Had been given up for dead.

Arrived safe in Springfield.

After a narrow escape from the sinking Titanic – jumped into lifeboat as it was being lowered.

The grief of the hundreds, believed by the sinking of the Titanic entered into the home of Henry Hyman of 1369 North Street yesterday morning, when, after waiting anxiously, for several days, for some news concerning his brother, Abraham Hyman, who was a passenger on the boat, all hope for his safety was given up. But from the depths of sorrow into which he had been plunged by the supposed loss of his brother, whom he had induced to come to America to live, he was raised to heights of supreme joy when he heard yesterday morning that "Aby was saved."  And late

Yesterday afternoon, Abraham himself arrived in the city to tell his story. It is a remarkable story.  Abraham, a third-class passenger, made his escape from the sinking vessel with the next to the last boat that was lowered. The chances were against this Jewish passenger of the steerage, and as Henry Hyman put it, "when I heard that Esther and the other millionaires had drowned, I said to myself, 'there is no hope for Aby.'"

Henry Hyman had prevailed upon his brother, Abraham, several months ago, to come to this city, where, as he told him, he felt certain he could earn a better livelihood for his wife, and five children than he could, in Manchester, Eng., where he conducted a small grocery store. When the news of the disaster, which befell the ship became known, Henry was quite certain from the start, that his brother had perished with the many other victims.  He could not find his name among those that had been reported as among the survivors.  

When he learned Thursday evening, that the Carpathia was to dock, he waited, patiently all night, long, hoping against fate that some news might reach him, assuring him that Abraham had been saved. But no news came, and he wandered aimlessly about during the early morning hours, oppressed by his sorrow.  When day broke, he bought some newspapers, which he took home, still hoping that they might mention his brother's name amongst those that had landed safely in New York.  He read every item about the great disaster, but there was no mention of Abraham. He felt that there was surely no hope, and resigned himself to the great grief which came over him. But at 9 a.m. yesterday, he received a telegram for my cousin in New York, announcing that "Aby was safe." 

But Henry's experience is best told by himself: "I said to myself, what chance has Aby? Both my wife, and I cried, for we knew that Abraham had left his wife and five children to come here to make a better living for them, and what would they do now? With all my hopes gone, I walked around, not knowing what to do. I could not help but think of poor Aby. You can't imagine my surprise, when I receive the telegram from my cousin, Mr Stone, in New York, saying, 'Aby is safe,' and still later, when he again telegraphed to me, 'Abe safe. Wire, immediately, if he arrived in Springfield.'  I did not know what to make of the first one. I could not believe it and when the second one came, I just sat down and cried. It was too good to be true. I thought right away that Abe would take the first train to Springfield and I went down to the station to meet every train. He did not come on any of the trains during the morning, and I thought that after all that might be a mistake, but when I received another telegram after dinner stating that he had left New York I felt sure that he would soon be in Springfield.   We were down at the early trains from New York during the afternoon, but he did not come in until 5.25 o'clock.

"When I saw Abe get off the train, I could not believe it, it was so much like a man coming from the dead, I saw him when he was getting off and my cousins who were at the step when he got off, brought him to me right away. I could not help it, but I just threw my arms around him. And I guess the both of us cried. I did not know what to make of it, and I guess Aby didn't either. Here he was alive when I thought that he was dead. It was so near like meeting someone who had come from the grave. I took Aby to Mr Goldstein's on North Street first, and later to my home, where he had a little chance to rest up.  I never felt so happy in my life, I can't say how happy I am. I tell you it feels good to have Aby with us. Even now when I look at Aby I do not know what to make of it." 
 
The joy of meeting.

Inexpressible joy, attended the meeting and beggars description. Henry with several of his cousins had met each incoming train, and it was pitiable to see his disappointment when each incoming train failed to bring his brother. When the train due from New York City at 5:25 arrived, and Abraham got off. He was completely overcome with emotion. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he clasped his arms about his brother's neck. Without a word, they walked across the station platform, each with his arms clasped about the other's shoulders. It was only when they arrived at Henry's home that they were able to compose themselves sufficiently to discuss the disaster and Abraham's remarkable escape. 

