabin; he would climb the stairs leading from the steerage to the second deck and
talk affectionately with his wife across the low gate which separated them. I saw
him again shortly after the collision, but he was clouded and blank. His wife
motioned for him to speak with her. It seemed he was a stranger, not only to his
wife, but he looked like a stranger to man. He wandered away and disappeared into
the crowd as his wife pleaded with him to come back. Whether they ever saw each
other on that Sunday night is very doubtful; he would not at first be allowed on
the second-class deck, and if he were, the chances of seeing his wife in the
darkness and the crowd would be very small indeed. Of all those playing so happily
on the steerage deck, I did not recognize many afterwards, in the Carpathians.

As night faded, and the golden glow of approaching dawn could be seen across the
horizon, Sunday seemed like any other day aboard the Titanic. It will be
interesting, perhaps, to give the day's events in some detail, as to appreciate the
general attitude of passengers to their surroundings, just before the collision.
Service was held in the saloon by the purser in the morning, and going on deck
after lunch, we found such change in temperature, that not many cared to remain to
face the bitter wind, an artificial wind, created mainly by the ship's rapid motion
through the chilly atmosphere. I should judge there was no wind blowing at the
time, for I had noticed about the same force of wind approaching Queenstown, to
find that it died away as soon as we stopped, only to rise again as we steamed away
from the harbour.

Returning to the library, I stopped for a moment to read again the day's run and
observe our position on the chart; the Rev. Mr. Carter, a clergyman of the Church
of England, was similarly engaged, and we renewed a conversation we had enjoyed for
some days; it had commenced with a discussion of the relative merits of religion,
or rather, the steady decline of the church. Mr. Carter made preparations during
the afternoon by asking all he knew, and many he did not, to come to the saloon at
8.30 P.M. Most would not come and he knew this. He argued that the ship had setup a
3 hour social function during his church service. How could they do that? Do they
not have respect for the church? I inquired of him what social function they had so
unjustly scheduled during his service. A projected screen, moving picture show, the
good Rev. replied. I'd seen nickelodeons before, but not a moving picture show. I
felt slightly hypocritical. I had to admit the idea of watching a story, in place
of attending service did strike my fancy. I did not of course admit this to the
Rev. I felt a slight ache of guilt, but pushed it aside. The Rev. went on to say
that this picture show was sure to impact his service because of the nature of this
novelty. As I was leaving, I glanced through the clear windows, and saw the double
Marquee sign. One of the features was called "The Lighthouse keeper", starring Mary
Pickford, and the second one was D.W. Griffith's, "The Poseidon Adventure". I can
only speculate that both were likely to be seafaring plots.

Then I think of the people I saw that day; they had no idea of the world we would
end up in, in merely a few short hours. Secrets were unfolding as we obliviously
enjoyed ourselves. I can only attest to what I saw with my own eyes. In the same
corridor are a man and his wife with two children, and one of them he is carrying;
they are all young and happy. He is dressed always in a grey knickerbocker suit,
with a camera slung over his shoulder. I have not seen any of them since that
afternoon.

Close beside me, so near that I cannot avoid hearing scraps of their conversation,
are two American ladies, both dressed in white, young, and probably friends. Yet
one has been to India and is returning by way of England, the other is a school-
teacher in America a graceful girl with a distinguished air. Engaged in
conversation with them is a gentleman whom I subsequently identified from a
photograph as a well-known resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts. Genial, polished,
and with a courtly air towards the two ladies, whom he has known but a few hours;
from time to time as they talk, a child acquaintance breaks in on their
conversation and insists on their taking notice of a large doll clasped in her
arms. I have seennone of this group since then…

In the opposite corner are the young American kinematograph photographer and his
young wife, evidently French, very fond of playing patience, which she is doing
now, while he sits back in his chair, watching the game, and interposing from time
to time with suggestions. I did not see them again. In the middle of the room are
two Catholic priests, one quietly reading, either English or Irish, the other,
dark, bearded, with broad-brimmed hat, talking earnestly to a friend in German and
evidently explaining some verse in the open Bible before him. Near them a young
fire engineer on his way to Mexico, and of the same religion as the rest of the
group. None of them were saved. It may be noted here that the percentage of men
saved in the second class is the lowest of any other division; only eight per cent.

Many other faces recur to thought, but it is impossible to describe them all in the
space of a short book; of all those in the library that Sunday afternoon, I can
remember only two or three persons who found their way to the Carpathia. Looking
over this room, with his back to the library shelves, is the library steward, thin,
stooping, sad-faced, and generally with nothing to do but serve out books; but this
afternoon he is busier than I have ever seen him, serving out baggage declaration-
forms for passengers to fill in. Mine is before me as I write: "Form for
nonresidents in the United States; Steamship Titanic: No. 31444, D," etc. I had
filled it in that afternoon and slipped it in my pocket-book instead of returning
it to the steward. Before me, too, is a small cardboard square: "White Star Line.
R.M.S. Titanic. 208. This label must be given up when the article is returned, the
property will be deposited in the Purser's safe. The company will not be liable to
passengers for the loss of money, jewels, or ornaments, by theft or otherwise, not
so deposited." The property deposited in my case was money, placed in an envelope,
sealed, with my name written across the flap, and handed to the purser; the "label"
is my receipt. Along with other similar envelopes, it may be still intact in the
safe at the bottom of the sea, but in all probability it is not, as will be seen
presently.

After lunch, Mr. Conklin invited all who wished to the saloon, and with the
assistance at the piano of a gentleman who sat at the table opposite me (a young
Scotch engineer going out to join his brother fruit-farming at the foot of the
Rockies), he started some hundred passengers singing hymns. They were asked to
choose whichever hymn they wished, and with so many to choose, it was impossible
for him to do more than have the greatest favourites sung. As he announced each
hymn, it was evident that he was thoroughly versed in their history; no hymn was
sung in which he did not give a short sketch of its author, and in some cases a
description of the circumstances in which it was composed. I think all were
impressed with his knowledge of hymns and with his eagerness to tell us all he knew
of them. It was curious to see how many chose hymns to deal with dangers at sea. I
noticed the hushed tone with which all sang the hymn, "For those in peril on the
Sea." The great confidence all felt on board this great liner, with her steadiness
and her size, and the happy outlook of landing, in a few hours, in New York, at the
close of a delightful voyage.

