Titanic Disaster

I left Vienna for a few days visit with Herman Behr & Company's sales agent in Berlin, planning to sail for home on the Hamburg American Line. At Berlin, I received a wire from Helen saying she was sailing home shortly on the maiden voyage of the new Titanic and asking me to join her. Thank God I did so, in spite of all the anguish I saw during the subsequent tragedy.

I boarded the Titanic at Cherbourg. Helen, Mr. and Mrs. Beckwith, and Mr. and Mrs. Kimball boarded it in England. We were the same group who had been together on the delightful voyage on the Cedric to the Mediterranean less than two months before.

The first morning at sea, Helen and I walked all over this beautiful, but to us, too enormous ship. Naturally, with Helen on board I enjoyed every minute of our calm voyage until the fateful night of the catastrophe. During the first few days, I went to the main office twice to locate the Squash Court and was misdirected each time. Evidently the men in the office were too ignorant regarding this new ship to know where the Squash Court was located. I mention this incident simply because it indicated, which later was more tragically shown, that the officers and crew had started on this maiden voyage without adequate familiarity with the ship.

After dinner on the evening of the sinking of the Titanic, our small party, including a Mr. Compton (later lost), remained in the Smoking Room unusually late, being among the last to leave for our cabins. Only a few minutes after I reached my own cabin in the stern on Deck D, the ship suddenly trembled all over, not as violently, however as had the small vessel on my return from Puerto Rico each time its screw came out of the water during the hurricane as previously described [in these memoirs].

My first thought was that we had broken a shaft. I stood still for over a minute and noticing the engines continuing to run, realized it could not have been the shaft, yet the trembling had not been violent enough to indicate a collision. Putting my collar, vest and cutaway coat back on, I opened the door and looked along the gangway. Not a person was in sight. I therefore concluded nothing serious had happened and very nearly started to undress for bed. As I pondered for a few moments, the engines stopped, and some premonition urged me to go to Helen's cabin just to be sure all was right.

I started along the gangway for her cabin in the bow on E Deck, and as I recall, met no passengers on this long trip – possibly half the length of the ship. Arriving at Helen's cabin, I found all of our party, still dressed, outside their cabins, somewhat disturbed, as ice had gathered in the port-holes of their starboard cabins. A number of other passengers also were out in this gangway. After talking to Dick Beckwith (Helen's stepfather), we decided that he should go below forward, and I to the top deck to see what we could find out.

Helen put on her heavy coat, and she and I went up to the Boat Deck. Passing through the main lobby, we saw one or two officers and some sailors, but can recall no passengers. We walked the length of the deserted Boat Deck. It was very cold, but I could notice no list on the ship's part and there was no apparent activity.

When we got back to our party on E Deck, Dick Beckwith had just returned and reported water in the Squash Court. We then urged everyone to put on all their clothes and heavy coats, feeling we should go up to the Boat Deck where [we] would be in the proper place in case there should be serious trouble after all. After some minutes discussion, we all proceeded up the main stairs to the Boat Deck. We met the Captain coming down the stairs alone. He said nothing to us, undoubtedly not yet realizing the extent of the damage.

Arriving on the Boat Deck, we found a few small groups of passengers, all talking and wondering like us what had happened. It was not much over ten minutes later, when a group of sailors with some officers came along and commenced to unlash some lifeboats. Shortly, a tall civilian arrived who we recognized as Mr. Ismay, the Chairman of the White Star Line. He approached a group of passengers near us and told them that they should get into the lifeboats. This was our first intimation that something serious may have occurred.

One lifeboat was comfortably filled when Ismay walked over to us and calmly told us that we should get into a second lifeboat which was being filled. It was swung over the side flush with the deck. No one in our group, however, was anxious to obey. The prospect of being lowered some eighty feet or more to the ocean in the dark was not alluring, and we all still felt that nothing so far warranted such a risk; to our minds the idea of the Titanic sinking was preposterous. It should be remembered that we had read about many of the features of this great new ship, of which, not the least emphasised, was its unsinkability. No one therefore moved to obey Ismay as he walked off. I could still see no sign of any list on looking down the deck.

In a few minutes, Ismay noticed us still standing together; he again walked over and with considerably more emphasis, told us we must follow instructions and get into the lifeboat – we were the last passengers on the deck. I told Mrs. Beckwith I thought we should do what he said, and she finally led the way to the boat. Stopping in front of Ismay, she asked if all her party could get into the same lifeboat and he replied, "Of course Madam, every one of you."

