Transcriber’s Note

Spelling errors and other inaccuracies in the lists of survivors and rolls of the dead are preserved as printed.

The Tragic Story
Of The
Empress of Ireland

An Authentic Account of the Most
Horrible Disaster in Canadian History,
Constructed from the Real
Facts Obtained from Those on
Board Who Survived
And Other Great Sea Disasters

BY
LOGAN MARSHALL
Author of “The Story of Polar Conquest,” “The
Story of the Panama Canal,” Etc.

Containing the Statements of
CAPTAIN HENRY GEORGE KENDALL
Commanding the Empress of Ireland
——And——
CAPTAIN THOMAS ANDERSEN
Commanding the Storstad

ILLUSTRATED
With Numerous Authentic Photographs and Drawings

Copyright, 1914, by
L. T. MYERS

THE EMPRESS OF IRELAND

One of the finest ships of the Canadian line. Soon after leaving Quebec on her voyage to Liverpool with over 1,300 souls on board, she was struck by the Norwegian collier “Storstad” off Father Point, Quebec, on May 29, 1914, at 2.10 A. M., and sank about fifteen minutes later, carrying a thousand of her passengers down with her.

CONTENTS

FACTS ABOUT THE WRECK OF THE EMPRESS OF IRELAND

NUMBER of persons aboard, 1,475.

Number of persons saved, 397.

Number of persons dead, 1,078.

Total number of first-class passengers, 87.

Total number of second-class passengers, 256.

Total number of third-class passengers, 717.

Total number of crew, 415.

The Salvation Army Delegation numbered 150; of these 124 were lost.

The Empress of Ireland was a twin-screw vessel of 14,500 tons.

The vessel was built in Glasgow in 1906 by the Fairfield Company, Ltd., and was owned by the Canadian Pacific Railway.

The Storstad is a single-screw vessel, registering 6,028 tons.

The vessel was built by the Armstrong, Whitworth Company at Newcastle in 1911, and is owned by the Dampsk Aktieselk Maritime of Christiania, Norway.

CANADA MOURNS

INTRODUCTION

THOSE who go down to the sea in ships” was once a synonym for those who gambled with death and put their lives upon the hazard. Today the mortality at sea is less than on common carriers on land. But the futility of absolute prevention of accident is emphasized again and again. The regulation of safety makes catastrophes like that of the Empress of Ireland all the more tragic and terrible. A blow, a ripping, the side taken out of a ship, darkness, the inrush of waters, a panic, and then in the hush the silent corpses drifting by.

So with the Canadian liner. She has gone to her grave leaving a trail of sorrow behind her. Hundreds of human hearts and homes are in mourning for the loss of dear companions and friends. The universal sympathy which is written in every face and heard in every voice proves that man is more than the beasts that perish. It is an evidence of the divine in humanity. Why should we care? There is no reason in the world, unless there is something in us that is different from lime and carbon and phosphorus, something that makes us mortals able to suffer together—

“For we have all of us an human heart.”

The collision which sent the Empress of Ireland to the bottom of the St. Lawrence with hundreds of passengers in their berths produced a shudder throughout the civilized world. And the effect on the spirits of the millions who received the shock will not soon pass off. The Titanic tragedy sat heavy on the minds of the people of this generation for months after it happened.

There is hardly any one in touch with world affairs who will not feel himself drawn into the circle of mourners over such a disaster. From every center of great calamity waves of sympathetic sorrow spread to far-distant strangers, but the perishing of great numbers in a shipwreck seems to impress our human nature more profoundly than do accidents or visitations of other kinds in which the toll of death is as great. Our concern for those in danger seems to turn especially to those in peril on the sea.

Science has wrought miracles for the greater protection of those afloat. Wireless telegraphy, air-tight compartments, the construction which has produced what is called “the unsinkable ship,” have added greatly to the safety of ocean travel. But science cannot eliminate the element of error. None of the aids that the workers for safe transit have bestowed on navigation could avail to prevent what happened in the early hours of May 29, 1914. The Empress of Ireland was rammed by another vessel, and so crushed as to be unable to remain afloat for more than fifteen minutes after the impact.

Overwhelmed by the catastrophe we fall back upon that faith in the Unseen Power which is never shaken by the appearance of what seems to be unnecessary evil or inexplicable cruelty. Trust in God involves the belief that behind the stupendous processes of natural life there is a divine wisdom so deeply grounded upon reality that no human mind can comprehend its precepts and a divine love so boundless in its compassion that no human heart can measure its scope. We concede the knowledge of the divine mind to be “too wonderful” for our understanding. “It is high: I cannot attain unto it.”

Therefore we are prepared for the awful, the mysterious, and even the terrible. Nothing in the universal process can disturb or confound us. If a thing appears to be evil it is wisdom which is at fault. If an event seems to be cruel it is our love which is blind. We look upon the chances and changes of human experience even as we gaze at night upon the movements of the heavenly spheres; we would as little think of questioning the beneficence of the one as of the other.

Come sorrow or joy, failure or success, death or life—it is all the same. We trust God, and therefore we trust life, which is simply the thing that God is doing. “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him!” Yea, it is only when God seems to slay us that we can trust in Him, for trust begins only when knowledge fails; just as the stars shine only when the sun is gone!

HE IS THE PILOT IN A FOG

CHAPTER I
The Empress of Ireland Sails to Her Doom

ANOTHER TOLL OF THE SEA—THE EMPRESS SAILS FROM QUEBEC—THE HOLIDAY HUMOR OF THE PASSENGERS—CAPTAIN KENDALL WARNED OF FOGS—THE STORSTAD SIGHTED—FOG SUDDENLY SETTLES—THE STORSTAD CRASHES INTO THE EMPRESS—INJURY ON STARBOARD SIDE—A MORTAL BLOW—WIRELESS CALLS FOR HELP—HUNDREDS DROWN IN CABIN—NO TIME TO ROUSE PASSENGERS—LIFE-BOATS LAUNCHED IN RECORD TIME—THE EMPRESS GOES DOWN

ONCE again an appalling sea disaster comes to remind us that no precautions man can take will make him immune against the forces that nature, when she so wills, can assemble against him. It is a truism to say that the most recent marine disaster was preventable. An accident suggests the idea of preventability. The Empress of Ireland was equipped with modern appliances for safety. She had longitudinal and transverse water-tight steel bulkheads and the submarine signaling and wireless apparatus. She was being navigated with all the precaution and care which the dangers of the course and the atmospheric conditions demanded. The Storstad had been sighted and signaled. The Empress was at a standstill, or slowly moving backward in response to a hasty reversal of the engines. Nothing apparently that those responsible for the lives of their passengers could do to safeguard those lives was left undone, and yet hundreds of people perished miserably.

