By Lauren Kane
April 15, 1912
Forty years. Captain Edward Smith steadied himself, Forty years with not so much as a
minor incident . He could feel the eyes on him but couldn’t manage to tear his gaze away from
the glasslike chunks that littered the bow. Finally, the buzzing in his ears subsided enough to allow the muffled words behind him
to become clear.
“That’s impossible,” Smith recognized the voices, but could not focus his thoughts
enough to place them. “This ship can not sink!”
“She is made of iron, sir. I assure you, she can. And she will.”
12: 47 am
“Sir, there is room for you and your wife on lifeboat eight.”
Isador Straus followed the chubby officer, tightening his grip on his wife’s hand. The
crowd moved dizzyingly around them. Most of the passengers on the deck seemed more annoyed
than concerned. Isador’s eyes darted across the deck. First class, first class, first class.. Maybe
second? Where were the rest of the passengers? Shouldn’t more people be out by now?
Isador was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t realize that they had reached the edge
of the ship. The officer motioned to help them into the lifeboat. Isardor released his wife’s hand,
but she took it back. He looked at her, begging her to understand. There were still women and
children aboard the ship, he could not take their place.
“We have been living together many years. Where you go, I go.”
The strings were out of tune and the noise of the ship threatened to drown them out
entirely. Wallace Hartley could tell that the other seven men had lost their will to continue on, so
he did not stop them as they put down their instruments and began to disperse.
He took a deep breath, lifted his violin up to his chin and began the first notes of “Nearer,
My God, to Thee”.
The other men looked at each other, silently agreeing, one more.
The ship tilted.