Just after midnight, Caroline Bonnell and Natalie Wick, choosing adventure over the warmth of their cabin, put heavy wraps over their nightgowns and went up to the Boat Deck. They were so excited that they failed to notice the piercingly chill air. “Well, thank goodness, Natalie,” said Caroline, “we are going to see our iceberg at last!”
But there wasn’t a berg or an ice floe in sight. Nor was there a trace of wind, though there were more stars in the deep purple, moonless sky than either had ever seen. They stood at the starboard rail, mesmerized by how near those stars appeared to be and by the silvery reflections they cast in the infinite sea that stretched before them, as smooth and unmoving as glass.
The Countess of Rothes and Gladys Cherry entered the A Deck foyer at the foot of the Grand Staircase, where, on the landing, a clock framed by intricate oak carvings of two nymphs was meant to depict “Honour and Glory Crowning Time.”
The staircase, with its majestic balustrades and etched glass dome, was the Titanic’s ultimate signifier; like the ship herself, its very existence embodied man’s ambition, prowess, and progress in the Gilded Age. As word of the iceberg spread, it was the logical gathering place for first-class gentlemen sporting heavy frock coats and woolen mufflers, and ladies in floor-length sable coats hastily donned over satin nightgowns and silk chiffon evening dresses trimmed in gold bullion lace.
Among them were Maria and Victor Peñasco y Castellana, a handsome couple in their early twenties who had recently been married in their native Madrid and were fresh from a Parisian honeymoon. Victor’s mother was convinced the Titanic was doomed and had pleaded with them not to sail on her, but they were so taken with the inherent romance of the ship that they secretly booked passage. Now they stood close together, away from the others, holding hands.
Everyone fell silent when Captain Smith strode through the foyer, accompanied by Thomas Andrews, the ship’s builder. The Captain and Andrews were proud, purposeful men known to be warm and reassuring. They had the explicit trust of their now confused passengers, who scanned their faces for a hint, a clarifying sign. Both men, having made their inspection, knew that the ship was fatally wounded. But their expressions revealed nothing.
Moments later, the Captain reappeared in the wireless shack. “You had better get assistance,” he said.
“Do you want me to use a distress call?” Jack asked.
“Yes, at once,” said the Captain. He handed Jack a piece of paper on which he had scrawled the ship’s position.
Then he hastened to the deck, where he gave his officers the order to uncover the lifeboats and muster the passengers.