THE EMPRESS SAILS FROM QUEBEC

Proudly the Empress of Ireland, under the command of Lieutenant Henry George Kendall of the Royal Navy Reserves, moved from her dock at Quebec, about half past four on the afternoon of Thursday, May 28, 1914, bound for Liverpool. Amid scenes that are ever new and full of deep feeling to those who are taking their leave or bidding God-speed to dear ones, the majestic ship began what her hundreds of light-hearted passengers anticipated as a bon voyage. The last “Good-bye, and God bless you!” had been said; the last embrace had been bestowed; the last “All ashore that’s going ashore,” had been called out; the last home-stayer had regretfully hurried down the gang-board; and then, while hands, hats and handkerchiefs were waved, with the ship’s band playing a solemn hymn, distance grew apace between the Empress and the land.

THE HOLIDAY HUMOR OF THE PASSENGERS

Fainter and fainter the crowd on the dock appeared to the passengers on board, until finally the dock itself was lost to view as the graceful vessel gained headway. Some of the passengers remained long at the ship’s rail, held by the fascination of the water, which seemed swiftly to approach, and as swiftly to move away. Others, singly or in groups, left the rail to arrange their belongings in their staterooms, to inspect the magnificence of the vessel’s equipment, and to accustom themselves to their new surroundings.

Twilight settled without dampening the gay humor of the throng. The first meal on board was eaten with a relish which only the occasion could impart, and the passengers disposed themselves for the full enjoyment of the evening.

CAPTAIN KENDALL WARNED OF FOGS

Captain Kendall had been warned of the prevalence of fogs in the lower river, and information had reached the liner also that there were forest fires in Quebec which were throwing smoke blankets over the St. Lawrence. Having experienced such conditions before, the commander of the Empress, while quite unalarmed, took the usual precautions.

As night came on he reduced the liner’s speed. The night was still clear when the incoming Alsatian passed so closely that her passengers had a fine view of the big Canadian Pacific Railway ship, which showed beautifully and majestically as she swung by with her decks blazing with electric lights.

Captain Kendall stopped his ship at Rimouski, a town of 2,000 inhabitants, on the New Brunswick shore, about 180 miles northeast of Quebec as the channel flows. It is a mail station, the last outpost of the Dominion mail service. Bags of mail were loaded aboard, and the Empress moved steadily out into the broad river.

At this point the St. Lawrence, leading into the inland sea, which is the gulf of St. Lawrence, is thirty miles wide. The channel runs about ten miles from the New Brunswick shore and about twenty miles from the Quebec shore.

At midnight the tide was running in strongly. The weather was cold and there was a piercing sting to the air. The mercury had fallen to just above the freezing point. Few passengers were stirring after midnight. It was too cold on deck to make late vigils pleasurable. There were a few parties in the smoking room at bridge and poker, but the great majority of the passengers were in their berths.

THE STORSTAD SIGHTED

At half past one o’clock Friday morning the Empress reached Father Point, where the pilot was dropped. The vessel then proceeded at full speed. After passing the Cock Point gas buoy, Captain Kendall sighted the Norwegian collier Storstad. To quote from his own story, as he has told it in another chapter: “The Storstad was then about one point on my starboard bow. At that time I saw a slight fog bank coming gradually from the land and knew it was going to pass between the Storstad and myself. The Storstad was about two miles away at the time.

The safety of the St. Lawrence has long been the subject of debate. Certainly it has certain natural features which make it dangerous at some seasons of the year; and of course lack of knowledge of its waters and the absence of aids to navigation were the cause of wrecks in the early stages of its navigation. But the same might be said of any other great route of trade; and there can be no question whatever that the various governments of Canada have for many years been wide-awake to adopt means of protecting mariners on this greatest water route into the heart of the American continent. Today, so great has been the progress made, that it is a common opinion of shipping men that it is almost as safe to navigate the ship channel up to Montreal by night as in the full light of day.

FOG SUDDENLY SETTLES

“Then the fog came and the Storstad lights disappeared. I rang full speed astern on my engines and stopped my ship. At the same time I blew three short blasts on the steamer’s [!-- original location of illustration --] whistle, meaning ‘I am going full speed astern.’ The Storstad answered with the whistle, giving me one prolonged blast. I then looked over the side of my ship into the water and saw my ship was stopped. I stopped my engines and blew two long blasts, meaning ‘my ship was under way but stopped and has no way upon her.’ He answered me again with one prolonged blast. The sound was then about four points upon my starboard bow. It was still foggy. I then looked out to where the sound came from. About two minutes afterward I saw his red and green lights. He would then be about one ship’s length away from me.

THE STORSTAD CRASHES INTO THE EMPRESS

“I shouted to him through the megaphone to go full speed astern as I saw the danger of collision was inevitable. At the same time I put my engines full speed ahead, with my helm hard aport, with the object of avoiding, if possible, the shock. Almost at the same time he came right in and cut me down in a line between the funnels.”

Captain Thomas Andersen, who commanded the Storstad, gives a different explanation of the approach of the two ships. According to his version, which is given elsewhere under his own name, “the vessels sighted each other when far apart. The Empress of Ireland was seen off the port bow of the Storstad. The Empress of Ireland’s green or starboard light was visible to those on the Storstad. Under these circumstances the rules of navigation gave the Storstad the right of way. The heading of the Empress was then changed in such a manner as to put the vessels in a position to pass safely. Shortly after a fog enveloped first the Empress and then the Storstad.

“Fog signals were exchanged. The Storstad’s engines were at once slowed and then stopped. Her heading remained unaltered. Whistles from the Empress were heard on the Storstad’s port bow and were answered. The Empress of Ireland was then seen through the fog close at hand on the port bow of the Storstad. She was showing her green light and was making considerable headway.

“The engines of the Storstad were at once reversed at full speed and her headway was nearly checked when the vessels came together.”

INJURY ON STARBOARD SIDE

The horrible fact, about which there can be no dispute, is that the Storstad crashed bow on into the side of the big Canadian liner, striking it on the starboard side about midway of its length. The steel-sheathed bow of the collier cut through the plates and shell of the Empress and penetrated the hull for a distance of about twelve feet, according to the best testimony.

The water didn’t flow in. It rushed in. From such stories as could be gathered from survivors and from members of the crew, it appears that Captain Kendall and his officers did all that was humanly possible in the fourteen minutes that the Empress hung on the river.

Captain Kendall said that he rang to the engine-room for full speed ahead, with the object of trying to run ashore and save the passengers, but almost immediately after the engines stopped and the ship began to list rapidly. The captain of the Storstad declares that it was this action of Captain Kendall that prevented him from holding the bow of the Storstad in the gaping hole it made and that it was the Empress herself, with the way upon her, following the order “Full steam ahead,” which drew away from the Storstad, bending the collier’s bow out of the great gash in the liner’s side, and disappeared in the fog. What further damage may have been done as the vessels parted no one seemed to know certainly.

FOUGHT FOR LIFE IN DARKNESS

Instantly, it seemed as though there was a nightmare of sounds, cries of fear and agony that were too awful to be real. All lights went out almost at once. More than 1,400 persons were fighting for life in the black dark; yet, for the most part the flight was not one of panic, but grim determination to find, if possible, some means of safety.