Now we must go back to the ill child, young Miss Conklin. With the Conklin's being
of upper-class, the husband Erik, a German businessman, owned a rope and cable
company; some of the very cable and rope used in the manufacturing of Titanic
herself. The family employed a young maidservant, by the name of Katherine Marie.
It was Katherine Marie who stood vigil at Erica's bedside keeping the doctors up to
date with news of the child's condition.

It was about 8 pm that night, as I recall, mostly because of coincidence or

happenstance, or an omen, I had checked my watch. We noticed the maidservant of the
ill child approaching. Katherine made her way up, to deliver the latest news. She
said the child was delirious and not acting herself. She related how Erika grew
quite silent, that the child had breathed a deep sigh, and that she feared the
worst. Several minutes had passed and she swore the child had stopped breathing.
She even pulled the linen over the dearone’s head, prayed for the safe passage of
the child, and was about to call for her mother and alert the preacher, when
suddenly, a deep guttural gasp came out of the child; she was breathing! Her
prayers were heard and answered, it seemed. It was a miracle. The child pulled
through. The jubilant cheers of all who were in attendance could be heard from
ships port to stern. It was at this time that Mrs. Anna Conklin, Erika's mother,
ran to see the child and rejoice in her well-being. She too had stood vigil with
her daughter, and was only on deck for all but 10 minutes to clear her head, when
Katherine had appeared, with the delightful news of Erica's recovery.

I pulled up a chair for the maid and noticed the book she had in hand. “ What is
that there that you are reading?” "Futilityor wreck of the Titan,” she said, “It
was penned by Morgan Robertson.” I inquired of her the nature of the tale, curious
as to what this young maid was reading. “It's a book of fiction about a fallen Navy
Lieutenant aboard a ship called the Titan, the largest craft afloat. It strikes an
iceberg and goes down with 2500 people aboard. I'm at the half chapter now and it's
really is quite an adventure,” she gushed.” I'd say so,” I replied.

Then Katherine began coughing as she motioned for her water. I noticed the bright
scarlet scratch across her hand. “What happened to your hand?” I thought perhaps
she had caught it on a rail. She mentioned that the salt air was causing her to
have a dry cough and that Miss Conklin had scraped her with her nails in a
delusional fit brought about from the fever. I found it rather odd, but
Katherineshook her head and said, “It’s okay, she's not herself. I'll wet my hand
before going to bed,” and departed for her cabin.

By nine o'clock the group had quieted down. I had not realized how exhausted the
day’s events had made me, so I stood up and headed towards my beautiful room. I
took my shoes of slowly and dressed in my nightwear. I fell dead asleep. In the
still of the night, as I laid in my bed, I heard my door open. I rubbed my eyes and
looked into the doorway, as I sat at the edge of my bed and saw a dark silhouette.
You could barely make out the shape. I thought I surely must still be asleep. I
heard the silhouette let out a growl. I asked who was there and they did not
answer, but my voice seemed to make this shape take notice of me. The growl sounded
like dog, but had a shrill quality. It is at this point I realized it was not
sleep, that I was not dreaming, that I was awake, this was real, and an intruder
was in my room. The hair stood on the back of my neck and my pulse rate rose
instantly. The swaying motion of the ship gave me a nauseous feeling, as I tried to
focus through the darkness, and lock in on the silhouette. It was getting closer. I
tried my best now to be still and quiet; in the preservation of one's life, you
have but a split second to decide on fight or flight. My mind imagined, had a dog
wandered in my room? I have seen dogs all trip long and I suppose it's possible
that one’s rabid? Was it going to try to attack me? How does this happen? How do I
go from sleeping in my luxurious room, to being an animal’s prey? As a small child,
I remember seeing a pack of wild dogs devour a pig. I remember the pig squealing
and shrieking as the dogs attacked, and right in the middle of the feast, a dog
sensed me, and looked right at me. The dogs drool was mixed with blood, accompanied
by deep thirsty growls and I stared into those blank eyes for one second, before I
turned and ran back to my home, not telling my mother what I saw, but the memory
haunting most of my childhood nightmares. All these thoughts happened in but an
instance. The dark mass screamed and ran towards me. I jumped to my feet and ran
away from it. I raced toward a sitting room adjacent to my bed, the predator behind
me. Sharp piercing pain impacted my right shin bone. I fell forward and rolled onto
my back. I had tripped over a small marble table. I looked up and the dark object
took focus in the windows light. This creature was not rabid dog; it was Katherine
Marie and she had blood pouring from her mouth. I knew in an instant it was not her
blood.

I'd seen this look before on the faces of predators. She jumped toward me, but I
sprung to my feet and launched myself into the sitting area. She closed in and
attempted to bite me as I closed the door on her hand. She didn't scream in pain,
she screamed in rage and longing, and was that disappointment I could sense in her
growl? As I slammed the door shut, I heard her hand bones snap and crack in the
door jam, but I pushed harder and her hand fell away as the door made the click
that could only mean that it was securely closed. She pounded and scratched at the
door as I held the door handle tight. She continued to ceaselessly pound at the
door.

