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Header-Heroine of the Titanic

 

 

On April 14, 1912, at 11:40 p.m. the Titanic, the ocean liner that supposedly “God Himself could not sink,” struck a towering iceberg in the Northern Atlantic. In less than three hours, the 46,328-ton ship sank beneath the waves to settle on the ocean floor.

 

Countess of Rothes

Noëlle, Countess of Rothes, was a passenger coming to the United States to join her husband, the 19th Earl of Rothes, who was purchasing an orange grove in California.

Ordered together with other ladies to enter lifeboat no. 8, the Countess’ leadership qualities quickly showed, so that once on the water, Able Seaman Thomas William Jones asked her to take over the tiller and steer the small boat on that dark, frozen night.

The Sphere quoted Seaman Jones as saying, “When I saw the way she was carrying herself and heard the quiet determined way she spoke to the others, I knew she was more of a man than any we had on board.”

Lady Rothes steered for about an hour, then handed this post over to her husband’s cousin, Miss Gladys Cherry, and took up a rowing spot next to Doña Maria Josefa Perez de Soto y Vallejo Peñasco y Castellana, to comfort the 22-year old woman who had just become a widow, as her husband, Don Víctor, drowned in the shipwreck.

She rowed until the next morning when they were rescued by the RMS Carpathia. All through the terrible night she calmed and encouraged the other passengers. Then, aboard the Carpathia, she continued to sacrifice herself, taking no rest, but helping and consoling the other survivors. An account in the London Daily Sketch stated, “Her Ladyship helped to make clothes for the babies and became known amongst the crew as the ‘plucky little countess.'”

Caught up in the Titanic tragedy, the Countess did what all nobles are called to do: Lead, and sacrifice oneself for the common good.

 

Upon arriving in New York, she gave the interview below to the New York Herald, and it was published on April 21, 1912:

Countess of Rothes“The pitiful sadness of our rowing, rowing toward the lights of a ship that disappeared. We in boat No. 8 saw some tramp steamer’s mast head lights, and then we saw the glow of red as she swung toward us for a few minutes. Then darkness and despair.” Lady Rothes yesterday, at the Ritz Carlton, told of her experience on board the Titanic.

“I went to bed at half-past seven,” she said, “and my cousin, Miss Gladys Cherry, who shared my room—No. 77 on deck B–also retired. It was bitterly cold. I was awakened by a slight jar and then a grating noise. I turned on the light and saw that it was 11:46, and I wondered at the sudden quiet. Gladys had not been awakened and I called her and asked did she not think it strange that the engines had stopped.

As I opened our cabin door I saw a steward. He said we had struck some ice. Our fur coats over our night gowns were all the clothes we had. My cousin asked the chief steward if there was any danger and he answered, ‘Oh no, we have just grazed some ice and it does not amount to anything.’

 

The Call for Lifebelts

“As we hurried along Lambert Williams came up and explained that the water-tight compartments must surely hold. Just then an officer hurried by. “‘Will you all get your lifebelts on! Dress warmly and come up to A deck!’ Quite stunned by the order, we all went. As I was going in to our stateroom my maid said water was pouring into the racquet court. I gave her some brandy, tied on her lifebelt and told her to go straight up on deck. We had to ask a steward where our lifebelts could be found. The man said he was sure they were unnecessary until we told him we had been ordered to do so. “We dressed as warmly as we could and went up to A deck.

Mr. Brown, the purser, touched his hat as we passed, saying:—‘It is quite all right; don’t hurry!’ What a lovely night it was! I stood close to Mrs. Astor. She was waiting under the starboard ports of the library and her husband got a chair for her. She was quite calm. The last I saw of Colonel Astor was when he still stood by his wife, trying to comfort her. “Captain Smith stood shoulder to shoulder with me as I got into the life boat, and the last words were to the able seaman–Tom Jones–‘Row straight for those ship lights over there; leave your passengers on board of her and return as soon as you can.’ Captain Smith’s whole attitude was one of great calmness and courage, and I am sure he thought that the ship–whose lights we could plainly see–would pick us up and that our life boats would be able to do double duty in ferrying passengers to the help that gleamed so near.