Wireless operator Bomford and others who managed to win a way to the top deck saw scores leap into the sea. They saw hundreds trying to crawl up decks that were sloping precipitously, lose their balance and fall backward into the rising water. Passengers who couldn’t get to the few life-boats in time seized chairs, anything loose they could find, and leaped into the river.

Very many persons perished in the cold water while clinging to bits of wreckage and praying for help.

THE COLLISION ON THE ST. LAWRENCE

To make clear the somewhat contradictory testimony of Captain Kendall, of the Empress of Ireland, and Captain Andersen, of the collier Storstad, as to what took place just before and at the time of the fatal collision, diagrams Nos. 1 and 2, which are based on their statements, tell their own story. In No. 1 the vessels are shown in the position in which they were when first sighted, about which position both captains agree, the Storstad coming up the river on the starboard, or right side of the Empress of Ireland, so that those on the Storstad saw the green, or starboard, light of the Empress of Ireland over the port, or left, bow of the Storstad. The collier was in such a position that those on the Empress of Ireland could see both its red, port, light and its green, starboard, light. If the rules of the sea had been observed, the Empress of Ireland would have gone off to the right or steered to starboard so that the vessels would have passed each other easily. Instead, both vessels took a course which finally ended in position No. 2, in which the Storstad struck the Empress of Ireland between the funnels on the right, or starboard, side, hitting it a glancing blow with its starboard, or right, bow. As to how this fatal position was reached, the captains disagree, the question of the kind of signals and what response was made, or should have been made, being in dispute.

A MORTAL BLOW

In a moment the fate of the Empress was known to all. The one smashing blow had done for her and the great bull-nose of the 3,500-ton freighter had crashed through the ribs and bulkheads. The one pithy sentence of Captain Kendall summed all. “The ship is gone,” he said; “women to the boats.”

Kendall was hurt and in great pain, but he showed the pluck and decision of a naval officer. In the first minute of the disaster he ordered young Edward Bomford, the wireless operator, to flash the S. O. S. call, the cry for help that every ship must heed. He ordered officers and stewards to collect as many passengers as could be found and hold them for the boats. He had nine life-boats overboard within ten minutes.

WIRELESS CALLS FOR HELP

The S. O. S. call was ticked out by Edward Bomford, the junior wireless operator. Bomford had just come on duty to relieve Ronald Ferguson, when the Storstad rammed the Empress. Both young men were thrown to the deck. As they picked themselves up they heard the chorus of the disaster, the cries, groans and screams of injured and drowning passengers.

An officer came running to the wireless house with orders from Captain Kendall, but Bomford, at the key, didn’t have to wait for orders. He began to call the Marconi station at Father Point, and kept at it desperately until he had the ear of the Father Point operator.

Then young Bomford turned his wireless to search the river and gulf, and he hurled the news of the Empress’ fate for 500 miles oceanward. Many steamships picked up the call, but they were hours away. They started for the position given, but long before they had made any progress the Empress and two-thirds of her ship’s company were under fifteen fathoms of water. Fourteen minutes is too brief a time for much rescue work.

HUNDREDS DROWN IN CABINS

Had there been time, hundreds who went down with the ship would have survived. A thousand men and women who had been asleep awoke too late to scramble to the decks. They were crushed or mangled by the bow of the Storstad, injured by splintered timbers or overwhelmed in the terrific rush of water.

It is probable that scores who were asleep were killed instantly, but hundreds perished while feebly struggling for doorways, or while trying for a footing on sloping decks. The terror and confusion of the few minutes, while the Empress staggered, listed and sank, can hardly be put in words. The survivors themselves could not describe those minutes adequately.

In the brief space of time between the shock of the collision and the sinking of the liner there was little chance for systematic marshaling of the passengers. Indeed, everything indicates that hundreds of those on the steamer probably never reached the decks.

NO TIME TO ROUSE PASSENGERS

The stewards did not have time to rouse the people from their berths. Those who heard the frenzied calls of the officers for the passengers to hurry on deck lost no time in obeying them, rushing up from their cabins in scanty attire. They piled into the boats, which were rapidly lowered, and were rowed away. Many who waited to dress were drowned.

The horror of the interval during which the Empress of Ireland was rapidly filling and the frightened throngs on board her were hurrying every effort to escape before she sank was added to by what seemed like an explosion, which quickly followed the ripping and tearing given the liner by the Storstad’s bow. As Captain Kendall afterwards explained, this supposed explosion was in reality the pressure of air caused by the in-rushing water. The ship’s heavy list as the water pouring in weighted her on the side she was struck, made the work of launching boats increasingly difficult from moment to moment, and when she finally took her plunge to the bottom scores still left on her decks were carried down in the vortex, only a few being able to clear her sides and find support on pieces of wreckage.

IN THEIR NIGHT CLOTHES

Many passengers fortunate enough to get into the life-boats found themselves garbed only in their night clothes. No baggage was saved. The condition of the survivors was pitiable. Some had broken arms and legs, and all had suffered terribly. L. A. Gosselin, a prominent lawyer from Montreal, saved himself by clinging to a raft.

PICKED UP THE CAPTAIN

Ernest Hayes, an assistant purser, said that he leaped from the promenade deck a minute or two after the collision. He climbed into No. 3 life-boat, which, a few minutes later, picked up Captain Kendall.

J. W. Black and his wife, who live in Ottawa, jumped together before the ship sank. They got on deck too late to find places in a life-boat. They decided to jump and take their chances. Fortune was with them, for it sent wreckage to Mr. Black’s hand, and he kept his wife above water until a life-boat reached them.

William Measures, of Montreal, a member of the Salvation Army band, jumped overboard and swam to a life-boat. A young Englishman said there was a terrific shock when the Storstad struck. He had time only to throw a dressing gown over his pajamas and to awaken two of his friends.

To pluckily leap from the deck of the sinking liner and swim around for nearly an hour in the river, and then to fall dead from exhaustion on the deck of the Eureka, was the fate of an unknown woman.

Fourteen minutes settled the whole affair. With the decks careening, the captain, officers and crew strove like fiends to release the boats. One after one, laden with a mass of humanity, sped away. The Storstad followed suit with as much ability, but the time was brief.

Boats there were a plenty, but time there was none.

When the listing increased and the nose of the ill-fated liner twisted skyward, panic seized upon the horde of persons, and once more a loud, prolonged burst of agony from several hundred throats vibrated through the fog.

LIFE-BOATS LAUNCHED IN RECORD TIME

It takes five minutes to launch boats during a drill in harbor, when everything is calm and collected and the crews are all at their proper stations. The tarpaulin covering has to be removed, the falls cleared away and carefully tendered, and the boat fended off as it goes down the side.

But no more unfavorable conditions could be imagined than those prevailing when the order “Stand by to abandon ship” rang out from the bridge. The ship was listing over at a terrifying rate. The seas were flooding her aft, and in addition to the list she was sinking stern first.