As the room grew quiet, I tried to make sense of what just happened. My leg
throbbed and pulsated with my heartbeat. I'd gashed a silver dollar sized hole in
my shin. I listened very quietly at the door, slowly leaning towards it and
pressing my ear against the door. The pounding started again and I sighed as I
looked for anything to protect myself. I grabbed a small iron poker, sitting next
to the fire place, the only weapon readily available and in sight. She was running
full force against the door and I feared the door would break at any moment. As I
heard her brace back for another go, I opened the door and swung hitting her in the
side of the neck. She went down and was knocked out cold. I looked at her in shock.
She was dead silent; her eyes were closed. I knew better then to get any closer,
and waited a moment for the confirmation of the end of the attack. I was beginning
to finally relax my grip on the poker, my heart rate decreasing slowly, when her
eyelids snapped open and she pounced to her feet such a way, with the flowing
motion I'd never seen any creature do before. Before my very eyes, in a matter of
seconds, she was standing before me growling and then charged in my direction. I
took a defensive fencing stance, and executed an attack, running the poker straight
through her right eye socket. It went clean through the other side of her head. She
dropped; no creature could survive such a devastating injury.

As I was gathering my thoughts, I opened my door and shouted for help. As I

gathered my whereabouts, I realized I was standing in the middle of an Armageddon.
All about me litter was strewn and people were running about; some were in fearful
retreat, running frantically, and some, I realized, were like Katherine…frenzied
predators.

A fellow passenger, an Irishman named William Michael, whom I'd talked to daily,
was standing before me. He was wandering about with his mouth slack open. I called
out to him and as he turned toward my direction, I saw he was missing his right
arm, all the way up to his shoulder. In his left hand, he held the severed arm,
swinging it like a cricket bat. He walked closer to me and smashed an illuminated
sconce with the limb. I stood frozen in my tracks. He looked me in the eye and
growled. I took a step back as a person ran past me, in the opposite direction.
This distracted William Michael who turned around in pursuit of the passerby.

I made my way through the corridor and down the hallway; madness was all around me.
I knew I had to get to the captain. I rushed up the stairwell, and was thrown back
down by force. A thunderous large crash followed by intense grinding noise. I
looked up and ice chunks rained down upon me. A lamp struck me and as I felt the
impact connect to me, I was dazed and slightly lost consciousness. An officer ran
right over me. As he continued up the stairway, I started to follow. “You there,” I
shouted, “what on earth has happened? “We struck an iceberg, please make your way
to alifeboat,” he said. What is going on? How could this be? I witnessed several
men standing behind the officer. Bang! Bang! Bang! Gunfire... The three men
dropped, another officer standing behind them.

“ Why did you do that!?Why did you just execute those men?” I pleaded for some
sanity, any kind of explanation forthe horrible events occurring before my very
eyes. “I had to put them down. They had turned,” he said, “they were getting ready
to attack you both. There are two things going on here sir. First, there is some
sort of sickness, and second, in the distraction trying to contain the sickness, we
ran afoul and struck an iceberg.

More gunshots were heard below my feet, coming from the second level. Bright flares
went up in the night sky, meaning that someone had made the call and that this ship
was going down. I ran to the Captain's deck and saw that Mr. Bruce Ismay was
standing by. He and Captain Smith were shouting loudly about this plague of
sickness, speculating that a bite or scratch from the sick, cause you to become
infected. They argued briefly about a failed attempt of third class quarantine.
Ismay said they'd attempted to keep it contained in the steerage, orders were sent
out to lock the gates. Ismay ordered that sick or known infected be placed below.
The issue at hand was, why they also locked healthy people below, and why was it
only third class was quarantined? Neither of them seemed to know.

Captain Smith and Ismay continued their squabble. I stood there frozen, unsure of
what action to take, when a standing deckhand started convulsing and screamed like
a wild animal. He jumped in the air and ripped wide open the neck of Officer Henry
Wilde. Blood sprayed from Wilde's now exposed carotid artery. Wilde was literally
being eaten alive before our eyes. The deckhand's head gnashed back and forth. Mr.
Ismay step toward them, quickly pulled a revolver from his waist, placed it against
the deckhand's forehead, and fired his weapon.

Wilde dropped instantly to the floor. He was grabbing him neck, trying to speak but
couldn’t; he was drowning in his own blood. Captain Smith applied pressure and
attempted to keep the flow contained, but the officer was pale and bleeding out.
Everyone was covered in the blood flowing from his wound and the floor surface was
sickly, shining, glimmering in the blood, and very slick. Captain Smith held him
and I could tell that the Captain had father like admiration for this man. A click
was heard and before Captain Smith could say a word in protest, Ismay fired a round
in Wilde's temple, killing him instantly. Captain Smith was enraged, and shouted,
“what are you doing, man?!” “Destroying the brain,” Ismay declared, “It appears to
do well with putting these things down.” The Captain was stunned. “We have a ship
and profits to think about. Let the dead care for their own,” Ismay said.

The iceberg! In the panic, I had forgotten about the ship sinking. Think of the
shame of it, that a mass of ice, of no use to anyone or anything, should have the
power to fatally injure the beautiful Titanic! That an insensible block should be
able to threaten, even in the smallest degree, the lives of many good men and women
who think and plan and hope and love; not only to threaten, but to end their lives.
It is unbearable! Are we never to educate ourselves to foresee such dangers and to
prevent them before they happen? All the evidence of history shows that laws
unknown and unsuspected, are being discovered day by day; as this knowledge
accumulates for the use of man, is it not certain that the ability to see and
destroy beforehand, the threat of danger, will be one of the privileges the whole
world will utilize? May that day come soon, but until it does, no precaution too
rigorous can be taken, no safety appliance, however costly, must be omitted from a
ship's equipment.