“There were two stewards in boat No. 8 with us and thirty-one women. The name of the steward was Crawford. We were lowered quietly to the water, and when we had pushed off from the Titanic’s side I asked the seaman if he would care to have me take the tiller, as I knew something about boats. He said, ‘Certainly, lady.’ I climbed aft into the stern sheets and asked my cousin to help me. “The first impression I had as we left the ship was that above all things we must not lose our self-control. We had no officer to take command of our boat, and the little seaman had to assume all the responsibility. He did it nobly, alternately cheering us with words of encouragement, then rowing doggedly. Then Signora de Satode Penasco began to scream for her husband. It was too horrible. I left the tiller to my cousin and slipped down beside her to be of what comfort I could. Poor woman! Her sobs tore our hearts and her moans were unspeakable in their sadness. Miss Cherry stayed at the tiller of our boat until the Carpathia picked us up.

“The most awful part of the whole thing was seeing the rows of portholes vanishing one by one. Several of us–and Tom Jones–wanted to row back and see if there was not some chance for rescuing any one that had possibly survived, but the majority in the boat ruled, that we had no right to risk their lives on the bare chance of finding any one alive after the final plunge. They also said that the captain’s own orders had been to ‘row for those ship lights over there,’ and that we who wished to try for others who might be drowning had no business to interfere with his orders. Of course that settled the matter, and we rowed on. “Indeed, I saw–we all saw–a ship’s lights not more than three miles away!” Turning to Lord Rothes, Lady Rothes said:–“I am a fair judge of distances, am I not?” He answered, “Yes, you are.”

 

The Lights Disappear

Continuing, Lady Rothes said:– “For three hours we pulled steadily for the two masthead lights that showed brilliantly in the darkness. For a few minutes we saw the ship’s port light, then it vanished, and the masthead lights got dimmer on the horizon until they, too, disappeared. “A Mrs. Smith did yeoman service. She rowed for five hours with Tom Jones without taking a rest. Really, she was magnificent, not only in her attitude, but in the whole souled way in which she worked. “Mrs. Pearson also rowed, and my maid, Roberta Maioni, rowed the last half of the night. “I did not know Mr. Ismay by sight, until one night at dinner in the restaurant he came in late, and some one pointed him out to me as being the managing director of the line.

There was no excitement of any kind, save that once the third class passengers became obstreperous, but it was instantly put down. “When the awful end came, I tried my best to keep the Spanish woman from hearing the agonizing sound of distress. They seemed to continue forever, although it could not have been more than ten minutes until the silence of a lonely sea dropped down. The indescribable loneliness, the ghastliness of our feelings never can be told. We tried to keep in touch with the other boats by shouting and succeeded fairly well. Our boat was the furthest away because we had chased the phantom lights for three hours. Yes, I rowed for three hours.”

Roberta Maioni, the maid, said:–

“I was not at all frightened. Everybody was saying as we left the ship that ‘she was good for twelve hours yet’ and I was too numb to realize the terror of it all until we were safe on board the Carpathia.” “Brave men, all that stood back so that the women should have at least a chance to live!” said Lady Rothes. “Their memories should be held sacred in the mind of the world forever.”

 


Short Stories on Honor, Chivalry, and the World of Nobility—no. 531

 

 

Quote of the day

DAILY QUOTE for May 25, 2020

“I will take away not the grace but the feeling of grace...

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May 25

 

“I will take away
not the grace but the feeling of grace.
Though I will seem to leave you
I will be closer to you.”