Men hurled from sleep by the shock of the collision had to hurry to their stations in the confusion that must have been inseparable from such an accident. Precious moments inevitably were lost in getting the boat crews to their post, and all the time the ship was going down. Once the crew were at their stations, the launching of the boats must have gone on with the precision of clock-work. It was all done in twelve minutes. That was remarkable discipline. That these nine boats were lowered successfully in the few minutes remaining before the ship made her final plunge is something that will be remembered forever.

THE EMPRESS GOES DOWN

While these frantic attempts at rescue were going on, the doomed ship was rapidly settling. Her decks were awash, and then, with a spasmodic heave, as if giant hands from below were pulling her down, the massive sea castle tilted to the bottom. Wreckage, spars and bobbing heads, and the few small boats trying to escape the vortex—with the slow heaving bulk of the collier in the background—alone marked the scene of the catastrophe.

SIR THOMAS SHAUGHNESSY, PRESIDENT OF CANADIAN PACIFIC, DEPLORES LOSS OF LIFE

SIR THOMAS SHAUGHNESSY, president of the Canadian Pacific Railway, issued the following statement on the morning of the Empress accident:

“The catastrophe because of the great loss of life is the most serious in the history of the St. Lawrence route. Owing to the distance to the nearest telegraph or telephone station from the scene of the wreck there is unavoidable delay in obtaining official details, but we expect a report from Captain Kendall in the course of the afternoon.

“From the facts as we have them, it is apparent that about two o’clock this morning the Empress of Ireland when off Rimouski and stopped in a dense fog was rammed by the Norwegian collier Storstad in such a manner as to tear the ship from the middle to the screw, thus making the water-tight bulkheads with which she was provided useless. The vessel settled down in fourteen minutes.

“The accident occurred at a time when the passengers were in bed and the interval before the steamship went down was not sufficient to enable the officers to rouse the passengers and get them into the boats, of which there were sufficient to accommodate a very much larger number of people than those on board, including passengers and crew. That such an accident should be possible in the river St. Lawrence to a vessel of the class of the Empress of Ireland and with every possible precaution taken by the owners to insure the safety of the passengers and the vessel is deplorable.

“The saddest feature of the disaster is, of course, the great loss of life, and the heartfelt sympathy of everybody connected with the company goes out to the relatives and friends of all those who met death on the ill-fated steamship.”

CHAPTER II
Captain Kendall Blames the Storstad

(Statement of Captain Kendall, Commander of the Empress of Ireland, Made at the Coroner’s Inquest at Rimouski)

SLIGHT FOG BANK—NEARNESS OF STORSTAD—SIGNAL GIVEN AND ANSWERED—SHOUTED TO COLLIER—SHIP BEGAN TO FILL—LIFE-BOATS OUT—DISTRESS SIGNALS—SHIP FOUNDERED QUICKLY—CAPTAIN SHOT INTO THE SEA—RESCUED—WORK TO SAVE OTHERS—NO PANIC ABOARD

AFTER passing Rock Point gas buoy, I sighted the steamship Storstad, it then being clear.

The Storstad was then about one point on my starboard bow. At that time I saw a slight fog bank coming gradually from the land and knew it was going to pass between the Storstad and myself. The Storstad was about two miles away at that time. Then the fog came and the Storstad’s lights disappeared. I rang full speed astern on my engines and stopped my ship.

At the same time I blew three short blasts on the steamer’s whistle, meaning “I am going full speed astern.” The Storstad answered with the whistle, giving me one prolonged blast.

I then looked over the side of my ship into the water and saw my ship was stopped. I stopped my engines and blew two long blasts, meaning “my ship was under way, but stopped and has no way upon her.”

He answered me again with one prolonged blast. The sound was then about four points upon my starboard bow.

SHOUTED TO COLLIER

It was still foggy. I looked out to where the sound came from. About two minutes afterward I saw his red and green lights. He would then be about one ship’s length away from me. I shouted to him through the megaphone to go full speed astern, as I saw the danger of collision was inevitable; at the same time I put my engines full speed ahead, with my helm hard aport, with the object of avoiding, if possible, the shock. Almost at the same time he came right in and cut me down in a line between the funnels.

I shouted to the Storstad to keep full speed ahead to fill the hole he had made. He then backed away. The ship began to fill and listed over rapidly. When he struck me, I had stopped my engines. I then ran full speed ahead again when I saw the danger was so great, with the object of running her on shore to save passengers and ship. Almost immediately the engines stopped, the ship filling and going over all the time, on the starboard.

In the meantime I had given orders to have the life-boats launched. I rushed along the starboard side of the boat deck and threw all the grips out of numbers 1, 3, 5 and 7 boats; then I went back to the bridge again, where I saw the chief officer rushing along to the bridge. I told him to tell the wireless operator at once to send out distress signals. He told me that this had been done.

Photo by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.

ONE OF THE SURVIVORS

Many of those rescued were injured either in the collision or the rush which followed it. This survivor’s wounds are being dressed by the surgeon of the lost ship, who also had a narrow escape.

Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.

RESCUED CREW OF THE EMPRESS OF IRELAND

A group of the crew on board the “Storstad” which sent the “Empress” to the bottom on their arrival at Montreal where the “Storstad” was placed under arrest by the Canadian Government.

SHIP FOUNDERED QUICKLY

I said: “Get the boats out as quick as possible.” That was the last I saw of the chief officer. Then, in about three to five minutes after that the ship turned over and foundered. I was shot into the sea myself from the bridge and taken down with the suction. The next thing I remember was seizing a piece of grating. How long I was on it I do not know, but I heard some men shout from a life-boat, “There is the captain, let us save him.”

WORK TO SAVE OTHERS

They got to me and pulled me in the boat. The boat already had about thirty persons in it. I did my best with the people in the boat to assist in saving others. We pulled around and picked up twenty or thirty more in the boat, and also put about ten around the side in the water, with ropes around their waists, hanging on.

Seeing that we could not possibly save any more, we pulled to the Storstad, which was then about a mile and a half away. I got all these people put on board the Storstad, then left her with six of the crew and went back and tried to save more. When we got back there everybody had gone. We searched around and could not see anybody alive, so then we returned to the Storstad.

NO PANIC ABOARD

I had full control of the crew, and they fought to the end. There was no panic among the passengers or crew. Everybody behaved splendidly. As the ship sank and the water rose the boats floated away. The people who were saved were saved by the Empress’ boats and by the wreckage.

The Storstad had three or four of her boats out and they pulled around and took people off the wreckage. They did not get many.