CHAPTER III

AFTER THE COLLISIONAND EMBARKATION INLIFEBOATS After the Titanic struck the
iceberg, many people were unaware of the collision and also of the spreading
sickness. A "deny or don’t reply" policy was quickly established, to keep all from
overwhelming the ship. An elderly man came by the deck and asked "Why have we
stopped?" "I don't know, sir," Ismay replied, "but I don't suppose it is anything
much." "Well," he said, "I am going back to bed," and started towards the stairs.
He smiled indulgently at me as I passed him, and said, "All right, sir, but the
wife felt something." I am sure at that time he thought I was rather foolish to
stand there with little reason, and I must confess I felt rather absurd for
remaining calm; it seemed like he was to walk away, when he turned around and
asked, "why are you all painting at this hour?" he was referring to the blood that
was apparent on all of us in different locations. He shuffled closer about the deck
in a dressing-gown and I heard Ismay cock his weapon, but I was able to redirect
the old man back to his room. I was doing him a grave disservice but, also saved,
or delayed his life

Propeller drop seemed sufficient enough a lie for why we had stopped, but more
people were going the observation deck. A keen eye and distraction was the method.
"I heard gun play," a woman said. "That was a rocket Madam." And the steward, with
his honest smile, persuaded her to return to her cabin. Lie after lie was told,
making me feel guilty in an undefined way of breaking an Englishman's code.
However, the fear of being devoured alive and attacked was present, so I continued
to deceive. I needed to keep moving. I thought each person whom walked up was a
"Growler". "Growler" quickly became the term to label these horrific, blood thirsty
creatures.

I stepped out into an atmosphere that cut me like a knife. Walking to the starboard
side, I peered over and saw the sea many feet below, as black as death itself.
Before me, the deck stretched away to the first-class quarters and the blood
stained captain's bridge and behind me, the steerage quarters and the stern bridge;
nothing more. No growlers on either side or astern as far as we could see in the
darkness. There were two or three armed men on deck, and with one, a Scotch
engineer was pouring vinegar about the deck and washing himself with vinegar. Over
and over he washed his hands. He had said in times of plague, this is known to
purify an area of disease. It was so dark and none of us could see anything. I
began to walk as if I was being pulled forward. At first it was slow, but then I
continued to increase my pace. Where was I going? I did not know, but I hungered
for answers to the tragedy occurring before me.

By this time the plan of Captain Smith was to allow only the healthy into the
lifeboats. They would start with the women and children. Growlers and anyone that
displayed such aggression would be put down immediately, like dogs. "All passengers
on deck with lifebelts on!" was called out, as the crew went below to warn
passengers.

One man wandered up the stairs. He was of the loud sort. "Come here and look at
this woman," he laughed, "she won't get up." I looked over, and on the deck lay a
woman with her back to me, she was shaking and convulsing and only the back of her
head visible. "Why won't she get up? Is she asleep, drunk or both?" the jokester
said. "He says…" b ut before he could finish the sentence the woman growled "Sir,
leave her be!” I yelled. Then the man leaned over the woman, I suppose to render
her help, when the woman took hold of his arm and pulled it towards her mouth.
"No!" I shouted. She was like a snake with her aim, taking his thumb and index
digits clean off. The man stood there and held up his hand, shaking slightly, but
not panicked. It was as if he was watching what had happened to him through another
person’s eyes, the shock of the event not fully within his grasp. The woman then
grabbed his right leg and pulled him to the deck-floor, she laid open his stomach
with two movements, biting a small hole first then working her finger in the
opening. I stood in horror as the woman started feasting on the man, whom I was
talking to only a moment before, his body ripped open and enjoyed as a meal. The
man was sobbing in an eerie sort of way, which sounded somewhat similar to his
laugh, and therefore all the more frightening. An armed officer came over and put
two bullets in the creature. Then both the Howler and man were thrown overboard;
his screams of pain, terror, and free-fall panic quickly grew faint. He was not put
down before going over, I do not know why.

Once again, another passenger warning went out, "All passengers on deck with
lifebelts on." We found many people assembled the top deck. I noted that there were
no armed men watching the stairwell. Had they left? What if the growlers come up? I
heard a man call out to his wife. “Over here,” he said, “my love, I’m over here!”
His wife looked up, holding a leash in her hand; she was simply walking the dog, as
if the events around us had no significance. Then I remembered that we had tried to
keep the disaster disclosed, and that she was not the only oblivious person aboard
the sinking Titanic. It was a French dog, a poodle finely groomed. As the wife got
closer, she passed by the stairway. The dog stopped and she pulled the leash but
the dog disobeyed her command and would not come forward past the stairway door.
She pulled again, but the dog dug its claws in the deck, resisting, as if led to
slaughter. “Come here now,” demanded the woman. She walked towards the dog. Then a
man passed in front of my sight, it was only for a second, a split second, but when
I located the area that the woman was just in, the woman was gone and the dog was
standing in the same spot, whimpering. I tried to keep focus and discover the
answer to the mystery, but with so many passengers on deck now, it was hard to stay
in one spot. I no longer had independent movement; I had become part of the crowd.

But if there were any one who had not by now realized that the ship was in danger,
all doubt at this point was to be set at rest in a dramatic manner. Suddenly, ten
rushes of light from the forward deck, a hissing roar that made us all turn from
watching the boats, and many rockets leapt upwards to where the stars blinked and
twinkled above us. Up they went, higher and higher, with a sea of faces upturned to
watch. Then a number of explosions that seemed to split the soul in two, and a
shower of stars sank slowly down and went out one by one. With a gasping sigh one
word escaped the lips of the crowd, “Rockets!" Everybody knows what a rocket at sea
means, but so many at one time was a desperate plea. It meant that all hope of
reaching the New York harbor was abandoned. Suddenly, though the deck was full of
people, I felt utterly alone.

As I stood there, grasping my surroundings, I surveyed everything I could and let

my imagination wander. I could see in my head, as if from an aerial view, as if I
was above everything, the sixth of a mile long ship, with passengers crowding three
decks, open to the sea, and the port and starboard sides to each deck. I grasped
the difficulty that was presented to the officers in this current situation;
keeping control over such a large area, and the impossibility of anyone knowing
what was occurring anywhere but within his own immediate vicinity. Perhaps the
whole thing can be summed up best by saying that after we had embarked in the
lifeboats and rowed away from the Titanic, the cries of drowning people were
heartbreaking, the cries of people being eaten while drowning was nauseating. The
growls seemed like a thunderbolt to us.