Abraham gave a vivid account of the awful details. He had been among the last to leave the ship, and had an opportunity to observe the happenings on board just before the last boat left it, he told his story about as follows:

I had gone to my berth at a fairly early hour Sunday evening and was sleeping soundly when at about 11.43, as nearly as I can recall it, I was awakened by a slight jar. It was not sufficient to cause any alarm, but when the engines stopped, I got out of my berth and dressed and decided to go on deck to see what the trouble was. As I went down the corridor from the bow end of the boat to the stern on my way to the ladder, leading from the steerage to the topmost deck, I passed a number of stokers, engineers, fireman, and stewards, all laughing, just as if nothing serious had occurred. 

I climbed the ladder to the topmost deck, but when I came out, I saw very few people around. I spoke with several of them, and they all thought that the accident was a very little consequence. We all felt that the Titanic was too perfect a ship to be wrecked, and hardly a person on board, realised that the boat was in a dangerous condition. The deck rapidly filled with people all anxious to know what had happened. Order prevailed everywhere and jokes were passed about. People were there in every kind of attire. Some were clothed, but most of them were only half dressed. We stood in groups discussing the beauty of the night, for surely, I cannot remember a more beautiful night than last Sunday. Stars were shining brightly, and the heavens were clearer than I had ever seen them before. Everything was quiet.

Rockets bring first thought of danger.

Our first thought of danger came to us when signal rockets were fired from the topmost deck. Even though we thought that this was done, simply to warn some passing vessel that the boat had been disabled. I do not believe that any one of us thought that within two hours the ship would go down. I think that the great confidence which we had in the ship did more than anything else to prevent a panic. I feel sure that if the people have known what was to follow, they would have been even greater loss of life. 

No sooner had the signal rockets been fired when orders were given to lower the boats. The women on board was summoned and in turn lowered. From my position, I could not observe very well the first boats that were being lowered, but I know from the quiet, which prevailed, that everything was carried on in perfect order. There was not the slightest sign of a panic, for all of us felt confident that with the women off it would be, but a matter of a few hours before the rest of us would be rescued. From my position I saw them lower the boats on the starboard side. They dropped the boat from A deck to B deck where the women were gathered.  Nearly all the women were lowered from B deck. 

Jumped into a lifeboat.

I do not know just how long it took them to lower the boats on the starboard side. All I could hear was the creaking of the pulleys as the boats were being lowered. I watched them lower all the boats until they came to the next to last one.   There were very few women on deck and they soon were in the boat. I heard someone say:  "Are there no more women?" But no one answered and no one came forward. Several men got into the boat. I saw there was at least room for 10 or 12 more when they began to lower it. I saw my opportunity and it did not take me more than a second to decide. I jumped into it just as it was being lowered. I cannot describe the sensation which came over as we were being lowered. I did not feel scared, but I did feel that there was some danger and that it required nerve.

When we almost reached the water, we came in contact with the stream of water that was pulling out of the overflow. We all realise the danger and three or four of us took an oar and with it shoved our boat far enough away to clear it. When we struck the water, we were directly under the boat which was lowered after ours. We saw it come down and nearly all of us thought that it would surely strike us. We all shouted, but no one seemed to hear us. The boat still came on. For the first time we felt scared. Fortunately, when it was just above us, it swung aside and landed in the water without any damage.

The sea was as smooth as glass and nearly all the man at once took to the oars. Among our crew was one of the stokers of the vessel who directed us. We did not know exactly which way to go at first but upon the advice of the stoker we at once pulled to get as far as possible away from the ship and yet be within calling distance of the rest of the boats. We pulled hard and where about half a mile away when we stopped rowing. From this point we watched the ship. All we could see of it was the glow of the lights which were all burning brightly. Everything was quiet and it was bitter cold. I heard some reports that the band was playing just before the boat went down.  From our position, I could hear no music, in fact, I could not hear anything.  We were all quiet on the boat, and when we did speak, it was in the low voice.