We got into the boat in which all were standing up, and there we hung for probably five minutes, during which Ismay was apparently waiting for more people. An officer finally came up to him and said there were no more passengers on the Boat Deck. Ismay then told this officer to take charge of the boat, telling four or five more sailors to get in, he then said, "Lower away," and walked off.

We apparently were among the last passengers to come up to the Boat Deck. It afterwards was disclosed that all First Cabin passengers had been ordered to A Deck below, and the stairs to the Boat Deck had been roped off. This was a dreadful error. A Deck was a covered deck, and the lifeboats lowered to it could only be filled by passengers being helped through its square windows. This created confusion, much wasted time, and difficulty of control. Many lifeboats, not being readily visible from this deck except through these windows, were apparently lowered half full or less. One of the tragedies of this maiden voyage was, as already intimated, lack of familiarity with the ship on the part of officers and crew. Had the First Cabin passengers been ordered to the Boat Deck, hardly any should have been lost.

We rowed slowly away from the ship in quite calm water. Our little group was congregated in the stern of the lifeboat. Dick Beckwith and I took turns rowing one of the large sweeping oars. Helen, who stood next to me, leaned over after some ten minutes or more and quietly said, "The boat is leaking badly, I am standing in water."

My first thought was of the stop-cock, which our officer had shouted to a sailor to close as we were being lowered from the ship. The stop-cocks are left open on lifeboats aboard ship to drain off rain water. It was almost directly under Helen, and I felt all around it, but could notice no leak. I then got some blankets, put them on top of the stop-cock, and Helen stood on them during the rest of the night. The leakage, which ultimately increased to at least six or more inches in depth, was undoubtedly due to the unswollen dry seams of this new boat.

It was about this time that we became convinced the Titanic might sink. The ship was fully lighted and we could see from the lines of her portholes that she was slowly going down by the bow. It is difficult to estimate time after so long a period, but I should say we had now been in the lifeboat at least twenty-five minutes, and had rowed some distance from the ship (probably five hundred yards) in company of the lifeboat which had preceded us. Each of these lifeboats had at least a half dozen extra sailors, due to lack of available
passengers on the Boat Deck, already referred to. They were I believe, the only two lifeboats lowered from the starboard Boat Deck. I have no knowledge of what happened on the port side.

By now, for the first time, we were hearing noise and shouting from the Titanic, and in a few more minutes, we could see her going down slowly by the bow still fully lighted. Quite suddenly, it seems to me now, her bow started to slide under, and her stern rise, as her lights went out. We heard, with anguish, the screams and moaning of those plunged into the icy water.

Within a very few minutes, all shouting and noise over the water had ceased, and our two boats continued to row along side by side. I was resting after a turn at rowing and was rubbing Helen's wet stocking feet to get them warmer when someone nudged me. I straightened up to see a man next to me concealing in his hand a nickel-plated revolver, or so it seemed, in the dim light. Leaning over he whispered in my ear, "Should the worst come to the worst, you can use this revolver for your wife, after my wife and I have finished with it." He was in no wise panicky. I thanked him, and it now appears strange how natural his courtesy seemed under the circumstances.

Later he came up to me on the Carpathia and referred to this incident in the lifeboat. He was an attractive looking middle-aged man but I do not recall his giving me his name, and I never spoke to him again owing to my absorbing work on that ship during the return journey.

None of us in the lifeboat knew whether any rescue ship had been reached by the Titanic's radio. All during the night, we saw lights around us, but they proved only to be the flashlights of other lifeboats. It was shortly after daybreak when we saw the Carpathia coming towards us in the distance. We immediately started rowing towards her, and were along side within perhaps half an hour. All around us, other lifeboats were converging toward this welcome ship.

We climbed up rope ladders to one of her lower decks where we were met by stewards and stewardesses and told to go to the First Cabin Dining Saloon. Here hot coffee and food were waiting for us. Captain Rostron and his crew had worked throughout the night preparing in every way to serve the rescued should the Carpathia be fortunate enough to locate us. Rostron had driven his ship at almost full speed in the pitch dark through the ice floes to this magnificent rescue. He was fully deserving of the future honors bestowed on him for his daring and brilliant service.

Those of us who had been so fortunate as to leave the Titanic from the Boat Deck in the earliest lifeboats launched, I am thankful to say had no close contact with the tragedy and horror of the actual sinking. All six of our party and our friends, Mr. and Mrs. George Harder, who had followed us to the Boat Deck, were safe on the Carpathia, where however, we were to witness, for four days, the suffering and sorrow of others. It was a dreadfully sad and nerve-wracking experience. Families were split up, some lost fathers, brothers, sisters or wives.

