Forward of Lightoller on the officer’s promenade, Quartermaster Arthur John Bright and Able Seaman William A. Lucas were setting the falls from the empty Lifeboat No. 2 davits to Collapsible Lifeboat ‘D’. A crowd of steerage passengers were making their way up from the forward well deck by way of the officer’s deck stairs, coming on to the officer’s promenade deck next to the collapsible lifeboat’s bow.
Perkis stepped back from the gunwale holding the falls tail not quite hand taut as angry shouting broke out on the officer’s promenade deck about twenty feet behind Lightoller’s back. Unfamiliar voices at Collapsible ‘D’ shouting “Ay!” “Hey!” and English voices shouting “Get back, you!” and an American shouting, “What the hell do you think you are up to!” Perkis could see a couple of men attempting to commandeer Collapsible Lifeboat ‘D’ and he could make out the voices of Bright and first-class passengers Ryerson and Duquemin shouting them back.
Perkis got one hand on the Lifeboat No. 4 aft davit to brace himself as Lightoller was suddenly around and up on the forward davit frame and just as suddenly brandishing a pistol.
“Get out of there, cowards!” he shouted, and vaulted over the ropes and the lifeboat gunwale, and got himself squarely on the mid-ship thwarts right in front of the steerage passengers who were climbing into the boat. “Get out, or I will have you thrown overboard!”
Down below in lifeboat No. 4 the passengers had been silently looking out at the water, watching Storekeeper John Foley and Able Seaman William McCarthy keeping the ropes clear, and looking up at the falls straining from the davits as Lightoller and Perkis were letting the lifeboat down.
Carrie continued to keep her eyes focused on the boat deck railing, trying to see past the lights and reflections and tried to watch the gunwale where Herbert was standing. She could not see much more than his silhouette as the lifeboat settled onto the dark surface of the North Atlantic.
Herbert watched until the boat was in the water, and waved once more to Carrie. She saw him standing and could see him waving. She waved back, still watching. Herbert stepped back from the gunwale and turned away.
Herbert looked around at the others, and noticed Colonel Astor had managed to find a place at the rail next to him.
"Well, then, Colonel,” he said, clearly enough for the others to hear.
“I believe there is a passenger door on “D” deck, not far below. I imagine there would be no harm if we were to stand by there.”
“Very thoughtful of you, my good man,” Colonel Astor said, and looked up, taking a deep breath in through his nose.
“Good thinking,” he continued, looking around at the other gentlemen. “Perhaps a few of you might see if you have any luck. I believe I should stay here, and see if I might be any further help with the last few boats, here.”
Herbert blinked, and then put out his hand. “Best of luck, then.”
Astor shook his hand firmly. “Yes. Best of luck to us all.”
Herbert looked around at the others. “Well, then. Anyone?” He turned his collar up, looked up at the funnels and the steam, and started making his way down to the gangway doors.
After Herbert was gone, Carrie closed her eyes for a moment and then sat looking down at her hands folded in her lap. She noticed that the sound of steam venting and the shouting orders up on the boat deck had faded away, and that the weight of the lifeboat shifted from the stiff, groaning ropes of the lifeboat falls to the slow, silent, and steady lifting up and letting down of the ocean. She looked down at the fine oak and elm timbers and pitch pine bench and ran her fingers over the wood along the gunwale.
“Only the best, of course,” she whispered to herself.
Carrie slowly and carefully pulled her new capretto gloves back on, buttoning them up with some deliberation, one, two, three, four. She slowly looked up and around, squinting and blinking at the sharp reflections in the water and the unfamiliar darkness of the North Atlantic. From her seat near the center of the port side bench, she had her back to the ocean, and she was facing the starboard side of the lifeboat from the port side bench. The imposing presence of Titanic’s port side consumed her view, the massive metal sheets, rows of portholes and rivet heads seemingly stretching to the horizon on either side.
Carrie watched as the ropes slackened and the blocks lay down on the lifeboat’s end decks. She felt the smell of the cold salt air deep in behind her eyes. She looked around and into the faces of the other passengers on board. The other passengers were looking expectantly around at each other, their eyes betraying their unspoken fears as the sounds from above were displaced by the low, persistent rumble growing deep inside Titanic’s iron walls. No one seemed to know what to do next. Carrie straightened herself and took a deep breath.