Watching the Titanic sink.

Sitting there we saw the boat gradually sink. We could determine this by the lights.  One by one the porthole lights went out, and then we realised there was grave danger. The cold by this time chilled us to the bone. We could hardly stand it. I do not know how long we were there watching the ship. It seemed a long time. I do not believe that any of us thought until the last that she would really go under. As the lights gradually went out, our faith sank, and then we knew that it would not be long before it would go down. 

The end came sooner than we expected. There was a muffled report, followed by the noise of escaping steam. Then the lights went out, and we saw no more. I will never be able to describe what followed.  We knew that the ship has gone down, for the air was rent with the cries of the hundreds, that were struggling in the water. Oh! Those sounds; I shall never forget them. I felt impelled to jump out of the boat and give assistance.  Some of us wanted to go at once, and help rescue some of the unfortunates, but the stoker watched the water closely and urged us to hold fast on the oars.  We waited several seconds, and then we pulled for the scene. It took some minutes though, before we reached it.  The sea was strewn with wreckage, but many of those that had been in the water, but a few minutes before were gone forever. 

None left to be rescued.

As we neared the scene, cries were still heard on all sides, but they became fainter and fainter as we came up.  We knew that we could give very little assistance, but we felt that few could long endure the bitter cold water, and when we got there, no one was afloat.

How the women in our boat stood the cold, I cannot understand. They were huddled together, weeping, silently. It would be impossible for me to describe my own feelings – I do not think that anyone who went through that awful ordeal could. We were struck dumb and silent. For hours we rowed aimlessly about. I should judge that we were in the water about five hours before we were sighted by the Carpathia.  Those five hours were the longest that I can ever remember.

Our thoughts cannot be described. We did not know that we were to be rescued so quickly and few of us really appreciated our good fortune. The cries of the unfortunate ones were still in our ears and we could not forget them.

I cannot say that I felt happy when we were picked up by the Carpathia. My sympathy for the unfortunate ones was too great. I never felt so sad. 

It did not take long for any of us to scramble on board the Carpathia when she picked us up.  When we saw that we were to be rescued, our one great desire was to get out of the cold. I never hustled so hard in my life, as I did to get out of it, and the others in the boat did the same. 

Mr Hyman badly used up.

Mr Hyman did not speak of his experiences on board the Carpathia. His condition was such that he could not give the full details of the disaster.  The trying ordeal through which he had passed, had left its mark, and he appeared to be on the verge of a nervous collapse. What appeared to be an ordinarily, rugged countenance was almost deathly pale. When he spoke, his words came slowly. 

In discussing some of the incidents that came to his attention. While on board the Carpathia, he mentioned, the remarkable, escape and rescue of a man, whose name he did not know, but his home he thought, was in California. He stated that when the explosion took place, this man had been standing along the edge of the lower deck, trying to rig a raft of numerous deckchairs. When the explosion occurred, the shock thew him, bodily off the boat. He had the presence of mind to retain his hold on the chair, when he struck the water, he still had strength enough to retain his hold. The fall injured his back, and he was barely able to crawl aboard his improvised raft.   According to Mr Hyman, the man was in the water, at least two hours before he was rescued. When he was picked up, he was unconscious. One young woman who was numbered among the rescued ones, he stated, attributed her good fortune to a little pig, which she had retained as a mascot. 

Mr Hardiman lost everything he had when the steamer went under.  What little money he had is all gone. The savings of years were swept away, leaving him to face the new world penniless. His numerous friends who live in the city have come to his assistance, though, and already efforts are being made to raise a fund in his behalf.  It is probable that one of the moving picture houses will hold a benefit show next Sunday, the receipts of which will be given to the fund.