All First Cabin passengers were asked to meet in the large saloon after lunch on the first day to select a committee to assist in caring for the rescued. I became a member of this committee of seven. We were occupied mainly with the steerage passengers; obtaining clothing, blankets and arranging places for them to sleep. It was harrowing to talk with these despairing people from whom I had to get names, home addresses and the names of lost relatives. These lists were radioed to New York.

I was fast asleep fully clothed, on top of a table in the small Smoking Room forward on our second night. Suddenly there was a terrific crash. I jumped off the table, sure we had collided with another ship or iceberg. I rushed out the door on to the deck, starting for Helen. As I hit the deck, it was pouring rain. Suddenly, a flash of lightning almost knocked me down. It was followed by another crash of thunder. I turned back to the Smoking Room; never before had a violent thunder-storm been more welcome.

It was on the Carpathia that I first met Dick Williams. He had a harrowing experience, being plunged into the water, finally reaching a crowded life raft. His father was lost in the sinking of the Titanic.

Captain Rostron had turned his ship back to New York after sailing slowly around for some hours looking for more lifeboats or rafts. We were practically surrounded by small ice, but I saw no large icebergs. The Carpathia finally started through this icy water at full speed on her way back to New York, maintaining this speed for four days and nights until our arrival in New York harbour. Due to my committee work, I saw Captain Rostron every day.

When we neared Sandy Hook, he told me he had been receiving wireless requests from the press asking permission to board the Carpathia at Sandy Hook. He was opposed to having survivors interviewed and asked my views. I told him I agreed that the Carpathia was no place for newspaper reporters at that time. None were allowed aboard, and passengers were urged not to reply to the megaphone calls from the numerous press boats which accompanied us down the harbour in the dark of early evening.

When we finally went down the gang plank to the crowded dock, with its frantic waiting crowd, one of my friends, I am ashamed not to recall who, shouted to me to follow him down the dock. I soon saw Herman, Margaret and Gertrude. They led me to Father; he was sitting in a chair, wrapped in a blanket. His face appeared to have shrunk to half its size; I shall never forget the indelible imprint of suffering. He was too feeble, my vigorous Father, to get up to greet me. He just held out his arms, the tears streaming down his face.

I was to learn later of the country-wide consternation over this greatest peacetime sea disaster. Two of my classmates had spent a night on the steps of the White Star Line until my name had come through as rescued, and an office boy had gone to Father's apartment to answer the numerous telephone enquiries. The wonderful spirit of lHelen] during this whole episode, her calmness and courage, were further revelations of her grand character.

Some months later, at the instigation of our Titanic Survivor's Committee, suit was commenced against the White Star Line on behalf of the steerage passengers. Our case was based mainly upon the contention that the Titanic had taken unwarranted risks in ice-filled waters by refraining from slowing down; that this was due to the desire of the White Star Line that this new ship should demonstrate on its maiden voyage its great speed. The defense of course, was based upon the collision being an unavoidable accident and not due to negligence. The case, finally tried in the United States District Court in New York, hinged to a considerable extent, on the presence on board the Titanic of Mr. Ismay. We contended that, in effect, he was the owner on board, and could have instructed the Captain to slow his ship. The defense contended he was on board solely in the capacity of a passenger. My testimony at the trial, outlining as already described, his launching of our lifeboats and the acceptance by the ship's officers present of his orders did much to prove that he was recognized as having authority. The result of this litigation was the recovery of substantial damages for loss of life and baggage by the steerage passengers.

We had planned to announce our engagement on our return from Europe, but the Titanic disaster with all its sadness was so fresh in our minds we decided to delay announcing it until the fall. I am glad we did so in light of the mass of press articles ridiculously referring to "love in a lifeboat etc." which followed our announcement even some months after our return.

We were married March 1st, 1913 in the Church of the Transfiguration (Church around the Corner) where Helen's mother had been married. The little church was completely filled for our simple wedding. No one ever saw a more beautiful bride walking down the aisle towards him than I did as I waited at the altar.

Curator's note: This account in an excerpt from Chapter XIV of Behr's typed 185-page memoir that was written for his family and some friends. This transcribed account is also available in the Titanic Commutator, Vol. 30, Number 176 (Fourth Quarter 2006).