“Well!” she said. “It certainly is good to have that done with. Are we all set, then?”
There was a moment of continued silence, and then Foley spoke up. “We will need to man the oars, Ma’am,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect that any of you have been at the oars?”
“Oh! For goodness’ sake!” exclaimed the elder Ms. Hippach from her seat just aft of Carrie, at the second thwart on the port side bench. “With all this fuss,” she said, shaking her head and looking around. “What on earth are you up to? Certainly, there are sailormen who could come aboard! Oh! Of all the indignities!”
Her daughter, Ms. Jean Hippach interrupted. “Oh, Mother!” she said. “It is just for safety’s sake. How many times have you told me not to put myself above any man’s work? Well! The sooner we just make the best of this we can get away from all this fuss!”
“Well! I must say!” said Ms. Hippach.
“I will take an oar, if I may,” said Jean, speaking firmly.
“There is an oar, and there is an oarlock right behind you, if you like,” said Foley.
Jean Hippach turned around. “This one?” she said.
“Yes, Ma’am. And right there, mid the thwarts . . .”
“Yes, I see. Yes, that’s just fine.”
Right across from her, seated on the starboard bench at the aft part of the second thwart, Ms. Thayer took hold of one of the heavy oak oars laid amidships across the thwarts and turned and found a second oarlock along the bench behind her. “I suppose I can manage this,” she said, “unless I might spoil the fun for the rest of you!”
“We can hope it is not too long,” said Ms. Cummings. “We might take turns.”
From the bow of the boat, huddled together with her children, Ms. Carter called out. “I am sure I can help, if we are taking turns,” she said, “I might need some help with the children.”
On the starboard side of the third thwart, Ms. Clark was lifting an oar from along the bench behind where she was sitting, and looking around. “Would there be another oarlock along this side?” she asked.
“Forward,” said Perkis.
“Right up this way,” said McCarthy from the bow deck, pointing to the next starboard oarlock between the third and fourth thwarts, just past the where the Carters were huddled.
“Right, yes, I see it,” said Ms. Clark.
“These are a bit heavy, Ma’am,” said McCarthy. “You will row all right from the benches, if you must. Some times if you are coming up to quarters, needing to move a bit, you see, it will be best if you should have your legs about you, standing, just so.”
“Oh, yes. I see,” said Ms. Clark, looking somewhat puzzled. “Yes. Of course.”
Across from Ms. Clark, Ms. Cummings moved forward on the bench, toward Ms. Hamlin, who was seated on the second thwart. “There would be another just ahead, here?” she said.
Ms. Hamlin was huddled into a blanket with her eight-month-old child, facing forward. On her way to America from her home in Finland, she spoke no English, and did not truly understand what was going on around her.
Ms. Cummings presence beside her startled her out of her focused world.
“Oho! Anteeksi!” she said. “Hei, yes?” (Oh, excuse me! Hello, yes?”)
“Oh, dear, please excuse me. I am so sorry,” said Ms. Cummings.
“No English. Kyllä? No English,” said Ms. Hamlin, her eyes wide. (No English. Yes? No English.)
“You poor dear,” said Ms. Cummings.
“En tiedä . . . Ai tount anderstänt . . .” (I do not . . . I don’t understand . . .)
“Little one, yes?” Said Ms. Cummings, nodding her head, and looking down at the small face peering out of the blankets. “Yes?”
“Yes, yes,” said Ms. Hamlin, her eyes filling with tears.
Ms. Cummings put her arm around Ms. Hamlin. “Yes,” she said, “I am missing my husband . . .”
Ms. Hamlin put her left hand over her face and began weeping with short gasps. Ms. Cummings pulled gently with her arm around Ms. Hamlin and let her collapse into her shoulder.
The boat grew silent, watching Ms. Hamlin and Ms. Cummings and the heavy, broken sobs.
Carrie watched and then looked down at her warmly gloved hands and back up at Titanic. Her eyes were now more fully adjusted to the light. She listened to Ms. Hamlin slowly recovering herself with deep, heaving sighs and became aware of the stillness of the water, and the cold, and the light haze in the air along the surface of the ocean. She noticed how small the lifeboat was beside Titanic. She noticed the living movement of the water and she noticed the dark sounds of Titanic’s boilers and the low rumbling deep within the great ship’s hull.