CHAPTER III
Captain Andersen’s Defense

By Captain Thomas Andersen
Commander of the Storstad

A TERRIBLE AFFAIR—STORSTAD’S RIGHT OF WAY—FOG SIGNALS—STORSTAD DID NOT BACK OUT—TO THE RESCUE—INJUSTICE TO CAPTAIN—PLEA FOR SUSPENDED JUDGMENT

A FOG bank settled down and we met. The Empress was struck amidship on her starboard side, listed and filled rapidly. When we got clear I ordered all boats lowered, and we succeeded in taking off between 350 and 400 people with our crew of twenty-seven men. We transferred them to the Lady Evelyn and Eureka, and they steamed with them to Rimouski. Then we limped along under our own power to Montreal. It is a terrible affair. We did all in our power.

The fact that the Storstad only reached port on Sunday, May 31st, made it impossible to give an authentic statement on her behalf before that. All connected with the Storstad deplore most deeply the terrible accident which has resulted in the loss of so many valuable lives. It is not with any desire to condemn others, but simply because it is felt that the public is entitled to know the facts, that the following statement is put forward:

STORSTAD’S RIGHT OF WAY

The vessels sighted each other when far apart. The Empress of Ireland was seen off the port bow of the Storstad. The Empress of Ireland’s green, or starboard, light was visible to those on the Storstad. Under these circumstances the rules of navigation gave the Storstad the right of way.

The heading of the Empress was then changed in such a manner as to put the vessels in a position to pass safely. Shortly after a fog enveloped first the Empress and then the Storstad.

Fog signals were exchanged, the Storstad’s engines were at once slowed and then stopped. Her heading remained unaltered. Whistles from the Empress were heard on the Storstad’s port bow and were answered. The Empress of Ireland was then seen through the fog, close at hand on the port bow of the Storstad. She was showing her green light and was making considerable headway.

The engines of the Storstad were at once reversed at full speed, and her headway was nearly checked when the vessels came together.

DID NOT BACK OUT

It has been said that the Storstad should not have backed out of the hole made by the collision. She did not do so. As the vessels came together, the Storstad’s engines were ordered ahead for the purpose of holding her bow against the side of the Empress and thus preventing the entrance of water into the vessel.

The headway of the Empress, however, swung the Storstad around in such a way as to twist the Storstad’s bow out of the hole, and to bend the bow itself over to port.

The Empress at once disappeared in the fog. The Storstad sounded her whistle repeatedly in an effort to locate the Empress of Ireland, but could obtain no indication of her whereabouts until cries were heard. The Storstad was then maneuvered as close to the Empress as was safe, in view of the danger of injury to the persons who were already in the water.

TO THE RESCUE

The Storstad at once lowered every one of her boats, and sent them to save the passengers and crew of the Empress, though she herself was in serious danger of sinking. When two boats from the Empress reached the Storstad, the Storstad’s men also manned these boats and went in them to the rescue.

Her own boats made several trips and, in all, about 250 persons were taken on board and everything that the ship’s stores contained was used for their comfort. Clothes of those on the Storstad were placed at the disposal of the rescued and every assistance was rendered.

INJUSTICE TO CAPTAIN

The statements which have appeared in the press, indicating that there was the slightest delay on the part of the Storstad in rendering prompt and efficient aid, do a cruel injustice to the captain, who did not hesitate to send out every boat he had in spite of the desperate condition of his own ship.

The owners of the Storstad ask of the public that, in all fairness to both the company and their commander, judgment as to where the blame for the disaster should best be suspended until an impartial tribunal has heard the evidence of both sides.

When Captain Kendall shouted through the megaphone, I shouted back, but I did not have the megaphone at hand, so I shouted as loud as I could; our man on the lookout heard me call. I did go full speed ahead. I kept my hand on the telegraph to the engine-room, and the very moment we touched the other ship I rang the engineer full speed ahead, but the Empress was going at a good speed and it was impossible for me to keep our bow in the hold. She disappeared from this ship and for a long time I kept my whistle blowing, but I heard nothing until the cries.

CHAPTER IV
Miraculous Escape of the Few

HEROIC DEMEANOR OF CAPTAIN KENDALL—RESPONSE TO WIRELESS CALLS FOR HELP—EUREKA AND LADY EVELYN ON SCENE OF DISASTER—THE SEARCH FOR THE QUICK AND THE DEAD—TERRIBLE PLIGHT OF SURVIVORS—SAD SCENES AT RIMOUSKI—WILLING HANDS HELP—TALES OF NARROW ESCAPES—THOSE WHO DIED BRAVELY

AMID the terrifying confusion, the awful darkness, and the harrowing scenes of death and despair, Captain Kendall bore himself like a true sailor as long as his ship stood under him. He retained such command of the situation that while the Storstad’s stem still hung in the gap it had made in the Empress’ side, Captain Kendall begged the master of the collier to keep his propellers going so that the hole might remain plugged.

Captain Kendall stood on his bridge as the ship went down. One of the boats from the liner picked him up, and he directed its work of saving others until the craft was loaded. The captain was injured in the crash and suffered from exposure.

RESPONSE TO WIRELESS CALLS FOR HELP

Brief as was the time in which the S. O. S. calls could be sent out from the wireless on the stricken Empress, they were caught by J. McWilliams, the wireless operator at Father Point. Half hysterical, he ran down the wharf to where the little mail tender Eureka was lying.

“For God’s sake,” he cried to Captain Boulanger, “get down stream at once. The Empress of Ireland has gone under!”

Captain Boulanger got his men together, and as he had steam up, after taking the mails to the Empress, got under way at once, followed shortly by the government boat Lady Evelyn.

EUREKA AND LADY EVELYN ON THE SCENE OF DISASTER

The Eureka and Lady Evelyn found, on reaching the point where the Empress sank, a scene not dissimilar to that which greeted the liners which rushed to the Titanic’s aid. They found the ship sunk, and the surface of the water, fortunately calm, dotted with life-boats and smeared with floating debris from which many poor souls had been forced by exhaustion to loosen their hold.

In the life-boats were huddled the survivors, dazed and moaning, some then dying of injuries sustained in the crash or in the rush of leaving the sinking Empress. Crushed by the collision, injured in their efforts to leap into life-boats, or suffering from immersion in the icy water and exposure in the life-boats in which they escaped, the survivors presented a pitiable condition.

THE SEARCH FOR THE QUICK AND THE DEAD

The government steamships worked rapidly, and took on the survivors from the life-boats and a few persons that were clinging to bits of wreckage. Fifty dead bodies were picked up and the women cried aloud as they were brought aboard, some eagerly scanning the faces of the corpses for lost relatives and friends. Several of them walked around wringing their hands in a wild hysteria, and even the hardened members wept at the terribly pathetic scene.

One woman, whose identity was not established, let go her hold on a broken timber and tried to swim to the Lady Evelyn. She was nearly naked and too far gone from exposure to reach the steamship.

The Eureka picked up thirty-two of the survivors who were injured, and recovered a number of dead bodies. The Lady Evelyn rescued the great majority of the survivors. She also saved Captain Kendall.

The government boats, Lady Grey and Strathcona, on arriving later, found the Eureka and Lady Evelyn lying to in proximity to the Storstad picking up scattered boats and searching among the scraps of floating debris.

