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May T H E F Forty-eight-a
T H E T I T A N I C
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T is a night of a thousand stars. The date, Sunday, April 14,
1912. The time, 11:20 P. M.
The place, off Cape Race- that Cemetery of the Sea.
Suddenly a silence comes--the engines have stopped-the great
iron heart of the ship has ceased to beat.
Such a silence is always ominous to those who go down to the
> sea in ships.
“ The engines have stopped ! ”
Eyes peer; ears listen; startled minds wait!
A half-minute goes by.
Then the great ship groans, as her keel grates and grinds. She reels, rocks, struggles
as if to free herself from a titanic grasp, and as she rights herself, people standing
lose their center of gravity.
Not a shock-only about the same sensation that one feels when the ferryboat
slides into her landing-slip, with a somewhat hasty hand at the wheel.
On board the ferry we know what has happened-here we do not.
“ An iceberg ! ” some one cries.
The word is passed along.
“ Only an iceberg! Barely grated iteside-swiped it-that is all! Ah, ha!”
The few on deck, and some of those in cabins peering out of portholes, see a great
white mass go gliding by.
A shower of broken ice has covered the decks. Passengers pick up specimens “ for
souvenirs to carry home,” they laughingly say.
Five minutes pass-the engines start again-but only for an instant.
Again the steam is shut off. Then the siren-whistles cleave and saw the frosty air.
Q1 Silence and the sirens ! Alarm, but no tumult-abut why blow the whistles when
there is no fog! ,
The cold is piercing. Some who have come up on deck return to their cabins for
wraps and overcoats.
The men laugh-and a few nervously smoke.
It is a cold, clear night of stars. There is no moon. The sea is smooth as a Summer
pond.
.The great towering iceberg that loomed above the topmost mast has done its
work, gone on, disappeared, piloted by its partners, the darkness and the night.
GI “ There was no iceberg-you only imagined it,” a man declares.
“ Go back to bed-there is no danger-this ship can not sink anyway ! ” says the
Managing Director of the Company.
In a lull of the screaming siren, a hoarse voice is heard calling through a megaphone
from the bridge-“ Man the lifeboats! Women and children first !! ”
“ It sounds just like a play,” says I-Ienry Harris to Major Butt.
Stewards and waiters are giving out life-preservers and showing passengers how
to put them on.
There is laughter-a little hysteric. “ I want my clothes made to order," a woman
protests. “ An outrageous fit ! Give me a man’s size! ”