Before White Star Line

      Charles Herbert Lightoller was born in Chorley, Lancashire on March 30, 1874. A month after he was born, his mother died. Within a year one of his sisters and his grandfather also died, leaving Lightoller and his remaining sisters to be cared for by their father. But apparently the strain was too much for him because one day he simply up and left his children for New Zealand with his new life. The Lightoller children were left to be raised by an aunt and uncle who felt extremely burdened by this and never let Lightoller forget it. In turn, Lightoller would never forgive his father for the abandonment. Although the industrial revolution thrived in the northwest of England, Lightoller chose not to become just some ordinary factory worker like his forefathers, he chose to become a sailor and make a name for himself. He began his four year seaman's apprenticeship aboard the Primrose Hill at the age of thirteen. After that, Lightoller's life reads like a fascinating novel and reminds one of a plot for a blockbuster adventure film. Aboard the Primrose Hill he learned that life at sea was hard- rats, cockroaches, horrible food, scorching heat and freezing cold. But he loved it all the same. It was on this first journey that he encountered his first iceberg. His next would be many years later with disastrous results. The next ship he served on was the Holt Hill with Captain Jock Sutherland, the toughest there was. She was sailing through the South Atlantic when she ran into a violent storm and was demasted. The crew struggled her into Rio de Janeiro, a city under siege of both revolution and an epidemic of small pox. On November 13, 1889, the poor Holt Hill was again demasted in a storm and ran aground on a deserted island in the Indian Ocean called St. Paul. The Chief Mate was killed and the rest of the survivors had to wait eight days with hardly any food and water that Lightoller felt tasted like 'a mixture of rotten eggs and classroom chalk', until they were finally rescued by the Coorong and taken to Australia. They arrived on Christmas day, 1889, more than a month after the shipwreck. After spending some time enjoying Australia and the hospitality of its people, Lightoller signed aboard the Duke of Abercorn for his return home to England. Most people would be daunted by these unusual circumstances and tempted to leave life at sea, but not Lightoller. He signed back aboard the Primrose Hill and survived a cyclone on the journey to Calcutta, India. It was here that he received his Second Mate's Certificate, beating out the three other boys that were also up for it. After that, he became Third Mate on the Knight of St. Michael, which was carrying a cargo of coal. Wouldn't you know it but the coal caught fire. They reached the coast of South America and Lightoller helped his skipper find help while the crew put out the fire. For his efforts, coupled with the fact that the Second Mate had a drinking problem that the captain could no longer tolerate, Lightoller was promoted to Second Mate.

      Lightoller's career on steamships began in 1895 at the age of twenty one when he joined Elder Dempster's African Royal Mail Service. Lightoller knew there was a better chance of promotion in steam and had found that sailing windjammers was becoming more and more hazardous to his health. He spent three years with Elder Dempster (mostly as Third Officer aboard the Niagara) and almost died from malaria as a result of his time sailing the coast of Africa. This was enough for Lightoller to rethink his decisions and leave the sea. But the adventure does not end here. He went to Canada in 1898 and joined the gold rush, prospecting for gold in the Yukon. Being unsuccessful in finding his fortune in gold and almost dying of starvation, Lightoller briefly worked as a cowboy in the Canadian west. Although he enjoyed working as a cowboy, he quickly found out there was no money in it. He had made a deal with himself before leaving England that if he failed he would simply return home. So, feeling no shame, that's what he did. He traveled as a hobo across Canada's railways as far as Winnepeg. When he arrived there the city was in the midst of a great international festival and Lightoller managed to make some extra cash painting and putting up spectator stands. After three weeks he got on a train for Montreal, this time as a paying passenger. In exchange for his passage back to England, he worked as a wrangler on a cattle boat. By the time he returned to England it was 1899. Lightoller was twenty five years old and penniless. The sea must have been calling again for he got his Master's Certificate (No. 029, 706), joined Greensheilds and Cowie, and briefly returned to cattle boats.

      Lightoller began his career with the White Star Line in January of 1900. White Star only employed the best and their officers had to be fully trained in sail, hold a Master's Certificate, and be prepared to join the Royal Naval Reserve upon joining the company. This was not a problem for Lightoller and it is no surprise that he was hired right away. It was here that he met the man who would be his longtime friend and colleague- William Murdoch. The two served on many of the same ships together. Lightoller started out as Fourth Officer on the Medic's Australian run. After this he switched briefly to Atlantic routes. Around 1903, after he had gone back to the Australian run, Lightoller met a woman named Sylvia Hawley-Wilson, an Australian returning home after a visit to England, on the Medic. She was the most beautiful woman Lightoller had ever seen . "As she could not walk easily owing to a foot deformity from childhood, and the motion of the ship taking her home to Australia constantly threatened to send her headlong, 'Lights' stepped forward and literally swept her off her feet to carry her up and down the companionways." (Stenson 127). By the time the two returned to England they were married. Eventually, the couple had five children: Roger, Trevor, Mavis, Doreen, and Brian. Throughout the years, Lightoller gained considerable experience at the sea. He became one of the best, an expert of his trade. He, like many sailors, dreamed of one day commanding his own vessel and it was a dream that seemed not too far out of reach.

