I beg to specially mention how willingly and cheerfully the whole of the ship’s company have behaved throughout, receiving the highest praise from everybody, and I can assure you, that I am very proud to have such a ship’s company under my command.
We have experienced very great difficulty in transmitting news, also names of survivors. Our wireless is very poor, and again, we have had so many interruptions from other ships, and also messages from shore (principally press, which we ignored). I gave instructions to send first all official messages, then names of passengers, then survivors’ private messages, and the last press messages, as I considered the three first items most important and necessary.
We had haze early Tuesday morning for several hours; again more or less all Wednesday from 5.30 A. M. to 5 P. M. Strong south-southwesterly winds and clear weather Tuesday with moderate rough sea.
Bearing the survivors of the ill-fated Titanic and with them the first detailed news of the most terrible catastrophe of the sea, the steamship Carpathia, vessel of woe, bore up through the narrows of the harbor of New York, and tied up at the Cunard pier whence it had sailed less than a week before.
LIKE A FUNERAL SHIP.
Silently as a funeral ship the Carpathia sped. Passengers and crew lined the upper decks. From portholes peered the faces of scores.
But no cheer such as usually comes at the end of a cruise was heard. The lights shone brilliantly from every port and from the upper decks, but the big vessel moved silently, almost spectral in its appearance.
There was all the speed at the vessel’s command in its approach. Moving in from the open sea, the liner turned its prow up the channel toward the spot where the reflection in the sky showed the presence of the great city.
At full speed she bore northward between the twinkling lights on shore. There were sick on board and their condition did not permit of delay.
To the dismal souls on board, the weather must have seemed peculiarly fitting.