Page 70 of The Missing Pages
“Have we stopped?” Ada’s face reflected alarm as she pulled the covers closer to her body.
“Stay here,” I said, trying to hide my concern. I picked up my pocket watch from the side table and noticed the time. It wasalmost 11:45 p.m. I reached for my clothes and slid the watch into the silken pocket next to my miniature Bacon. “Let me go and see what’s happened,” I said quickly as I put on my shoes.
I took one last glance at myself in the mirror above the porcelain wash sink and then slipped out the door. I wasn’t more than a few feet from her room when I ran into a porter.
“Why have the engines stopped?” I asked.
I wasn’t alone noticing the sudden change in the ship’s lack of movement, the abrupt halting of the engines. Other men began coming out of their cabins asking the same question. We had all gotten used to the sound of them constantly running. But now the quiet felt eerie and alarming.
Before the porter could answer me, the engines began starting up again, but this time very slowly. It sounded more like a car that was struggling through a malfunction than an enormous ocean liner. Then, just as quickly, they ground to a halt again.
I saw the porter’s expression also momentarily flicker with concern. “Sir,” he said, choosing to remain calm and confident in theTitanic’s engineering. “All is well. You needn’t worry.”
His slight hesitation, however, did concern me, so I continued to walk briskly in the direction of my parents’ stateroom.
As I wound through the hallways, I noticed men exiting their cabins in their slippers and robes.
I ran into Major Butt, who told me he was trying to find out what sort of mechanical failure had occurred.
“I just saw your father go up on deck,” he announced with a military man’s authority. “When you find him, stay together!” he cautioned.
What I remember was the sheer cold that night as I stepped onto the deck and the sight of a few fragmentsof broken ice scattered across parts of the wooden surface. The temperature had dropped significantly during the evening, so many of the first-class male passengers were wearing heavy coats over their robes and slippers. They had left their wives inside their staterooms, where it was still comfortable and warm.
I locked eyes with my father, who was deep in conversation with John Thayer.
“Harry,” he said. “I knocked on your cabin and you weren’t there.”
“Do you know what’s happened?” I deflected the conversation toward the more pressing concerns.
“John, here, says he heard from Mr. Andrews that we hit an iceberg.”
Like my father and Mr. Thayer, this news did not particularly concern me. We had been told the ship was “unsinkable.” It had sixteen watertight compartments to keep it afloat if the hull became compromised.
Still, I wanted to get back to Ada to tell her the news and assure her that there was no need for alarm. The small group of us began to grow larger with every passing minute, and I was trying to find a pause in the conversation to excuse myself. Then, only minutes later, just a little after midnight, the stewards began telling everyone to go get fully dressed and put on our life jackets, which were in our rooms.
“We’ll need to inform your mother,” Father said, shaking his head.
I was not thinking of my mother at all. I was thinking only of Ada.
I followed Father down the staircase and toward our rooms, calculating how long it would take to then get to Ada’s berth. I told myself it would only be a few minutes more.
“Get dressed quickly, Eleanor,” my father barked as he entered the room. “Put on your life jacket and take your warmest coat.”
I saw him pull down from the wardrobe two canvas vests with cork blocks sewn inside. He handed one to her.
I did not hear the rest of their conversation, as I hurriedly entered my own room and grabbed my life jacket and coat as well.
I dipped my head into their stateroom, only to see my mother fastening her pearls around her neck.
“Leave everything else,” my father insisted.
“Listen to him,” I said. “I will meet you both on deck.”
“Where are you going, Harry?” I heard my mother’s voice reach a feverish pitch. Fear permeated her every word.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” I said. And then I rushed down the hall.
The corridors were already crowded with passengers. Faces still puffy from sleep. Women with scared eyes, holding the hands of their children. Men like me, still wearing their black dinner jackets. It looked like a herd of tired revelers who were caught between an evening soiree and sleep, none of us prepared for disembarking onto lifeboats in the middle of the cold Atlantic Ocean.
