She was a three-screw vessel of 46,328 tons gross and 21,831 tons net. Her length was 852 feet, and her breadth 92 feet. From top of keel to top of beam she was 64 feet, while her hold was almost 60 feet deep. Her horsepower was 50,000. She was pronounced unsinkable, having fifteen water-tight bulkheads and a water-tight inner bottom, extending nearly the whole breadth of the vessel, and several other water-tight divisions. She was fitted with six independent sets of boilers, wireless telegraphy, submarine signalling, electric lights and power systems; telephones and telegraphs communicated between the various working positions; three electric elevators were installed to carry passengers from one deck to another; and every appliance necessary to enable the ship’s officers to ascertain depth of water, speed of the vessel, and a hundred and one other things, were provided, while life-saving appliances to the requirements of the Board of Trade were included in her equipment. There were concert-rooms, smoking-rooms, swimming baths, tennis courts, restaurant, libraries—everything in the way of modern luxury.
And yet when the crash came to this floating palace, this realisation of the shipwright’s dreams, out of the 2,201 souls she carried, only 711 were saved—a tragic comment upon the impotence of man against the forces of Nature.
The Titanic sailed from Southampton to Cherbourg, from Cherbourg to Queenstown, then across the Atlantic by the then accepted outward-bound route for New York, her passengers amazed at the luxury of the wonder ship which was bearing them to the New World. The first two or three days were uneventful, and on the 14th the magnificent lounge was turned into a scene of fairy delight for a gala dinner. Beautiful music filled the lounge and filtered through to other parts of the ship; well dressed men and women sat and talked, or strolled about after dinner in the camaraderie of fellow-voyagers, all unsuspecting of the catastrophe that was hastening down upon them from out the darkness of the night.
Earlier in the day a wireless message had been received from s.s. Caronia, informing Captain Smith that “West-bound steamers report bergs, growlers, and field ice in 42° N. from 49° W., April 12,” the Titanic then being about latitude 43° 35′ N. and longitude 43° 50′ W. This was at 9 A.M., and at 1.42 P.M., when the vessel was about 42° 35′ N., 45° 50′ W., another wireless message was received, this time from s.s. Baltic, saying that “large quantities of field ice” had been seen that day in 41° 51′ N., longitude 49° 52′ W.
In order to understand the significance of all these warnings, flashed across the ether, it is necessary to remember the following facts:
Icebergs are gigantic masses of Polar glacier carried out to sea, only about one-eighth of their mass being above the surface.
Growlers are small icebergs.
Field ice is frozen sea-water floating in a looser form than pack ice, covering large areas of the Polar seas, broken up into large pieces, driven together by current and wind, thus forming an almost continuous sheet of ice.
All these forms of ice masses are dangerous to shipping, and the ocean routes were mapped out so that vessels might be able to steer clear of them. As a matter of fact, although icebergs and field ice had been seen as far south before, it was many years since field ice had been observed so far south as at the time of the Titanic disaster. Two further messages were received on the ship during the day, one of them giving news of large icebergs; but, except for the officers and men whose watch it was, everybody on board the Titanic turned into bed, to dream of wonderful things, no doubt, and to wake up to a nightmare of horror.
Suddenly the stillness of the vast vessel was broken by a thudding crash, a ripping of steel plates. Something had happened. Some heard the sound—those in the steerage, who were near that portion of the ship which was a city, and those officers who were on deck and the bridge. The rest, asleep, lulled into the land of dreams by the motion of the ship, were awakened by the strange feeling of stillness that suddenly pervaded everything; there was no longer the throb of the engines; the vibration of the ship ceased, and people were roused by the utter emptiness of things, as it seemed. Heads popped out of cabins and state-rooms, people strolled up corridors asking each other “Why?” and “What?” and so forth; and getting no answer that meant anything except assurances that all was well—all must be well! Was not this the safest vessel in the world? And so they went back to bed.