Turner was being prudent. If an emergency were to occur, the boats could be launched from this position more quickly, and with less hazard, than if they were still locked in their deep-sea positions. At this hour, few passengers would be out on deck and thus would be less likely to interfere with the effort or, worse, be injured, though Turner risked causing annoyance by awakening them so early—and these were some of the most expensive staterooms on the ship.
Third Officer John Lewis, who ran the daily lifeboat drills, also directed this operation. First, he said, “we mustered the cooks, the stewards, the watch of sailors on deck, and any other day men that we could raise.” The crew began with the boats on the port side. Lewis climbed to the navigation deck and positioned himself at its midpoint, outside the Marconi room, so that he could monitor the entire operation at once. Six to eight men were assigned to each boat. To avoid tangled falls and guy lines, all the boats had to be swung out at once, according to Lewis. Next, the men—some eighty in all—shifted to the starboard side and repeated the process. Lewis then dismissed the cooks and stewards, but ordered the deck crew to secure the guy lines and pile the falls in tidy “Flemish” coils. Last, he had the men make sure that each boat contained its required complement of survival gear, including oars, mast, sails, matches, sea anchor, lamp, provisions, and drinking water.
The process did not go smoothly. First-class passenger Joseph Myers, up early, watched the crew work. “The men were not efficient,” he said. “I saw them trying to throw out the boats, trying to break away the boats from the davits, and it seemed to me that they were not equal to it. They were clumsy handling the ropes. They were bossed by some petty officer; I don’t know who it was but the men did not look to me as if they had been handling the boats before. They handled the ropes and falls like men building a house; they looked more like day laborers than seamen.”
Passengers who awoke later that morning were greeted by the sight of all the boats swung out and uncovered, with no explanation posted. For most the change was of minor interest; some may not even have noticed. For others, it was disconcerting. “On Thursday morning I felt rather uneasy when I discovered that the lifeboats were hung over the side of the ship,” wrote Jane MacFarquhar, of Stratford, Connecticut. “On inquiry, I was informed that it was essential that they should be so—according to law. I thought it rather strange that they had not been put ready after clearing New York instead of waiting until we were so near the other side. I noticed the other passengers did not seem to bother, so I also began to forget the lifeboats.”
Nellie Huston, adding a few more paragraphs to her diary-like letter, wrote, “This morning we have all the lifeboats swung out ready for emergencies. It’s awful to think about but I guess there is some danger.” She noted that she and fellow passengers expected British naval vessels to rendezvous with the ship that day, to provide escort.
She switched to cheerier observations. “What a crowd there are in the boat and all English. I was so pleased to see the Union Jacks on this boat when we were in New York, there are quite a lot of distinguished people in the 1st class but of course you couldn’t touch them with a soft pole! There is a Vanderbilt, one or two bankers. I have made lots of friends and if it wasn’t for the worry I could say we’ve had a lovely trip.”
THE DECK MEN did the usual “sailoring” to maintain the ship, a process that never ended. Every morning a group of sailors cleaned the brass and glass in the portholes that opened onto the decks. There was always a peek of rust that needed sanding and painting; the brine and dried mist that collected on the deck rails overnight had to be ragged off in the morning, so that the rails shone and did not spoil the dresses and suits of passengers. All the ship’s plants had to be watered, including the twenty-one large palm trees that stood at the heads of stairwells. Deck chairs had to be straightened, to avoid the haphazard look of a wedding after all the guests had left.
Seaman Morton was assigned to touch up the paint on the hull of one of the lifeboats. The crew must have swung the boat back in for this, because Morton had to lie underneath to administer the paint. The paint was gray and was known as “crab fat.” It was a messy task. “We were not issued with paint brushes, we had instead a swab of waste”—meaning a rag—“and the paint pot into which we dipped the waste and then applied it to the hull of the lifeboat.”