Laura Francatelli's Letter to Mary Ann Taylor

It was about a quarter to 12, when the crash came. I was just getting into bed. Madame and Sir Cosmo had been in bed sometime. They were up on A Deck, the top [deck], and I on E [Deck], the bottom deck for Saloon passengers. It was a marvelous boat, like a floating huge hotel. In fact, I have not seen a hotel so grand.

The collision shook me, as well as everything else in my room. I immediately slipped on my dressing gown and opened my door. [I] saw several people come out of their rooms in night attire. Two gentlemen came up and spoke to me and told me not to be frightened, but go back to bed. We had run into an iceberg, but we were quite safe. However, the engines were making a terrific noise. I still stood there quite 20 minutes or more, saw all the officers come down, to inspect the damage, and then starting screwing down the iron doors outside my bedroom. Presently a man came rushing up, saying all the hold and luggage and mail had gone, so I thought I shall fly on a few things and go and tell Madame.

When I left my room, the water was on my deck, coming along the corridor. We were 20 feet above the water level, so we had already sunk 20 feet, but of course I did not realise this till afterwards. Everybody I passed assured me I was safe, but to my terrible surprise, I found all the people running up and down the stairs.

When I reached Madame's room, she was already out of bed and put two dressing gowns on for warmth. Sir Cosmo was dressing. The next minute, a man came along and said, "Captain's orders," [for] all to put life preservers on, and the next instant, they were putting one on Madame and I. I felt myself go like marble, but Madame and I prayed together for God to look after us and keep us safe, if it was his will.

Sir Cosmo then took us up on [the] top deck. Crowds were up there and they were already lowering the lifeboats filled with women and children. I looked over the side of the boat and tried to penetrate the blackness and noticed that the water was not such a long distance away from us, as we had always remarked what a height it was. I said to Sir Cosmo, "I believe we are sinking." He said, "Nonsense, come away."

We then walked more to the bow of the boat, near the bridge. Several lifeboats had been lowered. They were preparing the last two on that side of the ship, the starboard side. They cried out, "Any more women," saw us and came to try and drag Madame & I away from Sir Cosmo, but Madame clung to Sir Cosmo, and begged him not to let them take her, or separate her. She said, "I will go down with you," and I clung to Madam. I would not leave them. It would have been too awful to have been alone.

After all the lifeboats had gone, everybody seemed to rush to the other side of the boat and leave ours vacant, but we still stood there, as Sir Cosmo said, "We must wait for orders." Presently an officer started to swing off a little boat called the "Emergency" boat – quite an ordinary little rowing boat – and started to man it. He saw us and ordered us in. They were then firing the rockets beside us. We had to be nearly thrown up into this boat. Two other American gentlemen jumped in and seven stokers. They started to lower us. We had not gone a few yards when, our little boat got caught up by a wire rope on my side, and in a few minutes, we should all have been hurled into the sea, had it not been for tat brave officer still up on deck. He shouted, "Cut it with a knife," but nobody had one and we were all in black darkness, hanging in midair. He shouted, "Mind your heads," and threw a piece of heavy iron which shook our boat and so set it free. We then went rapidly down to the water.

The dear officer gave orders to row away from the sinking boat at least 200 yards. He afterwards, poor dear, brave fellow, shot himself. We saw the whole thing, and watched that tremendous thing quickly sink. There was then terrible, terrible explosions, and all darkness. Then followed the awful cries and screams of the 1600 dear souls, fighting for their lives in the water. Oh, never shall I forget that awful night, floating about the ocean in this little boat, freezing cold, and listening to this terrible suffering. We all prayed all night long that help may come to us all and how I thought of all my darlings, and all those dear to me. I knew you were all safe and none of you knew what we were going through. It is marvelous how brave one can be, when facing the greatest danger. God gives us strength to bear these things. We floated about all that long night, were terribly cold, and the men rowing got so cold they began to drop oars and lay at bottom of [the] boat. I sat on one man's feet, to try and make them a little warm and tried to rub another one's hands, but I was so cold myself, I had not much power to rub.

Oh, at daybreak, when we saw the lights of that ship, about 4 miles away, we rowed like mad and passed icebergs like mountains. At last about 6:30, the dear Carpathia picked us up. Our little boat was like a speck against that giant. Then came my weakest moment. They lowered a rope swing, which was awkward to sit on, with my life preserver round me. Then they hauled me up by the side of the boat. Can you imagine, swinging in the air over the sea? I just shut my eyes and hung tight saying, "Am I safe?" At last, I felt a strong arm pulling me onto the boat. I was so chattering [I] could say nothing. They gave Madame and I lots of hot brandy.

I cannot go on. It was all too terrible – the scenes and sadness we lived in for the next four days and nights on the darling Carpathia. Oh, but they were so kind to us. Everybody lent us everything and their beds, but of course, all had to sleep on tables, floors, or anywhere.

Curator's note: This transcription is an excerpt from a copy of the full letter that is preserved in the archive of the collections of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich. This transcription has been lightly edited for readability. Line breaks, punctuation, grammar, and capitalization have been adjusted to conform to modern conventions. These changes have been made solely to enhance clarity, and the original intent, tone, and content of the letter have been carefully preserved. The Sotheby's sale of the original letter was held March 28, 1983.