All this time people were pouring up from the stairs and adding to the crowd:
packed like sardines. We were already in a sea of bodies. Looking across the crowd
on deck, you could hear the growlers. Pocket of emptiness would form in that spot,
when someone was literally pulled from their feet and devoured. The person standing
next to them, had some terrifying idea of what was happening, only they could not
see the gruesome events occurring, due to the number of bodies packed on board. I
managed to free myself from the pocket of that crowd and was able to move about on
the starboard side of the top boat deck; I checked the time to see that it was
about 12:20am. I watched the crew at work on the lifeboats, numbers 9, 11,13, 15,
some inside arranging the oars, some coiling ropes on the deck, the ropes which ran
through the pulleys to lower them into the sea, others with cranks fitted to the
rocking arms of the davits. As we watched, the cranks were turned, the davits swung
outwards until the boats hung clear of the edge of the deck. Just then an officer
came along from the first-class deck and shouted above the noise of escaping steam,
"All women and children come forward. Men stand back from the boats." Two women
refused to leave their husbands at first, but partly by persuasion and partly by
force, they were separated from them and sent to the lineup. The separation of men
and women impressed on us another dimension of imminent demise, but it made no
difference, we were in danger of drowning or being attacked. They were just as
prepared to obey orders and to do what came next as when they first came on deck. I
do not mean that they actually reasoned it out, they were the average Teutonic
crowd, with an inborn respect for law and order and for traditions bequeathed to
them by generations of ancestors; the reasons that made them act as they did were
impersonal, instinctive, and hereditary; even in the face of madness and disaster.

The crew was now in the boats, the sailors standing by the pulley ropes let them
slip through the cleats in jerks, and down the boats went till level with B deck;
women and children climbed over the rail into the boats and filled them; when full,
they were lowered one by one, beginning with number. All this we could see by
peering over the edge of the boat-deck, which was now quite open to the sea, the
four boats which formed a natural barrier being lowered from the deck and leaving
it exposed.

Bang! Bang! Bang! At first, the sound of gunfire was unsettling, now it was like
the voice of a long-lost friend. I was relieved to hear it; it meant that armed men
were putting down the dead. About this time, while walking the deck, I saw two
ladies come over from the port side and walk towards the rail separating the second
class from the first-class deck. There stood an officer barring the way. One of the
women approached the officer and asked, "May we pass to the boats?" "No, madam," he
replied politely, "your boats are down on your own deck." He pointed to where they
swung below. The ladies turned and went towards the stairway, and no doubt were
able to enter one of the boats; they had ample time. I mention this to show that
there was, at any rate, some arrangement, whether official or not, for separating
the classes in the embarking in boats; how far it was carried out, I do not know,
but if the second class ladies were not expected to enter a boat from the first
class deck, while steerage passengers were allowed access to the second class deck,
it would seem to press rather hardly on the second-class men, and this is supported
by the low percentage saved. Another steerage man proclaimed, his wife and children
were still locked below. He did not know what to do. Where does loyalty and
betrayal meet? At some point, self-preservation sets in. I did not see that man
aboard the Carpathia.

Almost immediately after this incident, a young boy of about four years old, turned
growler right in front of me. He gnashed about and tried to scratch, yet his
child's hands were not capable of inflicting such damage. I did fear he would bite
some unfortunate person, if I had been by myself in this situation, I'd have
handled it much differently. But I was not by myself, so I simply picked him up and
heaved him overboard. It still aches my heart to think about this event. I
apologize to his dear mother if she survived; it is a parent’s worst nightmare to
outlive their child.

Screech! Screech! Soon after the men had left the starboard side, I saw a bandsman,
the 'cellist, come round the vestibule corner from the staircase entrance and run
down the starboard deck, his 'cello trailing behind him, making a horrible
screeching that filled my ears as the spike dragged along the floor. This must have
been about 12:40 A.M. I suppose the band must have begun to play soon after this
and gone on until after 2 A.M. Many brave things were done that night, but none
braver than those few men playing minute after minute as the ship settled quietly
lower and lower in the sea and the sea rose higher and higher to where they stood.
The music they played serving like their own immortal requiem and their right to be
recorded on the rolls of undying fame.

Looking forward and downward, we could see several of the boats now in the water,
moving slowly one by one from the side, without confusion or noise, and stealing
away in the darkness which swallowed them in turn as the crew bent to the oars. An
officer, I think First Officer Murdock, came striding along the deck, clad in a
long coat, from his manner and face evidently in great agitation, but determined
and resolute; he looked over the side and shouted to the boats being lowered,
"lower away, and when afloat, row around to the gangway and wait for orders." "Aye,
aye, sir," was the reply; and the officer passed by and went across the ship to the
port side. Almost immediately after this, I heard a cry from below of, “any more
ladies?" As I looked over the edge of the deck, I saw boat 13 swinging level with
the rail of B deck, with crew members, some stokers, a few men passengers and the
rest ladies; the latter being about half the total number; the boat was almost full
and just about to be lowered. The call for ladies was repeated twice again, but
apparently there were none to be found. Just then one of the crew looked up and saw
me looking over. "Any ladies on your deck?" he said. "No," I replied. "Then you had
better jump." I sat on the edge of the deck with my feet over, threw the dressing-
gown (which I had carried on my arm all of the time) into the boat, dropped, and
fell in the boat near the stern.