TERRIBLE PLIGHT OF SURVIVORS

Many of the survivors were in a terrible condition following the exposure; the heartrending shock had driven some of them to the verge of hysterical insanity. Others, with the echo of the death screams ringing in their ears, were gathered in a dazed and pathetic condition. The fact that they were saved did not seem to be appreciated. The vision of death stayed with them for hours, and in many instances utter nervous collapse followed.

The Eureka and the Lady Evelyn cruised at the scene of the disaster for half an hour, until their commanders were certain that there were no more survivors to be picked up.

SAD SCENES AT RIMOUSKI

When the tug Eureka, with thirty-nine survivors, came up to the Father Point wharf, an agent of the Canadian Pacific Railway advised Captain Boulanger, of the tug, to put in at the Rimouski wharf for the reason that better care could be given to the survivors there. Rimouski is a town of 2,000, with doctors and medical facilities.

The Canadian Pacific official telephoned to Rimouski ahead of the Eureka and ordered all the cabs and doctors that could be obtained. Within an hour the Eureka’s rescued were being cared for at Rimouski. There were distressing, unforgettable scenes as the living and dead were delivered to the shore.

The Lady Evelyn, with survivors and corpses, arrived at the Rimouski wharf later. Among the rescued were men and women who had not had time to bring with them more than their night clothes. The officers and crew of the mail tender had done what they could in providing coats, but their supply was not ample for the hundreds, and many suffered terribly from the cold.

The mercury was down to a few degrees above freezing and these wretched ones had endured exposure for more than two hours.

Courtesy of the “Philadelphia Press.”

SECTIONAL VIEW OF THE “EMPRESS OF IRELAND”

Showing how the fatal accident occurred. At the time of the collision the “Empress of Ireland” was motionless, and the “Storstad” struck her amidships on the port side. The collier tore through her plates and inner shell, smashed the bulkheads of the water-tight compartments and crushed her way almost to the screws. The water rushed into the vessel and she sank in about fourteen minutes.

Photo by Bain News Service.

THE WIRELESS STATION AT FATHER POINT

The first report of the disaster came to this station from the sinking ship. “S. O. S.” (Save Our Souls) came through the night again and again for ten minutes, and then suddenly ceased. All was over, but the station saved many lives by calling ships to the rescue.

WILLING HANDS HELP

At 6:10 A. M. the Norwegian collier Storstad, coal-laden from Sydney, N. S., for Montreal, came along slowly. When her bow was seen smashed in it became known that she was the vessel that had struck the Empress of Ireland the fatal blow. The Storstad was not too much damaged to allow her to proceed on to Quebec under her own steam. She also had some survivors and dead bodies, which were taken from her by the steamers Eureka and Lady Evelyn and landed on the Rimouski wharf.

Most of the population of Rimouski were at the wharf, ready and eager to do what was possible. They carried blankets, clothing, hot coffee, food and medicines. The mayor, H. R. Fiset, was in charge of the relief work, acting with the local Canadian Pacific agents.

McWilliams, the wireless man from Father Point, had hurried over to assist in the relief work, and few gained more praise than was accorded to him. Every doctor in the town was hard at work for hours, going from house to house where the survivors were quartered.

TWENTY-TWO DIE AFTER BEING RESCUED

Two relief stations were established, one at the wharf and one at the Intercolonial Railroad station, but these were not adequate for the care of so many. The grave problem was solved by the open-heartedness of the townspeople, who turned over their own homes to the suffering. Of the survivors, it was found that forty-seven were from the second cabin. In this class had traveled about one hundred and fifty Salvation Army delegates, who were on their way from the Dominion cities to attend a great international conference in London. Only a few of these were rescued.

Twenty-two persons died of their injuries or from exposure after being taken out of the life-boats or from floating wreckage. One man suffered from broken legs. A woman was found who had a leg and arm broken. Others were crushed or injured internally. Many of the survivors were rushed to Quebec after they had had preliminary care at Rimouski.

TALES OF NARROW ESCAPES

Some of the survivors were able to give snatches of their experience. One explained quietly that he had made up his mind that he had to die. The boats had gone. He could find nothing that promised to support him in the water. He made his way to the rail of the ship and waited until it sank.

As he went down he held his breath, held it for an age, it seemed to him, but finally he came to the surface and luckily near a life-boat. A sailor seized him by the collar and hauled him in.

THOSE WHO DIED BRAVELY

The penetrating, lasting grief is that the fortunates who escaped were but few of the 1,475 souls that set sail on the Empress. Death’s threatening wave engulfed almost all of them, but we may be sure that whether in the isolation of their cabins or in the crowded confusion of the final plunge on deck they died bravely. That, indeed, seems to be the outstanding feature of this terrible tale of the sea. To face death unafraid, whether it comes in the sick room, in tempest, fire, or flood, is the supreme test of fortitude. In our sorrow for those who died and for those who were bereaved let us remember that a thousand Canadians went to their deaths—as Britons for centuries have gone—masters of themselves, with head erect and spirit unconquered by the king of terrors.

CHAPTER V
The Stricken Survivors Return

EXTREME SUFFERING AMONG SURVIVORS—FEW WOMEN AND CHILDREN SAVED—CROWD GREETS SURVIVORS—MANY INJURED—EXPERIENCES OF SURVIVORS

A GRIM reminder of the fact that even the most perfect of modern Atlantic liners is subject to the dangers of the sea was given when the survivors of the passengers and crew who so gaily sailed from Quebec on Thursday returned to that city, ragged, exhausted and wounded, leaving hundreds of their shipmates dead in the river or strewing the shore with their corpses.

EXTREME SUFFERING AMONG SURVIVORS

The survivors were carried by the special Intercolonial Railway, and a more mixed, worn-out crowd of passengers never appeared on a train in Canada. It was more like a relief train after a battle than a returning party from a steamship. The men were weary and worn, dressed in anything that could be secured at Rimouski to cover them, most of them having been rescued either nude or in their night clothes.

FEW WOMEN AND CHILDREN SAVED

The women in the party were few, it being evident that the terrible experiences of the early part of the day, when the Empress of Ireland went to the bottom of the St. Lawrence, had claimed a far greater toll of the weaker sex.

Such few women as were left showed shocking traces of the hardships and anguish they had endured. Most of them were supported by men, and after disembarking from the train walked through the lane of curious sight-seers with drawn features and the utter indifference of suffering and fatigue.

A pathetic contrast was furnished by the presence of a few children in the sad procession, who had with the buoyancy of youth recovered from the shipwreck and prattled merrily to mothers or to their protectors when their mothers were not there, evidently enjoying the excitement of the rescue.

CROWD GREETS SURVIVORS

The crush about the train, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, was tremendous. A huge crowd gathered in and near the station, which resounded with a cheer as the survivors filed on the platform. The latter experienced difficulty in passing through the portals to the waiting civic motor cars.

