In that grim midnight hour, already great in history, he
found himself hemmed in by the band of heroes whose watchword
and countersign rang out across the deep--"Women
and children first!"
What did he do? He scuttled to the stateroom deck, put
on a woman's skirt, a woman's hat and a woman's veil, and
picking his crafty way back among the brave and chivalric
men who guarded the rail of the doomed ship, he filched a
seat in one of the life-boats and saved his skin.
His name is on that list of branded rescued men who were
neither picked up from the sea when the ship went down
nor were in the boats under orders to help get them safe away.
His identity is not yet known, though it will be in good time.
So foul an act as that will out like murder.
The eyes of strong men who have read this crowded record
of golden deeds, who have read and re-read that deathless
roll of honor of the dead, are still wet with tears of pity and
of pride. This man still lives. Surely he was born and saved
to set for men a new standard by which to measure infamy
and shame.
It is well that there was sufficient heroism on board the
Titanic to neutralize the horrors of the cowardice. When
the first order was given for the men to stand back, there were
a dozen or more who pushed forward and said that men would
be needed to row the life-boats and that they would volunteer
for the work.
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