In the first boat to put off, Lightholder said, he put twenty to twenty-five. Two seamen were placed in it. The officer said he could spare no more and that the fact that women rowed did not show the boat was not fully equipped.
At that time he did not believe the danger was great. Two seamen placed in the boat he said were selected by him, but he could not recall who they were.
“The third boat?” “By the time I came to the third boat—all these on the portside—I began to realize that the situation was serious and I began to take chances.”
“How long did all the work of loading and lowering a lifeboat take?” “It was difficult to say, but I think about fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“How many passengers did the third boat contain?” “I filled it up as full as I dared, sir, then lowered it; about thirty-five, I think. The women and children couldn’t have stood quieter if they’d been in church.”
In loading the fourth lifeboat Lightholder said he was running short of seamen. “I put two seamen in and one jumped out. That was the first boat I had to put a man passenger in. He was standing nearby and said he would go if I needed him.
“I said, ‘Are you a sailor?’ and he replied that he was a yachtsman. Then I told him that if he was sailor enough to get out over the bulwarks to the lifeboat to go ahead. He did and proved himself afterward to be a very brave man.”
“Who was he—did you know him?” “I didn’t know him then, but afterward I looked him up. He was Major Peuchen, of Toronto.”
“Had you ever seen him before?” “Never.”