As I picked myself up, I heard a shout, "wait a moment, here are two more ladies!"
They were pushed hurriedly over the side and tumbled into the boat, one into the
middle and one next to me in the stern. They told me afterwards that they had been
assembled on a lower deck with other ladies, and had come up to B deck not by the
usual stairway inside, but by one of the vertically upright iron ladders that
connects each deck with the one below it, meant for the use of sailors passing
about the ship. Other ladies had been in front of them and got up quickly, but
these two were delayed a long time by the fact that one of the,-the one that was
helped first over the side into boat 13 near the middle, was not at all active; it
seemed almost impossible for her to climb up a vertical ladder. We saw her trying
to climb the swinging rope ladder up the Carpathia's side a few hours later, and
she had the same difficulty. As they tumbled in, the crew shouted, "lower away!"
However, before the order was obeyed, a man with his wife and a baby came quickly
to the side. The baby was handed to the lady in the stern, the mother got in near
the middle and looked up expectantly, waiting for her husband to make the slight
jump into the boat, when suddenly six growlers rushed the man, causing the wife to
scream, jumping up in distress, crying out for her husband. A person with some
sense held her back to prevent her from toppling out of the boat in her desperate
panic. From out of nowhere, Mr. Bruce Ismay, armed with a ship's axe, ran up to the
pack attacking the father. He swung the axe, taking the head clear off one of the
creatures, a dull thump reverberating through the air. One of the creatures was
attempting to climb in to our boat, causing the majority of the ladies aboard to
scream. The creature grabbed hold of my leg, its’ eyes focused on the target of my
calf. As I attempted to wrench my leg out of the horrible growlers death like grip,
Ismay returned and parted the creature down the middle of its head, splitting its
skull into two halves. The lady with the baby fainted, drooping onto the passenger
next to her. The deck disappeared from view as the boat returned its slow journey
down to the sea many feet below.

CHAPTER IV

THE SINKING OF THE TITANIC ASSEEN FROMA LIFEBOAT Looking back now on the descent of
our boat down the ship's side, it certainly was strange to see the black hull of
the ship on one side and the sea, seventy feet below, on the other, or to pass down
by cabin windows and saloons brilliantly lighted. As we passed one particular
window, I saw a family. The father had a son in hand and his daughter by his side.
The wife was blocking the exit. She lashed about with her hands, digging in the
air. She was foaming from the mouth with black tar like froth. Her husband and
children were pleading with her to allow them to leave. She continued to swat at
them wildly. Then we were being lowered again and the horrible vision past from my
line of sight. As we descended, we knew nothing of the apprehension felt in the
minds of some of the officers who doubted whether the boats and lowering-gear would
stand the strain of the weight of our sixty people. The ropes, however, were new
and strong, and the boat did not buckle in the middle as an older boat might have
done. Whether it was right or not to lower boats full of people to the water -and
it seems likely it was not, I think there can be nothing but the highest praise
given to the officers and crew for the way in which they lowered the boats, one
after the other, safely to the water. It may seem a simple matter, to read about
such a thing, but any sailor knows, that it is not so. An experienced officer has
told me that he has seen a boat lowered in practice from a ship's deck, with a
trained crew and no passengers inthe boat, with practiced sailors paying out the
ropes, in daylight, in calm weather, with the ship lying in dock, and has seen the
boat tilt over and pitch the crew headlong into the sea. Contrast these conditions
with those that Monday morning at 12.45 A.M., and it is impossible not to feel
that, whether the lowering crew were trained or not, whether they had or had not
drilled since coming on board, they did their duty in a way that argues the
greatest efficiency. I cannot help feeling the deepest gratitude to the two sailors
who stood at the ropes above and lowered us to the sea; It would be foolish to hope
that they were saved, but I certainly do.

Perhaps one explanation of our feeling little fear or doubt of the unusual in
leaving the Titanic in this way, was that it seemed the climax to a series of
extraordinary occurrences; the magnitude of the whole thing dwarfed events that, in
the ordinary way, would seem to be full of imminent peril. It is easy to imagine
it; a voyage of four days on a calm sea, without a single incident; the
presumption, perhaps already mentally half realized, that we should be ashore in
forty-eight hours and so complete a splendid voyage, and then retire to your cabin,
fall fast asleep and awaken to the apocalypse. Then it dawned on me, these growlers
were really dead. They were deceased and not human. It was the natural sequence,
except after they die, they get up again and are hungry.

As we went down, one of the crew shouted, "We are just over the condenser exhaust:
we don't want to stay in that long or we shall be swamped; feel down on the floor
and be ready to pull up the pin which lets the ropes free as soon as we are
afloat." I had often looked over the side and noticed this stream of water coming
out of the side of the Titanic just above the water-line: in fact so large was the
volume of water that as we ploughed along and met the waves coming towards us, this
stream would cause a splash that sent spray flying. We fell, as well as we could in
the crowd of people, on the floor, along the sides, with no idea where the pin
could be found, and none of the crew knew where it was, only of its existence
somewhere, but we never found it. All the time we got closer to the sea, the
exhaust roaring nearer and nearer, until finally we floated with the ropes still
holding us from above, the exhaust washing us away and the force of the tide
driving us back against the side, the latter not of much account in influencing the
direction, however. Thinking over what followed, I imagine we must have touched the
water with the condenser stream at our bows, and not in the middle as I thought at
one time: at any rate, the resultant of these three forces was that we were carried
parallel to the ship, directly under the place where boat 15 would drop from her
davits into the sea. Looking up we saw her already, coming down rapidly from B
deck. The lifeboat must have filled almost immediately after ours.

We shouted up, "Stop lowering 14!" The crew and passengers in the boat above,
hearing us shout and seeing our position immediately below them, shouted the same
to the sailors on the boat deck; but a rash of growlers broke through the crowd,
more gunshots, more screams, and more people hitting the ocean surface. Apparently
distracted by this, they did not hear us screaming for them to stop lowering the
boat, set just above us, for she dropped down foot by foot, twenty feet, fifteen,
and ten. A stoker and I in the bows reached up and touched her bottom swinging
above our heads, trying to push away our boat out from under her. It seemed now as
if nothing could prevent her dropping on us, but at this moment another stoker
sprang with his knife to the ropes that still held us and I heard him shout, "One!
Two!" as he cut them through. The next moment we had swung away from underneath 15,
and were clear of her as she dropped into the water in the space we had just before
occupied. I do not know how the bow ropes were freed, but imagine that they were
cut in the same way, for we were washed clear of the Titanic, at once by the force
of the stream and floated away as the oars were got out.