Some of the spectators endeavored to sing the Doxology, but it was a feeble effort. Heart-broken relatives sobbed, while others wandered aimlessly in and out of the crowd looking for an absent face. Three young girls were seen crying piteously for their parents who were drowned. They were taken in charge by a Salvation Army officer and conveyed to the Training Home.

Throngs surged forward and defied the policemen in an endeavor to snatch a glimpse of the saved ones. Leaning on the arm of a friend, a tall woman wearing huge bandages stepped first to the platform and her profound sigh of relief was heard by everyone in the hushed assemblage. Around her forehead was strapped a bandage. The chin bore a large zigzag of court-plaster and a heavy black welt under the eye showed what painful injuries she had received. She was Mrs. Eddy from Birmingham, England. At the crash she had rushed to the deck in night attire, and this action resulted in her rescue.

MANY INJURED

Then came the long row of stretchers with their inert occupants. Every man was alive, but in many cases that was all. In spite of arms and legs broken in the grinding of wreckage, many of these cripples had remained afloat long enough to be seen and gathered in.

Every one of the invalids was rushed in a special ambulance to the Jeffrey Hale Hospital, while the slightly injured were allotted to quarters in the Chateau Frontenac.

Touching in its pathos was the contingent of third-class passengers. In little groups they huddled about the stateroom of the ferry, gazing at each other in dumb thankfulness, and rarely expressing a syllable. There were nine Russians and two Poles bound for their homeland. In the hour of peril they had leaped from the reeling decks, in many instances grasping to the end the little carpet and bandana bundles which represented all their worldly effects.

EXPERIENCES OF SURVIVORS

The stories that were related by the survivors of the horrible disaster were dramatic, pathetic, and touched here and there with grim humor.

“ALL OVER IN FIFTEEN MINUTES”

“It was just like walking down the beach into the sea. As the boat went over we climbed over the rail and slid down the stanchions onto the plates, and walked into the sea.”

In this matter-of-fact manner did J. F. Duncan, of London, England, describe how he left his cabin on the promenade deck, in his pajama suit, and how he parted company with the ship.

When asked what he had to say about the disaster, he replied: “There is nothing to tell; it was all over in fifteen minutes. The signals woke me up and I lay in my berth amidships on the starboard side. That was the side the collier ran into us, but she was a low boat, and so my cabin was not crushed in as were some of those immediately below me. Directly the collision occurred the Empress began to list, and I immediately went on deck.

“When I once got out of the cabin I could not get back, but fortunately I had taken my overcoat out of my baggage the previous night, and I slipped this on.

KNEW IT WAS THE END

“It was pretty rotten on deck. We simply stood there, we knew we were going down, there was no question about that from the first, and it was no good struggling. The poor women were hysterical, but there was no chance to do anything for them. When the steamer heeled over we walked into the water, and I struck out for the rescuing steamer, which was standing about half a mile off.

“Somehow or another the life-boats appeared and began picking us up. I was in the water a jolly long time: it seemed like an hour and I believe it was an hour. It was terribly cold and I am stiff all over this morning. I eventually got into a life-boat and was taken on board the collier. They told me there were fifty-three on the life-boat—it was quite full up. Dr. Grant was on the collier, and he patched us up until the Lady Evelyn took us ashore.

“LIKE A LOT OF INDIANS”

“We were like a lot of Red Indians when we got on the wharf—all wrapped up in blankets. I never saw such a big supply from so small a ship. They looked after us like princes at Rimouski. The local people were most kind—in fact, when you see me put on my clothes you won’t think I had ever been shipwrecked. They got the clothes from the stores and fitted us all out—it was the most wonderful place in the world.

“Let me introduce you to my toilet,” continued Mr. Duncan, as he held up a tooth-brush and a tube of tooth paste. “I do want a bath.”

Mr. Duncan paid a high tribute to Dr. Grant. “He stood out as a typical Anglo-Saxon, calm, commanding, looking after the injured. He is a magnificent man.”

FOUR CLIMBED ON UPTURNED LIFE-BOAT; SAVED MANY LIVES

The sensation of sinking with the suction of the leviathan steamship as she went down, of being pulled down for fathoms under water, and of rising on the crest of the reacting swell to catch the keel of an upturned skiff, was the night’s adventure of Staff Captain McCameron, of the Salvation Army, Toronto. The story as told in the Captain’s words is as follows:

“What an unspeakable confusion there was on the listing decks! With every lurch of the steamer we had to take a step higher and higher to the upper side, and finally I gained the rail, and stuck to it. I could swim, but I knew the mad folly of jumping into that swirling cataract at the side of the ship. She was sinking, inch by inch, now faster and faster. In a breathless moment, I felt the last rush to the bottom. A moment we hung on the surface. Then an endless, dreadful force dragged us down. How deep I went I cannot know, of course. It was yards and yards. Then came the cresting of the wave, and I was buoyed up on it. I had clutched tight at my senses meanwhile, and strove not to lose my head. The moment my head emerged, I saw a dark object on the water. I struck out for this, and soon was grasping the keel of an overturned ship’s boat. I clambered aboard, not much the worse, and not very unduly excited.

“Three or four more men also managed to get on the rocking back of the boat, and we then got to another which we righted, and got into. The canvas covering had not been taken from this boat, and a member of the crew, who was of us, ripped this open and enabled us to board it. The oars were intact. Within a few minutes, therefore, we were at work rescuing the people whose bodies eddied about us in circles.

“One man grasped the end of my oar. He slipped. Again I reached his hand with it. Then he sank out of sight. A woman, a foreigner, had better fortune. The third time she did not slip off, and we managed to get her aboard. She was saved. I do not know her name. She was a steerage passenger.

“The ship’s surgeon saved dozens of lives by his work of resuscitation on land. No sooner had we got to shore, than he had us at work manipulating the chests and limbs of the apparently drowned in efforts to save them. He was a Heaven-sent messenger to many stricken souls.”

SALVATION ARMY LASSIE RESCUED WHEN ABOUT TO SINK

Tales of each other’s heroic rescues, and shuddering accounts of their own mishaps and fight for life in the swirling St. Lawrence, were told.

With a blanket thrown round her shoulders, her eyes lit with the wild excitement of the night of horror, Miss Alice Bales, one of the young women Salvationists who was saved, recounted how her struggles finally brought succor and safety. Her cheeks were successively hectic and pallid as she told the hideous story. She said:

“I thought we had struck an iceberg when I heard the fearful grinding in the bows. With a cry to the girls who were with me, I stumbled out of the narrow stateroom, and groped up to the deck. Here was chaos. The ship was listing, listing, listing. Every step I took to the uppermost part of the deck, I seemed to be slipping back into that maelstrom of water and falling bodies. Finally, I gained the rail. I climbed up on the rail, and with a prayer in my heart I jumped into the blackness. The water surged over my head. Down, down, I went. I could not swim a stroke. But I remembered that you should keep the air in your lungs, and as I sank I clenched my jaws, determined to stay with the battle as long as strength lasted. After long, long periods of struggle and fainting and renewed struggle, I saw a man, not far off, swimming with a life-belt. I forgot to tell you that I fastened a belt around my waist when I jumped.

