schoolmaster Lawrence Beesley was travelling second-class in cabin D56. In company with most of the passengers, he was unaware that there had even been a collision.
The voyage from Queenstown was quiet and successful. We had met with very fine weather. The sea was calm and the wind was westerly to south-westerly the whole way. The temperature was very cold, particularly on the last day. In fact, after dinner on Sunday evening it was almost too cold to be on the deck at all. I had been in my berth for about ten minutes when at about 11.40 p.m. I felt a slight jar. Then soon afterwards there wasa second shock, but it was not sufficiently large to cause any anxiety to anyone however nervous they may have been. The engines, however, stopped immediately afterwards. At first I thought that the ship had lost a propeller. I went up on deck in my dressing gown, and found only a few people there, who had come up in the same way to inquire why we had stopped, but there was no sort of anxiety in the mind of anyone. We saw through the smoking-room window that a game of cards was going on and I went in to ask if the players knew anything. They had noticed the jar a little more and looking through the window had seen a huge iceberg go by close to the side of the boat. They thought we had just grazed it with a glancing blow, and the engines had been stopped to see if any damage had been done.
None of us, of course, had any conception that she had been pierced below by part of the submerged iceberg. The game of cards was resumed and, without any thought of disaster, I retired to my cabin to read until we went on again. I never saw any of the players or the onlookers again.
A little later, hearing people going upstairs, I went out again and found that everybody wanted to know why the engines had stopped. No doubt many of them had been awakened from their sleep by the sudden stopping of a vibration to which they had become accustomed during the four days we had been on board. Naturally, with such powerful engines as the Titanic carried, the vibration was very noticeable all the time, and the sudden stopping had something of the same effect as the stopping of a loud-ticking grandfatherâs clock in a room. On going on deck again I saw that there was an undoubted list downward from stern to bow, but knowing of what had happened concluded some of the front compartments had filled and weighed her down. I went down again to put on warmer clothing, and as I dressed heard an order shouted: âAll passengers on deck with life belts on.â We walked slowly up with them tied on over our clothing, but even then presumed this was a wise precaution the captain was taking,and that we should return in a short time and retire to bed. There was a total absence of any panic or any expressions of alarm, and I suppose this can be accounted for by the exceedingly calm night and the absence of any signs of the accident.
The ship was absolutely still and except for a gentle tilt downward, which I do not think one person in ten would have noticed at that time, no signs of the approaching disaster were visible. She lay just as if she were waiting the order to go again when some trifling matter had been adjusted. But in a few moments we saw the covers lifted from the boats and the crews allotted to them standing by and curling up the ropes which were to lower them by the pulley blocks into the water.
We then began to realize it was more serious than had been supposed, and my first thought was to go down and get more clothing and some money, but seeing people pouring up the stairs decided it was better to cause no confusion to people coming up by doing so.
Presently we heard the order: âAll men stand back away from the boats and all ladies retire to next deck belowâ â the smoking deck or B deck. The men all stood away and remained in absolute silence, leaning against the end railings of the deck or pacing slowly up and down.
The boats were
Jeff Wheeler
Max Chase
Margaret Leroy
Jeffrey Thomas
Poul Anderson
Michelle M. Pillow
Frank Tuttle
Tricia Schneider
Rosalie Stanton
Lee Killough