This maiden trip of the Titanic was an event that was to go down in history, they thought.
And so it will, but with tears on every page of the narrative and the wails of women and children in every syllable.
But since the future is unrolled only in God’s own good time, how could they know?
Was this not the first trip of the greatest triumph of marine architecture?
Had not the wealth and fashion of two continents so arranged their plans as to be numbered on its first passenger list?
Had not the hardy immigrant skimped and saved and schemed that he and his family should be carried to the Land of Promise aboard this greatest of all ships?
What mattered it to him that his place was in the steerage? Did not each pulsing throb of the Titanic’s mighty engines bear him as far and as fast as though he, too, already held in his hand the millions he felt he was destined to win in this golden land of opportunity beyond the seas?
And so, from the loftiest promenade deck to the lowest stoke hole in the vitals of the ship peace and comfort and happiness reigned.