The crew was made up of cooks and stewards, mostly the former, I think; their white
jackets showing up in the darkness as they pulled away to oar/ I couldn't help but
notice a marked spot on the back of one of the cooks. I tried to ignore it. Was it
blood? If it was blood, had he been bitten? Would he start to attack everyone?
Would he capsize our safety? My heart racing, I envisioned these scenarios and
played it out many times in my head. I imagined what I would do, grabbing the oar
and pushing him out to sea or stabbing him with the pocket knife that one of the
other passengers kept playing with. I wondered if he had been aggressive or said
anything offhand, while climbing in. He did seem a little angry I noticed, or had I
imagined he was angry? The more I tried not to think about it, the more I felt
responsible if someone was attacked. I then thought that perhaps I should take a
preemptive approach and strike him first? Why hadn't anyone else noticed? How can
they not notice? Why do I notice it? Had God himself given me divine vision? I
needed to do something about this, I needed to speak up. “Has anyone in this vessel
been bitten,” I asked. No one spoke out. I repeat myself. “Has anyone person in
this vessel been bitten or scratched before coming aboard?” This time several
people said no. I asked the cook if he had been bitten, but he denied it. I asked
him about the stain on his jacket and, as it turned out, was nothing more than
tomato soup. The cook and stewards continued to row.

I do not think they had any practice in rowing, for all night long their oars
crossed and clashed; if our safety had depended on speed or accuracy, or in keeping
time, it would have gone hard with us. Shouting began from one end of the boat to
the other as to what we should do, where we should go, and no one seemed to have
any knowledge on how to act. At last we asked, "Who is in charge of this boat?" but
there was no reply. We then agreed by general consent that the stoker who stood in
the stern with the tiller should act as captain, and from that time he directed the
course, shouting to other boats and keeping in touch with them. Not that there was
anywhere to go or anything we could do but our plan of action was simple; keep all
the boats together as far as possible and wait until we were picked up by other
liners. We watched all the time, peering through the complete darkness, hoping to
see the light of a steamer, thinking there might be a chance of other steamers
coming near enough to see the lights which some of our boats carried. I am sure
there was no feeling in the minds of any one that we should not be picked up next
day; we knew that we'd be missed by check in point and then, wireless messages
would go out from ship to ship, and as one of the stokers said, "the sea will be
covered with ships tomorrow afternoon; they will race up from all over the sea to
find us." Some even imagined that faster torpedo boats might be enroot. It turns
they were half right.

Almost immediately after leaving the Titanic, we saw what we all said was a ship's
lights down on the horizon on the Titanic's port side; two lights, one above the
other, and plainly not one of our boats; we even rowed in that direction for some
time, but the lights drew away and disappeared below the horizon. I thought we were
mistaken. And as we waited, as we watched, the Titanic now sat at an odd angle. Try
as we did not to watch, but as we only had two options; we could stare at the
darkness of night or be held captive to the human drama unfolding before us.
Hundreds of people were running around. A man slid down toward the waterline, at
his feet a growler was crawling up deck. My back tensed as I watched, I found
myself willing the man the strength to make it upright. Every inch he made upward
would respite my tension slightly and returned when he backslid. He continued to
climb and as he made his progress, the ship appeared to climb too, with the
predator below making gains towards the man. It was like watching a cat and a
mouse. I looked closer and saw the hundreds of creatures in the water where the
ship met the ocean. What they had in stamina they lacked in balance. All, except
maybe 10 or so, of the growlers were in the sea. The fear of being ripped to shreds
lessened the fear of drowning. I lost sight of the man I had been watching, and I
can only assume he fell because his pursuant was gone too. The incline was too
steep now for anyone to climb. A deafening peal of metallic noise rung from the
steamer; it was like nails to a blackboard.

When the noise was over, the Titanic was still upright like a column; I will put
the record straight on this account. You likely heard two versions of this. Many
have said the boat first split in two then came to rest at this state. I am told
that my words are unsettling to be heard. A great commission and trial is to begin.
The witnesses at hand have been interviewed. All accounts are the same, each one of
us survivors knows what really happened. We had been instructed that our accounts,
will be altered, edited and reworked. I fear my witness will be twisted like a
gnostic gospel, will stray too far from the awful truth. I fear the true count will
be lost to history, I do not want my words to be discarded. I pray my testimony
will be the standard by which other accounts are measured. Some may differ
slightly, but, in all honesty I know this will not be the case. I'm told this
account one day will be released, it will be released 100 years after the sinking
of Titanic. I am told that the world is not ready for the truth; our minds too
fragile to hold this knowledge. We've been told, under penalty of law, we are
never, in our lifetime's to reveal any such details about the sickness that spread
throughout Titanic. We are not to tell family, loved ones nor anyone else who could
be harmed by such knowledge. I'm wise enough to understand that this is not a
warning, it is a threat, but a threat that I take seriously nonetheless. So in this
account I have told you the truth. There was such a horrible, dreaded, sickness
that spread quickly. A rabies like illness that caused men women and children to
burn up with fever and die only to reanimate their corpses. Their humanity gone,
their souls gone, their very being gone, leaving a flesh and blood thirsty animal
in its place.

