To some the rapidly-nearing shores of America meant home—and friends. To others, opportunity—and work. Yet to all it meant the culmination of a voyage which, so far, had been one all-too-short holiday from the bustle and turmoil of a busy world.
“Man proposes, but God disposes!”
Never were truer words uttered, nor phrase more fitting to that fateful hour.
“In the midst of life we are in death.”
Yet the soft breeze from the south still spread its balmy, salt-laden odors to delight their senses and to lull them to a feeling of complete security.
What was that?
A cold breath as from the fastnesses of the Frost King swept the steamer’s decks.
A shiver of chill drove the wearied passengers below, but sent the ship’s officers scurrying to their stations. The seaman, and the seaman alone, knew that that icy chill portended icebergs—and near at hand.
Besides, twice in the last few hours had the wireless ticked its warnings from passing vessels that the Titanic was in the vicinity of immense floes.
Why had the warning not been heeded?