“‘In our boat were about twenty persons, most of them women, who suffered intensely from the exposure. Their scanty clothes were no protection from the water and ice. Mrs. Thayer rowed us for more than two hours. She battled with the waves which threatened to overturn us, and worked as valiantly as any experienced seaman could have done. To her, for the most part, we owe our lives. “‘We did not meet with Mrs. Thayer’s son until we had been on the Carpathia for twenty-four hours. He had been picked up from a raft and placed in the ship’s hospital. As soon as he was able to get about he ran hurriedly through the Carpathia, and there was a happy meeting when he there saw his mother. “‘While the accommodations on the Carpathia were not very comfortable, the passengers of the Titanic who were rescued by that vessel were well treated, and feel grateful to the officers and passengers.’” The eight musicians who went down in the Titanic and who were playing “Nearer My God to Thee” when all the boats had gone, were under the leadership of Bandmaster Hartley, who was transferred from the Mauretania to take up his duties on the largest steamer of the White Star Line. Under his direction were John Hume, violinist; Herbert Taylor, pianist; Fred Clark, bass viol; George Woodward, cellist, and Messrs. Brailey, Krins and Breicoux, who played when the others were off duty. On the Celtic were John S. Carr and Louis Cross, cellist and bass viol of the orchestra on that steamship. When they got shore leave they told something about the men on the Titanic, with whom they had made many voyages. They also were acquainted with the conditions under which the men lived on the Titanic, and gave a graphic idea of the manner in which they must have responded when the call of duty came. A MAN WITH A HIGH SENSE OF DUTY. “Some were already in bed and some were probably smoking when the ship hit the iceberg,” said John S. Carr. “The Titanic had a special lounging and smoking room, with the sleeping rooms opening off it. It was so late that they all must have been there when the first shock came. Bandmaster Hartley was a man with the highest sort of a sense of duty. “I don’t suppose he waited to be sent for, but after finding how dangerous the situation was he probably called his men together and began playing. I know that he often said that music was a bigger weapon for stopping disorder than anything on earth. He knew the value of the weapon he had, and I think he proved his point.” “The thing that hits me hardest,” said Louis Cross, “is the loss of Happy Jock Hume, who was one of the violinists. Hume was the life of every ship he ever played on and was beloved by every one from cabin boys to captains on the White Star Line. He was a young Scotchman, not over 21, and came of a musical family.