      In early 1912, Lightoller was serving as First Officer aboard the Oceanic. He was on his way up. In March he (along with other officers from the Oceanic; David Blair, Herbert Pitman, and James Moody) was transferred to the Titanic. This transfer (as with many others from ships like the Olympic and the New York) was partly due to the coal strike that put many ships temporarily out of service. Lightoller would be serving under Captian E.J. Smith and William Murdoch as Chief Officer. The original departure date for the Titanic was set for March 20 but was bumped up to April 10 because repairs had to be made on her sister ship the Olympic after a collision with the HMS Hawke. Lightoller arrived in Belfast on March 20, ten days before his thirty eighth birthday. Although a skilled seaman and familiar with many types of ships, it took him two weeks to become comfortable in finding his way around the massive Titanic. In his autobiography published years later he describes it this way:

      In Southampton, there was some rearrangement of the officers. The Olympic's Chief Officer, Henry Wilde was transferred to be Chief Officer aboard the Titanic to capitalize his knowledge of larger liners. This bumped Murdoch down to First Officer, Lightoller down to Second, and David Blair was bumped off the ship entirely. The rest of the officer's positions (Pitman as Third, Boxhall as Fourth, Lowe as Fifth, and Moody as Sixth) remained the same. After a few days everyone affected by the switch was settled in their new duties.

      Titanic's first four days at sea were uneventful at most. The weather was fine and clear and her speed was good. The passengers marveled at this wondrous ship, happy to be aboard the maiden voyage of the most luxurious passenger liner in the world. They made wagers with each other on how many miles she had covered each day, which were posted in the main companionways and smoking rooms. Lightoller says in his biography, "As day followed day, officers and men settled down into the collar, and duty linked up with duty until the watches went by without pause or hitch." Things seemed very good to all aboard, passengers and crew alike. But things were about to change dramatically.

      Sunday April 14 dawned calm and clear, like the others. Captain Smith presided over a church service at ten thirty that morning in the first class dining saloon for all passengers. Strangely enough, he had canceled the scheduled lifeboat drill to do so. At noon, the officers gathered on the wing of the navigating bridge to "shoot the sun" and calculated the ships position. As the day went on, the temperature dropped noticeably. "Between 5:30 and 7:30 pm, the air temperature dropped ten degrees, to 33 degrees F" (Eaton 114). Throughout the day, Jack Phillips and Harold Bride, the wireless operators, received ice warnings from ships such as the Noordam, Amerika, Californian, and Mesba. The wireless had broken down early that morning and had taken quite awhile to fix it. This caused the personal messages from paying passengers to back up and Bride and Phillips were busy the rest of the day sending them. As a result many of the ice warnings did not reach the bridge. But the officers were aware that they would reach ice somewhere around eleven pm.

      The night was cold and crisp. There was no moon, no wind. The sea was completely calm and flat like glass. Lightoller's schedule that evening is as follows:

      Lightoller was just drifting off to sleep when he felt a slight but sudden jar in the ship's vibration. Knowing something unusual had happened, he hopped out of his bunk and went out on deck. He peered out into the cold darkness over the port side and, seeing nothing, he crossed over to the starboard side. Still, he saw nothing and returned to his quarters. About ten minutes later, Fourth Officer Boxhall entered his quarters and finding Ligtoller awake said quietly, "We have hit an iceberg" and informed him that the water was up to F deck in the Mail Room. Lightoller quickly pulled a sweater, trousers, and coat over his pajamas and hurried out on deck.

      The night was very cold but the sky was filled with brilliant stars. The ship was stopped and, since she had been going at full steam all day, all the safety valves had been lifted and were letting off all the steam and exhaust with a deafening roar. It was impossible to be heard, so Lightoller, the other officers, and crew used hand gestures to communicate with one another while swinging out and uncovering the lifeboats. At around 12:25 am, Lightoller approached the Captain and yelled over the noise, "Hadn't we better get the women and children into the boats, sir?" The Captain nodded his permission.

"One of my reasons for getting the boats afloat was, that I could see a steamer's steaming lights a couple of miles away on our port bow. If I could get the women and children into the boats, they would be perfectly safe in that smooth sea until this ship picked them up; if the necessity arose."

At this time, Lightoller knew the situation was serious, but he did not actually think the ship would sink.

      Listen to this wav from the real Lightoller (360 K). It talks about loading the lifeboats and seeing the Californian in the distance. Wave credit: Chris By now, the noise had stopped and Lightoller took charge of the lifeboats on the port side. He began with #4, which he planned to load from the promenade deck. Unfortunately, the windows were locked so he moved on to #6.