“I reached my hand towards this hope of rescue, the man’s belt. It eluded me. Finally I grasped it. Then I saw how the man made the swimming motions, like a frog. I tried to do the same. I used every fibre and nerve to make the motions. I knew this was the chance for life.

“Then, when my energy was going fast, I heard a faint cry. There was a cluster of people. It was a life-boat.

“The next few moments are indistinct in my memory. Some one was lifting me, dragging me over something hard. Now they were speaking to me. They revived me, and I was got aboard the Storstad, the ship that struck us.

“I can’t tell you any more. The scenes on the deck, ah——”

CLIMBED UP SIDE OF LINER AS SHE KEELED OVER

A dramatic escape was related by Major Atwell of the Salvation Army, Toronto. Major Atwell lost all his belongings in the disaster. When he reached Montreal his clothing told of the struggle and its sequel. Peculiarly enough, as was the case with the Titanic, the shock of the collision was scarcely felt by a number of the passengers.

“My experience,” said Major Atwell, “was that the slight shock scarcely worried me at all. I had an idea at the time that we had perhaps struck the tender, so slight appeared the shock. I did not look upon it as anything serious, but my wife thought I had better get up.

“My wife and I went on deck and we found that the vessel was listing and the list was increasing. It was all over in a few minutes. The list grew greater. It was so great that I could see no chance of getting into a life-boat, even if one was launched, and I did not see how one could be launched. So I fastened a life-belt round my wife and put one on myself.

“As the vessel heeled over, we clung to the rail and finally clambered over it on the side of the ship. As the boat sank, we clambered farther and farther along the side in the direction of the keel, until we had climbed, I think, a third of the way.

“Finally we jumped into the water and were picked up by one of the life-boats.”

HUSBAND GAVE WIFE BELT; PLUNGED OUT TO SAVE HIMSELF

Mrs. Atwell gave a graphic account of the struggle she and her husband, Major Atwell, had in the seething waters, narrating how with the one life-belt between them her husband chivalrously placed this around her and himself struck out boldly into the waves.

“I was just lightly sleeping when I heard a slight crash,” she said. “We thought the ship had struck the tender or pilot boat. Then I heard the engines start, going as hard as they could. I tried to rouse my husband. We got up almost directly, but by that time the water was coming in, and we climbed up on deck. My husband secured one life-belt and placed it around me. We climbed over the rail, for the ship was listing heavily, but we hung on to the port-hole for a few minutes, and then I heard a slight explosion. Then the water seemed to gush up, and my husband said ‘Jump!’

“In the water I grasped my husband’s clothing and held on to his back; and there we just hung together and swam. My husband swims, but I just kicked and struggled and held on to him, and eventually I found my limbs very stiff, so that I had to be helped into the boat. We were put on the Storstad for a time and then on the Lady Evelyn and put into the cabin.

“One man who had a broken leg went insane. There was very little screaming, and there was nothing in the way of unseemly struggles.”

BOAT LISTED SO BADLY PEOPLE COULD NOT GET UP DECK STAIRS

As Adjutant McRae, of the Salvation Army, Montreal, walked down the aisle of a sleeping car, a curtain rustled and parted.

“Oh, Adjutant! Alf! Look!”

“My boy!” came the Adjutant’s earnest answer, as he reached upward to bury one of Captain Rufus Spooner’s hands in both of his, and then turned to murmur broken words of cheer to Lieutenant Alfred Keith, who lay in the opposite bed. Both had escaped by a hair’s breadth.

“The awful thing,” said Captain Spooner, “was to see the people trying to get up the staircase. The ship had listed so far over by the time we got up that to try to get upstairs was almost impossible. We got up a few steps, only to fall back again. All round me were frantic men and women, and then, before I could fairly realize where I was or what I could do next, I seemed to be lifted right up and carried forward off the ship into the water.

“I was rolled over and over, twisted round and round, banged against bits of wreckage and got my foot caught in something of iron and rope. I thought I was gone then, for I’m not a great swimmer; but I managed to get free. I swam round till some one got me by the neck and I felt my head going under. I thought again I was gone for certain; but I got free the second time and started out again to try for a boat. It was a narrow shave.”

“Yes, it was,” put in Lieutenant Keith, “and mine was like it.”

“The third time,” went on the captain, “I had sense enough not to spend the little strength I had left, and I got hold of a spar and rolled over on it to keep myself up. I drifted like that for a long time till I was picked up and taken to Rimouski. All I’ve got left is my bunch of keys, which stuck in my pocket.” He produced them and jingled them affectionately. “I’m going to hang on to them as a souvenir.”

PICKED UP BY BOAT FILLED WITH MEMBERS OF CREW

A member of the staff band of the Salvation Army, J. Johnson, of Toronto, got hold of a boat as it was drifting away from the steamer and hung to the side, and was saved in his night attire.

“We were all asleep in the second cabin when the crash came,” he said. “I went upstairs to see what had happened and the other three fellows in the cabin stayed behind. Two of them were drowned and one got out. When I got up on deck I found the boat listing over and I ran back and told the others to come out.

“I saw the people struggling along the corridors to get on deck, but it was awkward because the water was coming into the vessel. Commissioner Rees and some others were just going along in front of me and I assisted them up as well as I could, and eventually we got to the deck, where I lost sight of them.

“The boat was listing so badly that I slid down to the lower end, nearest the water, and caught hold of the rails. I saw they were cutting away the boats, and by this time the steamer was nearly flat on its side. They had no time to launch the life-boats, and as one went loose I jumped over and hung on to the side, and then got in. I hardly thought they would let me in at first, there were so many in it already. But every one was helpful. The desire to save themselves did not prevent the occupants of the boat from reaching out a helping hand to others.

“When I did get in all the ropes were not quite cut, and the liner was nearly on top of us. We seemed to be getting underneath the davits again, and expected every moment to go under. We managed to get away just in time, just as she was sinking, and we were only ten feet away from the steamer when she turned over and went under. While we knew there was no hope for us on the doomed vessel, it was a horrible sight to see her go down.

“There was not so much suction as I thought there would be. We were lifted up, the boat being on the top of a wave. We hung around quite a bit to see what the other boats were doing, and then we went to the collier.

“I think I was the only passenger in the boat. All the rest were from the crew. I don’t know why this was so, but all the people were holding so to the higher side of the ship and when the boat was cut free there was no one to get in her except the crew.

“We pulled two other men out of the sea—they were also members of the crew. There were nine saved out of the staff band of thirty-nine players. The bandmaster and his wife were drowned, but their little girl of seven was saved.”

Copyright by International News Service.

IDENTIFYING THE DEAD AT QUEBEC

Salvation Army officers identifying their comrades. Many members of the organization were on the “Empress.”