Written by Megan McIntyre

It was a bitterly cold, still night and the passengers had just settled down for the night of April 14, 1912. Captain E.J. Smith had also settled down for the night in his quarters when he was awakened from his deep sleep by the shudder of the ship and the dead silence of the stopped engines.

I was brought out of my sleep by a hard shake of the ship that nearly tossed me off of my bunk. Confused by what was going on, I quickly stepped out onto the floor, threw on my robe, and swiftly made my way out to the front decks to check with the men who were standing guard on the bridge. "Captain! Captain!" Johnny shouted to me anxiously, running towards me. "The ship scraped against an iceberg. We tried to turn to avoid the iceberg, but we saw it too late. All of the watertight compartments were immediately shut," he assured me as I quickly walked to the side of the ship to observe the damage. Looking back on it now, if I would’ve acted a bit faster, maybe we could’ve avoided all of the deaths that occurred. Though truth be told, I was in too much shock for anything to register in my head. This voyage is a grand example of my failure as a ship captain. Thankfully, this was supposed to be my last voyage before my retirement. I looked forward to enjoying the rest of my life with my wife. The icy air bit at my hands and hatless ears as I stood out on the deck, trying to decide the best course of action.

Within the next thirty minutes, all of the watertight compartments were filled with water, and the bow of the ship began to sink. I already had my messengers send SOS messages to other ships that might’ve been in the area. The ship that was closest to us was the Carpathia, and she was still a good four hours away. At the rate that our unsinkable ship was going down, they were not going to reach us in time. So, in hope that I could possibly save a few of the passengers, I quickly alerted my men that all women and children should get in our lifeboats first. Urgent flare signals were being shot off into the air, hoping to catch a nearby vessel’s attention that we were in dire need of their help. Unfortunately, not one came to our aid. Apparently they thought we were celebrating the news of our early arrival into New York’s port, but sadly, that wasn’t going to be true. At about one o’clock AM, it looked as if most of the upper class women and children were in lifeboats and the others were scrambling to get into the collapsible ones. I walked around the decks one last time to check and see how much of our ship was left. Soon I walked back to the helm, determined to go down with the ship I so lovingly steered for most of the trip. I watched a priest giving sermons to those who had no hope of surviving; the musical crew bravely playing on in hope of calming those who were frantically rushing around the decks. All were hoping to be one of the few possible survivors. I sighed, upset that I wouldn’t be able to see my wife and children again. I left her angry, after our fight over something as trivial as our usual vacation trip in the springtime. She wanted to go to the country in Ireland. Soon I heard a large crack, and then I was forcefully pushed against the wheel of the ship. I heard shouts of panic as many people dropped to their deaths in the cold, icy water. I grabbed hold of the wheel before I, too, was pushed down into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Before I knew it, I felt freezing water pool up around my feet and quickly make its way up my body.

As the ship started to make its way into the cold, icy depths of the Atlantic Ocean, I thought back to the very last summer trip I had had with my wife and children. We had been in the green meadows of the Ireland countryside. I had heard sounds coming up from the barn that held the many cows and sheep that we kept there, cared for by our neighbors a few miles down the road. I remembered how we always gathered in our kitchen before we went off to do our various chores; how my wife, Annabelle, cooked her famous omelets and whole wheat toast, with fluffy biscuits that were dipped in gravy, tasting like heaven. I opened my eyes once again to the sight of water rushing through the windows and enveloping me in its icy cold grasp. I remembered when we first took off, the air was fresh, the day was bright and perfect, just the right temperature so that we wouldn’t be too uncomfortable on our journey. The families that our passengers left behind were standing on the dock with handkerchiefs in their hands, waving us off, blowing kisses in our direction, shouting, "Bon voyage! Good luck! I shall miss you!" I remembered how happy I had felt, how excited I was to make this last trip of mine a real record breaker as well as a success. I knew nothing could go wrong on this trip. After all, this ship was supposed to be unsinkable! I realize now how wrong that was, how wrong it was to assume nothing could happen to us. In the process, our cockiness caused so many deaths on the ship, and this is why I knew I deserved to die with the ship. I was the cause of so many deaths; I held their lives in my hands, but I failed everybody. Even though I knew I deserved to die, I still feared not seeing my wife ever again. I feared that heaven was nothing but a myth to get us to believe in a God that couldn’t even save us from our ship’s plundering death.

But before I could even take my very last breath, I felt the frigid, icy water rush onto my body and envelop me completely. Soon I felt this weightless feeling, darkness, and I knew I was dead. I had died for my ship. I just hoped that the other lives fared better than mine.

At about 2:20 AM, the Titanic made her final bob in the sea and then sank completely into the icy depths of the icy Atlantic Ocean. About an hour later, as survivors were holding onto the backs of chairs and other furniture, the icy water took them, too, and they soon froze to death. The Carpathia eventually came into view. Those who survived made their way towards the ship, knowing that this ship would take them home to the United States of America. There were one thousand, five hundred twenty-two people who perished at sea, and only seven hundred five survivors were picked up by the rescue ship, the Carpathia.

The End.

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