trained in loading and lowering the lifeboats. Two hours should have been enough to do the job properly. But Captain Smith’s casual approach to the whole matter of boat drill now took its toll. His custom on the Olympic —carried over to the Titanic —was merely to test two lifeboats once a voyage, always while the ship was tied up at dock. A picked crew of experienced seamen—usually the same team every time—would lower the boats to the water, then raise them up again. The stewards participated only occasionally, and the firemen not at all. As a result, there were not enough trained hands, and on the night ofApril 14, the boats could not be lowered simultaneously, but had to be launched one at a time.
Boat 4 offers a prime example of what could happen. This was the boat that Second Officer Lightoller had been unable to load from the Promenade Deck because all the windows were closed. They were soon opened, but by that time Lightoller and his team of “old hands” had moved on to Boat 6…then to Boat 8…and finally to Collapsible D, which was still lashed to the Boat Deck. More than an hour passed before he got a chance to break off and finish launching No. 4. Meanwhile the women waiting to enter the boat simply cooled their heels.
By now it was nearly 2:00, and the water was only ten feet below the Promenade Deck. The women were hurriedly rounded up and passed through the windows into the boat. The pace was so frantic that Lightoller was bathed in sweat, despite the 32° temperature. Colonel Gracie and some of the other First Class men pitched in to help—experience no longer mattered. In the rush to get the boat off, 20 places were left unfilled.
Even the last boat lowered, Collapsible D, was launched with plenty of room in the bow. As it dropped by the open end of the Promenade Deck, Hugh Woolner and Bjornstrom Steffanson were standing there and noticed the empty space. They decided to jump for it as the water washed onto the deck and over their evening slippers. This was a dangerous thing to do, for boats hanging in davits are notoriously tippy, but they got away with it, and Collapsible D pulled away with 44 of its 47 places filled.
There remained Collapsibles A and B, stowed on the roof of the officers’ quarters on either side of theforward funnel. These boats, too, were never fully utilized, but here the explanation was not haste or complacency. It was a case of poor design. It’s hard to imagine what Harland & Wolff had in mind when they put two boats in such an inaccessible spot. There was absolutely no mechanism for getting them down to the Boat Deck, where they then had to be fitted into the empty davits used by the two emergency boats.
Nevertheless, the crew did their best. Murdoch led a small group trying to free Collapsible A on the starboard side, while Lightoller’s men struggled with Collapsible B on the port side. With enormous effort the two boats were wrestled to the edge of the roof, and oars were placed against the wall of the officers’ quarters to slide them down to the Boat Deck. A handful of passengers quietly looked on, trying to calculate their chances. Should they wait here on the slim hope of a place in these two boats, or should they head aft toward the momentary safety of the poop deck?
Colonel Gracie and Clinch Smith decided to head aft, but suddenly their way was blocked by a great mass of steerage passengers—hundreds of them—surging up the companionway and deck ladders from somewhere below. Who they were, or where they had been until now, remains a mystery. Had they been restrained until this last desperate moment? Had they been waiting to be escorted to the Boat Deck, when time simply ran out? No one will ever know, for all were soon engulfed by the water now sweeping up the deck.
There were women as well as men in this crowd, and it offers our best clue to what happened to the Goodwin family. Sticking together, they probably reached the Boat Deck too late for a
Boat 4 offers a prime example of what could happen. This was the boat that Second Officer Lightoller had been unable to load from the Promenade Deck because all the windows were closed. They were soon opened, but by that time Lightoller and his team of “old hands” had moved on to Boat 6…then to Boat 8…and finally to Collapsible D, which was still lashed to the Boat Deck. More than an hour passed before he got a chance to break off and finish launching No. 4. Meanwhile the women waiting to enter the boat simply cooled their heels.
By now it was nearly 2:00, and the water was only ten feet below the Promenade Deck. The women were hurriedly rounded up and passed through the windows into the boat. The pace was so frantic that Lightoller was bathed in sweat, despite the 32° temperature. Colonel Gracie and some of the other First Class men pitched in to help—experience no longer mattered. In the rush to get the boat off, 20 places were left unfilled.
Even the last boat lowered, Collapsible D, was launched with plenty of room in the bow. As it dropped by the open end of the Promenade Deck, Hugh Woolner and Bjornstrom Steffanson were standing there and noticed the empty space. They decided to jump for it as the water washed onto the deck and over their evening slippers. This was a dangerous thing to do, for boats hanging in davits are notoriously tippy, but they got away with it, and Collapsible D pulled away with 44 of its 47 places filled.
There remained Collapsibles A and B, stowed on the roof of the officers’ quarters on either side of theforward funnel. These boats, too, were never fully utilized, but here the explanation was not haste or complacency. It was a case of poor design. It’s hard to imagine what Harland & Wolff had in mind when they put two boats in such an inaccessible spot. There was absolutely no mechanism for getting them down to the Boat Deck, where they then had to be fitted into the empty davits used by the two emergency boats.
Nevertheless, the crew did their best. Murdoch led a small group trying to free Collapsible A on the starboard side, while Lightoller’s men struggled with Collapsible B on the port side. With enormous effort the two boats were wrestled to the edge of the roof, and oars were placed against the wall of the officers’ quarters to slide them down to the Boat Deck. A handful of passengers quietly looked on, trying to calculate their chances. Should they wait here on the slim hope of a place in these two boats, or should they head aft toward the momentary safety of the poop deck?
Colonel Gracie and Clinch Smith decided to head aft, but suddenly their way was blocked by a great mass of steerage passengers—hundreds of them—surging up the companionway and deck ladders from somewhere below. Who they were, or where they had been until now, remains a mystery. Had they been restrained until this last desperate moment? Had they been waiting to be escorted to the Boat Deck, when time simply ran out? No one will ever know, for all were soon engulfed by the water now sweeping up the deck.
There were women as well as men in this crowd, and it offers our best clue to what happened to the Goodwin family. Sticking together, they probably reached the Boat Deck too late for a
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