Our Lord to St. Mary Magdalene de’ Pazzi


My Mother, I will stand with you on OCTOBER 10, 2020

Saint of the day

SAINT OF THE DAY

Pope St. Gregory VII

In 1073 at the death of Alexander II, the people of Rome cri...

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Pope St. Gregory VII

Pope Gregory VII was born Hildebrand in Tuscany, Italy. Little else is known of his early life. Hailed, historically, as one of the greatest of the Church's pontiffs and one of the most remarkable men of all time, his name, Hildebrand, meant “bright flame”. Those who hated him, which were many, interpreted the name as “brand of Hell”.

Hildebrand was a Benedictine monk, for a time living in Cluny, from whence he certainly gleaned the monastery’s ideal of societal reform.

As a cleric, he became chaplain to Pope Gregory VI, and a few years later, under Leo IX was made Cardinal Deacon. A man of outstanding energy and insight, Hildebrand became a power in Rome. It is greatly due to him that the practice of electing popes through a college of cardinals was established.

In 1073 at the death of Alexander II, the people of Rome cried out for the holy genius who had helped steer the Church for twenty years, “Hildebrand for Pope! Holy Peter wants Hildebrand, the Archdeacon!” Once before the holy monk had eluded the tiara but this time a proper college of cardinals, seconding the popular cry, induced him to accept an honor duly his.

Hildebrand assumed the name Gregory VII, and threw his energy and zeal into a continued reform, especially fighting simony (the sale of ecclesiastical posts) and clerical incontinence.

He confronted Emperor Henry IV head- on about his practice of choosing men for ecclesiastical positions. On meeting with dogged resistance, the pontiff finally had recourse to excommunication which drastically curtailed the proud monarch’s power, ultimately bringing Henry on foot to the Pope at the Castle of Canossa. Because of Henry’s rebellious obstinacy, Pope Gregory saw fit to leave him out in the cold for three days before receiving and reinstating the royal penitent.

But Henry failed to make any true personal reform and alienated his princes who elected another ruler. Still, he later rallied and went as far as electing another Pope, a Clement III, calling down upon himself another sentence of excommunication. He also attacked and entered the Eternal City in 1084, which forced Pope Gregory into exile. Henry had his protégée “pope” crown him Emperor. Ultimately repelled by an army fighting for the true pope, the Emperor Henry left Rome, but complications sent Gregory VII again into exile, this time to die.

His last words before his death were a summary of how he had lived, “I have loved justice and hated iniquity, therefore I die in exile.”

Weekly Story

WEEKLY STORY

There was once a young country wife who practiced devotion t...

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Mary and the Simple Country Wife

There was once a young country wife who practiced devotion to Holy Mary, just as her mother had taught her to do. This simple young lady considered herself fortunate to have married a handsome soldier. Little did she know that her soldier-husband had made a deal with the devil, that he would sell his wife for a certain sum of money.

One crisp, autumn morning the couple went out for their customary walk. Oddly, this time the young man insisted on heading towards the forest. It was at the forest where he intended to deliver his young bride over to the devil.

On their way to the forest, the couple passed in front of a Church dedicated to the Virgin Mary. The wife, overtaken with a desire to enter the church begged her husband to allow her to pray a Hail Mary in that church.

As the young lady entered the church, Holy Mary came forth from it, taking the form of the wife and accompanied the man into the forest.

When they at last approached the devil at the forest, he said to the man, “Traitor! Why have you brought me instead of your wife, my enemy, the mother of God?”

“And you,” said Mary, addressing the devil, “how have you dared to think of injuring my servant? Go, flee to hell.”

And then, turning to the man, Mary said to him, “Amend your life, and I will aid you.”

She then disappeared and that wretched man repented, amended his life and became a husband worthy of his simple country wife.

From the Glories of Mary, by St. Alphonsus Maria de Liguori.

 

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There was once a young country wife who practiced devotion to Holy Mary, just as her mother had taught her to do. This simple young lady considered herself fortunate to have married a handsome soldier.

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