      Lightoller put about twenty five people in boat #6, among them Mrs. J.J. "Molly" Brown. On the way down, someone (presumably Quartermaster Hichens) called up, saying that there was only one seaman aboard. Lightoller called out for another and Major Arthur Peuchen, a yachtsman from Canada, volunteered. Lightoller told him, "If you are seaman enough to get out on those falls and get down into the boat you may go ahead." Peuchen did, becoming the only man Lightoller allowed into a lifeboat.

      It was around this time that Chief Officer Wilde asked Lightoller if he knew where the firearms were. Originally being First Officer, of course Lightoller knew where they were. He brought Wilde to them. There, the Chief Officer handed him a revolver, just in case, which Lightoller slipped into his pocket.

      Lightoller then loaded boat #8 with twenty four women and four members of the crew and sent them away. Then it was #12 at 1:25 am with about forty. At 1:30 am, #14 was loaded with about fifty with Fifth Officer Lowe in charge. At this time, Lightoller was loading women and children only. Under no circumstance (with the exception of Major Peuchen) would he let a man into the lifeboats.

      Finally, the windows on the promenade decks were opened and Lightoller, aided by Colonel Archibald Gracie and Clinch Smith, could finish loading #4. With one foot in the boat and the other foot on the window sill, Lightoller helped such ladies as Madeline Astor, Mrs. Widener, and Mrs. Thayer to board. He tried to keep thirteen year old Jack Ryerson out but he was overruled by the boy's father.

      Lightoller was now beginning to realize that Titanic was in serious danger.

      Boat #2 was lowered at 1:55 am with thirty six aboard but only after Lightoller expelled the group of men that had tried to over take it. He threatened them with his unloaded revolver and they quickly jumped out.

      By 2:00 am, all that were left were the four Englehardt collapsible boats. Lightoller loaded collapsible D (from the davits where #2 had been lowered) but he had a hard time finding women to fill it. He allowed some men in to fill the spaces. As he was loading, Chief Officer Wilde ordered Lightoller to go with D. "Not damn likely!" was Lightoller's reply and he jumped back on deck. Collapsible D was then sent away.

      Collapsible B was the last boat left on the port side but it was lashed to the roof of the officer's quarters and the ship was going down fast. Lightoller climbed up on the roof and used a borrowed pen knife to cut the ropes and pushed it on to the deck below him. Crowds of people were beginning to surge towards higher ground (the stern) and the ship took a great plunge forward. Collapsible B was washed off the deck, the bridge dipped under, and water was now lapping at Lightoller's feet on the roof of the officer's quarters. He knew if he joined the mass of people racing for the stern, he would only be postponing the inevitable, so he did the only thing he could do- he jumped off the roof. The water was a frigid 28 degrees and because Lightoller had been sweating freely despite to cold night air, it hit him especially hard. He struggled against the shock to regain his bearings and began to swim away from the ship when he was suddenly sucked back and pinned against a ventilation grate. This grate was at the base of the forward funnel and went all the way down to boiler room 6. He was stuck, going down with the ship, and he was drowning. He silently prayed to himself, recalling Psalm 91. "He will give His angels charge concerning you, to guard you in all your ways." As if God had answered him, a blast of hot air blew up from the belly of the ship, throwing Lightoller clear. No sooner had he gulped a lungful of air when he was dragged back down again, pinned to yet another grate. Although he is unsure exactly sure how, he miraculously got clear of this grate too. Read Psalm 91 and also find out about Lightoller's involvement with Christian Science here.

      When he broke the surface, he was floating along side Collapsible B. It was upside down, exactly the way it had floated off the deck not long before. He grabbed a piece of rope attached to the side of the boat and floated with it.

      As the Titanic's bow sank lower and lower, it caused the forward funnel to come crashing down into the water. It fell between the ship and Collapsible B, narrowly missing Lightoller by inches. This caused a huge wave that washed Collapsible B (and Lightoller) well clear of the ship, at least fifty yards or so. The rope was still in his hand and there were several men standing on top of the upturned boat. Lightoller pulled himself aboard as well. He turned and watched as Titanic's stern swung up in the air, exposing her massive propellers to those in the lifeboats and in the water. She did not stop until she was in what Lightoller described as "an absolutely perpendicular position." She stayed that way for only a minute or so, then she slowly sank down into the water, with only a small gulp as her stern disappeared beneath the waves.

      By dawn, Carpathia's lights could be seen on the horizon. The men on the sinking Collapsible were finally transferred into two lifeboats and Lightoller was put into #12. He once again took command but found himself in a boat that was ten persons over its sixty five person capacity. Boat #12 rode low in the water as it approached the Carpathia. Wave after wave broke over its bow but soon it was in the shelter of the rescue liner. Lightoller made sure all his charges were safely aboard before he himself climbed the rope ladder up to Carpathia's decks. He was the last survivor to board.