"I shaved Colonel Astor Sunday afternoon," said Whiteman. "He was a pleasant, affable man, and that awful night when I found myself standing beside him on the passenger deck, helping to put the women into the boats, I spoke to him. "'Where is your life-belt?' I asked him. "'I didn't think there would be any need of it,' he said. "'Get one while there is time,' I told him. 'The last boat is gone, and we are done for.' "'No,' he said, 'I think there are some life-boats to be launched, and we may get on one of them.' "'There are no life-rafts,' I told him, 'and the ship is going to sink. I am going to jump overboard and take a chance on swimming out and being picked up by one of the boats. Better come along.' "'No, thank you,' he said, calmly, 'I think I'll have to stick.' "I asked him if he would mind shaking hands with me. He said, 'With pleasure,' gave me a hearty grip, and then I climbed up on the rail and jumped overboard. I was in the water nearly four hours before one of the boats picked me up." CAPTAIN WASHED OVERBOARD Murdock's last orders were to Quartermaster Moody and a few other petty officers who had taken their places in the rigid discipline of the ship and were lowering the boats. Captain Smith came up to him on the bridge several times and then rushed down again. They spoke to one another only in monosyllables. There were stories that Captain Smith, when he saw the ship actually going down, had committed suicide. There is no basis for such tales. The captain, according to the testimony of those who were near him almost until the last, was admirably cool. He carried a revolver in his hand, ready to use it on anyone who disobeyed orders. "I want every man to act like a man for manhood's sake," he said, "and if they don't, a bullet awaits the coward." With the revolver in his hand--a fact that undoubtedly gave rise to the suicide theory--the captain moved up and down the deck. He gave the order for each life-boat to make off and he remained until every boat was gone. Standing on the bridge he finally called out the order: "Each man save himself." At that moment all discipline fled. It was the last call of death. If there had been any hope among those on board before, the hope now had fled. The bearded admiral of the White Star Line fleet, with every life-saving device launched from the decks, was returning to the deck to perform the sacred office of going down with his ship when a wave dashed over the side and tore him from the ladder.