Furthermore, under our lifeboat there came a rush of water. It was an artificially
generated wave. The wave came by way of the torpedo that was launched from a
Russian submarine. The submarine was stationed off the coast of Newfoundland. The
submarine was called the Krab. It was the torpedo that hit the Titanic, as the
erect vessel bobbed up and down like a cork. The torpedo finished what the iceberg
was supposed to do. It also sent to the bottom all physical proof of the
apocalyptic event. What better way to pick up survivors, then to skim us, the
living, off of the top. The dangerous infectious dead would be nonthreatening in
the water. I remind you again... there are two versions among us survivors of the
Titanic sinking.
I ask the reader, why do you suppose this is? As proof of this account you are
holding, I offer you this. Why would there be two separate accounts. Whenever there
are two versions of the story, one is true, the other is not. The evidence that I
set forth is that no one disputes us, the survivors. No one disputes that we were
there. No one disputes that the Titanic went down. No one disputes that it was a
clear night With this monster of a ship before our very eyes, the only focus was
Titanic. Pray these words get your heart and open your mind. Many survivors having
nothing else to preoccupy our time as we watched the Titanic, stay in whole one
piece. Some of us have given a contrary statement saying the Titanic split into
pieces before sinking. This was on purpose, we wanted there to be speculation of a
cover-up. The one thing that everyone who is saved could agree upon was whether a
ship on that clear night was whole, or split into two pieces. Mr. J.P. Morgan a
huge financier of Titanic canceled his passage just hours before we left. The
Titanic was docked with the Olympic; these two ships identical. The Olympic was
involved in a collision causing much damage. The White Star line was practically
laughed outof-court when they attempted to collect damages. Mr. J.P. Morgan needed
an efficient way to recover his losses. His plan was successful. He dressed up the
damaged Olympic as Titanic. The ship that floats today as the Olympic is really the
Titanic ship that sunk that we all boarded, was in fact the Olympic dressed up as
the Titanic. It was planned all along that this false Titanic ship would sink. The
lights we saw that night belonged to a rescue ship. The course had been set to hit
the iceberg on purpose. The Russian submarine had been sitting, waiting for several
days, before we arrived. It was an insurance fraud; the only way, to recover
losses. The men involved in this planning, were illuminati. They are the powers
that be. They always have been, and they always will be. It is reported, a similar
illness as I have mentioned was found in the remote region of the Dark Continent,
Africa. This disease quickly spread, killing out several villages before running
its course. Dr. Albert Schweitzer wrote of it in detail.

Mr. J.P. Morgan, is this very next year supposed to set up a new world order so the
growth of industry can blossom. It is a federated reserve to transfer wealth from
the poorest and middle classes of the United States straight to the pockets of
illuminati bankers. This is not the first time that cover-up has been orchestrated.
Nor will it be the last. Since the beginning of man, since Cain slew Abel, there
have been cover-ups. The President of our United States gave the order to sink the
Titanic. The US could not afford sickness to come aboard. I do believe the
President acted in the best interest of the US. He was merely a pawn in a larger
game. The sickness was brought aboard in the form of Mumia by Molly Brown. Molly
had no idea what biological mine she had brought aboard. I speculated that it was
brought aboard on purpose. I don't doubt that. I do believe, however, Mrs. Brown
was the bullet and not the finger that pulled the trigger. It is very telling that
Mr. Ismay made it off of Titanic, he himself being a business partner with Mr. J.P.
Morgan. This is a cold fact. It is said that money is the root of all evil. That is
incorrect! It is the lust of money that is the root of all evil.

Anyone within earshot of those poor souls who were in the water could bear witness
to that statement. Out of respect I will not go further into the great detail of
the screaming of those who suffered in the water. I'm sure by now you have a visual
of that. I will mention those screams were loud at first then slowly grew quieter.
We, the survivors and the boats, either too packed full, or to inexperienced to
venture out to the voices. There were fears of being swamped and overrun .In
retrospect anyone could speculate, the last of the voices stopped about 45 minutes
after Titanic sank. The last of the growls were three hours, I do not think those
growlers expired…I think they merely froze solid.

CHAPTER V

THE RESCUE All accounts agree that the Titanic sunk about 2:20 A.M, a watch in our
boat gave the time as 2:30 A.M. shortly afterwards. We were then in touch with
three other boats. Much of what was said amongst us survivors, immediately had to
do with the attempt to locate loved ones. We had been through an ordeal. Then out
of the distance arrived Carpathia.

We rowed up to her at about 4:30 A.M, sheltering on the port side from the swell,
held on by two ropes at the stern and bow. Women went up the side first, climbing
rope ladders with a noose round their shoulders to help their ascent; men
passengers scrambled next and the crew last of all. The baby went up in a bag with
the opening tied up, it had been quite well all the time, and never suffered any
ill effects from its cold journey in the night. We set foot on deck with very
thankful hearts, grateful beyond the possibility of adequate expression to feel a
solid ship beneath us once more.

When all is said and done and 100 years have passed from the time that I, Mr.
Lawrence Beesley, have put down my pen. Whether my account from that night is
presented as a fictional account or it is presented as a factual account, I will
never know. I will have long since perished. You will have to decide for yourself.
Is your mind strong enough to question history? Has the truth always been presented
to you? I am hopeful that by the time you read this, man has evolved to a higher
degree of character; that the world is not controlled by the love of money; that
failsafe systems are put into place to keep uncertainty disaster from occurring. I
am hopeful that absolute power in the highest places does not corrupt our leaders.

And of most, I hope you live in a world of utopian like bliss. The skeptic in me
thinks this man exists, the issues we face today, will only be amplified 1000 fold
100 years from today. I end this chapter with mental impressions, that our legacy
from the wreck, our debt to those who were lost with her, is to see that a Titanic
of the Dead never happen again. Meanwhile we can say of them, as Shelley, himself
the victim of a similar q, says of his friend Keats in "Adonais"; "Peace, peace! He
is not dead, he doth not sleep--He hath awakened from the dream of life--He lives,
he wakes--'Tis Death is dead, not he; Mourn not for Adonais."

THE END LAWRENCE BEESLEY, Titanic Survivor1912-05-23

“For my wife, Tammy, the most important woman in my life, this book is dedicated to
you.” My inspiration for this book is to spread awareness of Obsessional Compulsive
Disorder. One in 50 people live with this horrible mental affliction. It is not
easy being tormented every waking moment. To those who have it, Accept Uncertainty.
To those who don’t, OCD is not an adjective.

To William, Jesse, Katie and Tara, you are all blessings to have. Thank you for
being you.

In closing I also want to acknowledge the people I admire and respect the most.

Jesus Christ for saving my soul, washing away my sin and accepting me for me.

Howard Stern for saving my sanity, you are the world’s greatest humorist! Thanks
for helping people laugh at the absurdity of life and just enjoy it.

Sheriff Joseph M. "Joe" Arpaio; you are a real-life John Wayne! They broke the mold
after making you.

Michael S, who lives and breathes Integrity.

 Jay Leno is the worst human being on earth.