The Other Side of the Night by Daniel Allen Butler Page B

after midnight. It was probably one of the most agonizing decisions of his career, for it brought him face-to-face with an awful truth only he and a handful of others aboard the sinking liner knew: the Titanic had lifeboats for barely half the people aboard her that night. The Board of Trade, which regulated such matters, had concocted a complicated formula for determining the lifeboat requirements of British-registered vessels. Specifically this stated that any ship over 10,000 tons must carry sixteen lifeboats with space for 550 people, plus enough rafts and floats to equal 75 percent of the capacity of the lifeboats. For the Titanic this worked out to a requirement for lifeboats for 962 persons.
    Actually, her lifeboat capacity exceeded the Board of Trade requirements, since the White Star Line had added four Englehardt collapsibles, wooden keels with folding canvas sides, to the ship’s complement of boats. Together with the required sixteen boats they gave the Titanic a capacity of 11,780 cubic feet, or room for 1,178 people. The nightmare that was about to confront Captain Smith was the fact that Titanic was carrying 2,207 passengers and crew. If help did not arrive in time, the collision with the iceberg was a death sentence for almost half the people aboard.
    A sort of quiet, controlled frenzy swept over the Carpathia as her speed increased and her bow swung around to the northwest. Seaman Robert Vaughn was awakened by a sharp tug at the blanket he’d wrapped about himself when he’d settled into his bunk for the night, and an unseen voice told him to get up and get dressed. All about him his bunkmates were already pulling their clothes on—or so it seemed. The crew’s quarters were pitch black, the lights either not working properly or else had gone missing, and Vaughn wondered aloud what was up. He was told the Carpathia had struck an iceberg.
    It only took a quick glance out the porthole to put that rumor to rest—the ship was clearly driving hard through a slowly rising Atlantic swell. Once dressed, Vaughn and his shipmates quickly made their way to the upper deck, where First Officer Dean set them to work with a will. The first order of business was to swing out the lifeboats and have them readied for lowering. If the Titanic ’s boats should prove to be insufficient for the number of people aboard her, the Carpathia ’s would have to ready to assist them. The time spent clearing and swinging a boat out might be the difference between life and death for some poor souls struggling in the freezing water. So the crew swarmed across the Carpathia ’s sixteen lifeboats, rolling up the canvas covers, undoing the lines lashing them to their deck cradles, checking the oars and oarlocks, making certain the drainplugs were in place and secure. With a series of creaks and groans from the block-and-tackle sets suspending the boats from the davit arms, each lifeboat was lifted free of its cradles, the blocks holding it in place knocked free, and then in a carefully orchestrated series of movements, first the bow then the stern of each boat was swung over the side, and snubbing chains attached to keep them from swinging back and forth.
    It was 12:34 by the clock in the Titanic ’s wireless room when the German liner Frankfurt responded, giving her position: 150 miles away. Phillips asked, “Are you coming to our assistance?” The German liner asked, “What is the matter with you?” Patiently, Phillips tapped back: “Tell your captain to come to our help. We are on the ice.”
    At this moment Olympic barged in. She was five hundred miles away, but her powerful wireless easily put her in touch with her stricken sister. Phillips asked her to stand by. Captain Smith had just come in the cabin to get a firsthand report of the situation. Phillips reminded him about the Carpathia .
    “What call are you sending?” Smith asked.
    “CQD,” Phillips replied.
    The exchange jogged Bride’s memory. Recently an