Meanwhile, as they had for days past, the mighty engines of this monster of the sea pulsed and throbbed, while the rhythmic beat of the Titanic’s great bronze-bladed propellors churned up a fast and steadily lengthening wake behind the speeded vessel.
“We’ll break the record today,” her officers laughed, and the passengers gleefully shared their mirth.
A record; a record!
And a record she made—but of death and destruction!
But who could know? And since no mortal could, why not eat, drink and be merry?
Britain’s shores had been left behind far back across the waste of waters. America, the land of hope, was almost in sight ahead.
TALK OF HOME AND FRIENDS AND LIFE.
Small wonder that hundreds still strolled the Titanic’s spotless, unsullied decks and talked of home and friends and life and joy and hope. Small wonder that other hundreds lounged at ease in her luxurious saloons and smoking rooms, while other scores of voyagers, their appetites whetted by the invigorating air, sat at a midnight supper to welcome the new week with a feast.
Why sleep when the wealth, the beauty, the brains, the aristocracy as well as the bone and sinew of a nation were all around one?
For, be it known, never before did ship carry so distinguished a company—a passenger list that reads like a Social Blue Book.