RMS TITANIC...An Account in Parts

WARNING SIGNS...

My dear readers… where to begin! I can only report what I saw with my own eyes, and you will have to judge for yourselves. I must apologize ahead of time for the "narrow lens," as such a grave assault on the senses seems to shut one down completely to all but survival. Something to which I am not immune. For me, it began like this…

It was a lovely evening with my friends in the Cafe Parisien, although I had to leave early to get my column ready to turn into the Marconi Room. On the way back to my cabin I followed my habit of wandering throughout the various classes, looking for any last-minute news to include. By then, the crew was quite used to me doing this, and I didn't even have to show my press pass, anymore. In the first class lounge I came across a group of the correspondents I had lunch with, day before yesterday, and they invited me for a few moments of coffee and chat. Among them was that most fascinating character, Frank Millet (a much more famous artist than he ever was a reporter), and none other than the President's Military Aide, Archie. 

A painting by Millet

I hear these two are the best of friends, having been through several campaigns together, and now, often both having business (although vastly different) that keeps them in Washington D.C.. Frank with his on-going painting of murals in prominent public buildings for the "beautification of Washington" projects, and Archie, with his many pressing duties to the President. I almost felt comfortable enough to ask him about some of those, since he is such a socially congenial sort (notwithstanding he started out as a reporter, himself), but I thought I should wait until we were closer to docking in New York, when he would know me better. Now, how I wish I had! But then they say hindsight is always perfect.

At any rate, just as I was thinking I should take my leave, a steward came to hand Archie a message indicating that the Captain wanted to see him, immediately (odd, since I had heard the Captain had gone to bed early). He excused himself and left quickly. It wasn't until I saw Frank's normally pleasant countenance go grave, that I realized something must be terribly amiss. Some word that had come in from the President, perhaps? Was there trouble back in Washington? Why else should a presidential aide be summoned from his vacation, near midnight, when he would be home in a mere few days?

SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG…

 In my cabin, I spread out the daily photographs I had developed in the ship's darkroom, that afternoon, got out my Corona, and prepared to hammer out the day's story. Some time after midnight, I heard an insistent rap on the door. It was Lucy Snape. "Get into your warmest clothes, Lilly..," She whisked a life preserver out from under the bed without even waiting for a reply. "Then put this on, and head up to the boat deck as quick as you can."

"But, Lucy -- a drill at this hour?"

"No time to explain, there's others I have to roust out." Then she handed me one of the ties I was fumbling for, before shaking my free hand in an almost formal fashion. "Goodbye.  I probably won't see you, again."

"What on… earth!"

"Goodbye!"

And with that, she was off to the next cabin. By then my hands were trembling at the very thoughts going through my mind. I even imagined somewhat of a slant to the floor as I pulled my heaviest coat over all and quickly made my way into the the hallway. There were scores of others there, most moving like a slow-flowing river toward the outside decks. Some were dressed warm, as instructed, and others were still in their night clothes, with only a wrap, or an overcoat, thrown over. 

"Big lot of bother, this…" said a large gentleman standing in pajamas at the doorway of his cabin, who had discovered his lifejacket was too small. "Where's the Purser?"

 Outside, the boat deck was in a somewhat organized chaos as the lifeboats we had walked by so often were now swung out over the rails and being lowered by fits and jerks onto the sea. "Women and children!" the phrase was oft repeated, and there was a growing crowd of men standing back against the side of the deck-housing. Some talking, some smoking, and some quietly pleading for their wives and children to go ahead and get in, as they would surely follow, later.  

This was definitely no drill, and I suddenly found my eyes searching for some familiar face… where were my friends?

TO BE CONTINUED IN TOMORROW'S EDITION

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