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We slowed down, leveled out, and then came to a stop as the river water splashed over the cockpit windows. I would later learn that I had achieved most of the parameters I attempted: The plane had landed with the nose at 9.8 degrees above the horizon, the wings were exactly level, and we were flying at 125.2 knots, just above the minimum speed for that configuration. The rate of descent, however, even with full aft stick commanding full nose up, could not be arrested as much as I would have liked.

Within a second or two, we returned to the slightly nose-up attitude and the plane was floating. The skyline of New York presented itself from sea level.

Jeff and I turned to each other and, almost in unison, said the same thing.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

Still, we knew that the hardest part of this emergency might still be ahead. There were 155 passengers and crew members on a plane that might soon be sinking.

15

ONE HUNDRED FIFTY-FIVE

THE WATER LANDING certainly wasn’t as bad as Jeff and I knew it could have been. We didn’t cartwheel when we touched down. The aircraft remained intact. The fuel didn’t ignite. Our recognition of all that went right was a slight release of tension. I guess it was an understated acknowledgment that we might yet succeed in keeping everyone on board alive.

Of course, there was no time or inclination to celebrate.

Yes, it was a relief that one of the biggest problems we faced that day had been solved: We had gotten the plane down and brought it to a stop in one piece. But we weren’t out of the woods yet. This was not yet a successful outcome.

I sensed that the plane was still intact, even though the moment of impact had been a hard jolt, especially in the back of the plane. I assumed that the passengers were probably OK. I’d later learn that some had their glasses knocked from their faces during the landing. Others hit their heads on the seat backs in front of them. But few passengers were seriously injured on impact. After the plane settled in the water, I heard no screaming or shouting from the cabin. Through the cockpit door, I heard just muffled conversation. I knew that the passengers were likely looking out their windows at the dark green water in the river, feeling stunned.

Seconds after the airplane stopped, Jeff turned to the evacuation checklist. The list is split between the captain and first officer, but the captain’s duties—including setting the parking brake—are only useful on land, or if we had working engines. I decided not to waste time on things that would have no benefit to our situation there on the river. Jeff’s checklist took him ten or fifteen seconds to complete. He checked that the aircraft was un-pressurized and that the engine and APU (auxiliary power unit) fire push buttons were pushed.

As he did that, I opened the cockpit door and stated one word, loudly: “Evacuate!”

In the front of the cabin, by the left and right doors, Donna and Sheila were ready for my order. I hadn’t had time to inform them during the descent that we were landing in water. But once they saw where we were, they immediately knew what to do. They changed their commands to “Don life vests; come this way!”

They knew to assess the exits carefully. They had to make sure the plane wasn’t on fire on the other side of the door and that there were no jagged metal pieces. They knew not to open a door if that portion of the plane was under water. The good news was that we could tell by the attitude of the plane that the forward doors were above the waterline. And so they opened them.

The slide rafts are supposed to inflate when the doors open. That happened correctly on the right side of the plane. On the left side, however, the raft didn’t automatically inflate and had to be deployed manually.

A far more dangerous issue: The back of the plane was quickly filling up with ice-cold river water. We later learned that the bottom of the aft end of the fuselage had been violently