Written by Megan McIntyre
It was a bitterly cold, still
night and the passengers had just settled down for the night of April 14, 1912.
Captain E.J. Smith had also settled down for the night in his quarters when he
was awakened from his deep sleep by the shudder of the ship and the dead
silence of the stopped engines.
I was brought out of my sleep by
a hard shake of the ship that nearly tossed me off of my bunk. Confused by what
was going on, I quickly stepped out onto the floor, threw on my robe, and
swiftly made my way out to the front decks to check with the men who were
standing guard on the bridge. "Captain! Captain!" Johnny shouted to
me anxiously, running towards me. "The ship scraped against an iceberg. We
tried to turn to avoid the iceberg, but we saw it too late. All of the
watertight compartments were immediately shut," he assured me as I quickly
walked to the side of the ship to observe the damage. Looking back on it now,
if I would’ve acted a bit faster, maybe we could’ve avoided all of the deaths
that occurred. Though truth be told, I was in too much shock for anything to
register in my head. This voyage is a grand example of my failure as a ship
captain. Thankfully, this was supposed to be my last voyage before my
retirement. I looked forward to enjoying the rest of my life with my wife. The
icy air bit at my hands and hatless ears as I stood out on the deck, trying to
decide the best course of action.
Within the next thirty minutes,
all of the watertight compartments were filled with water, and the bow of the
ship began to sink. I already had my messengers send SOS messages to other
ships that might’ve been in the area. The ship that was closest to us was the
Carpathia, and she was still a good four hours away. At the rate that our
unsinkable ship was going down, they were not going to reach us in time. So, in
hope that I could possibly save a few of the passengers, I quickly alerted my
men that all women and children should get in our lifeboats first. Urgent flare
signals were being shot off into the air, hoping to catch a nearby vessel’s
attention that we were in dire need of their help. Unfortunately, not one came
to our aid. Apparently they thought we were celebrating the news of our early
arrival into New York’s port, but sadly, that wasn’t going to be true. At about
one o’clock AM, it looked as if most of the upper class women and children were
in lifeboats and the others were scrambling to get into the collapsible ones. I
walked around the decks one last time to check and see how much of our ship was
left. Soon I walked back to the helm, determined to go down with the ship I so
lovingly steered for most of the trip. I watched a priest giving sermons to
those who had no hope of surviving; the musical crew bravely playing on in hope
of calming those who were frantically rushing around the decks. All were hoping
to be one of the few possible survivors. I sighed, upset that I wouldn’t be
able to see my wife and children again. I left her angry, after our fight over
something as trivial as our usual vacation trip in the springtime. She wanted
to go to the country in Ireland. Soon I heard a large crack, and then I was
forcefully pushed against the wheel of the ship. I heard shouts of panic as
many people dropped to their deaths in the cold, icy water. I grabbed hold of
the wheel before I, too, was pushed down into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
Before I knew it, I felt freezing water pool up around my feet and quickly make
its way up my body.
As the ship started to make its
way into the cold, icy depths of the Atlantic Ocean, I thought back to the very
last summer trip I had had with my wife and children. We had been in the green
meadows of the Ireland countryside. I had heard sounds coming up from the barn
that held the many cows and sheep that we kept there, cared for by our
neighbors a few miles down the road. I remembered how we always gathered in our
kitchen before we went off to do our various chores; how my wife, Annabelle,
cooked her famous omelets and whole wheat toast, with fluffy biscuits that were
dipped in gravy, tasting like heaven. I opened my eyes once again to the sight
of water rushing through the windows and enveloping me in its icy cold grasp. I
remembered when we first took off, the air was fresh, the day was bright and
perfect, just the right temperature so that we wouldn’t be too uncomfortable on
our journey. The families that our passengers left behind were standing on the
dock with handkerchiefs in their hands, waving us off, blowing kisses in our
direction, shouting, "Bon voyage! Good luck! I shall miss you!" I
remembered how happy I had felt, how excited I was to make this last trip of
mine a real record breaker as well as a success. I knew nothing could go wrong
on this trip. After all, this ship was supposed to be unsinkable! I realize now
how wrong that was, how wrong it was to assume nothing could happen to us. In
the process, our cockiness caused so many deaths on the ship, and this is why I
knew I deserved to die with the ship. I was the cause of so many deaths; I held
their lives in my hands, but I failed everybody. Even though I knew I deserved
to die, I still feared not seeing my wife ever again. I feared that heaven was
nothing but a myth to get us to believe in a God that couldn’t even save us
from our ship’s plundering death.
But before I could even take my
very last breath, I felt the frigid, icy water rush onto my body and envelop me
completely. Soon I felt this weightless feeling, darkness, and I knew I was
dead. I had died for my ship. I just hoped that the other lives fared better
than mine.
At about 2:20 AM, the Titanic
made her final bob in the sea and then sank completely into the icy depths of
the icy Atlantic Ocean. About an hour later, as survivors were holding onto the
backs of chairs and other furniture, the icy water took them, too, and they
soon froze to death. The Carpathia eventually came into view. Those who
survived made their way towards the ship, knowing that this ship would take
them home to the United States of America. There were one thousand, five
hundred twenty-two people who perished at sea, and only seven hundred five
survivors were picked up by the rescue ship, the Carpathia.
The End.