The last night of the Titanic. The last night of the Titanic The last night of the Titanic Channel One
The last night of the Titanic
Walter Lord
THE LAST NIGHT OF THE TITANIC
Walter Lord's book, which has gone through over 10 editions in the United States, tells about the Titanic liner, its short life and dramatic death. Written on the basis of rich factual material, this book recreates the events of the tragic April night that claimed the lives of more than one and a half thousand people. After the writing of W. Lord's book, the sunken Titanic was finally found, which led to the publication of many sensational materials, and the opportunity arose to supplement W. Lord's book with new pages. In the presented part "Titanic". A Look Through the Decades,” written by the shipbuilder and historiographer of the Titanic, S.I. Belkin, provides new facts obtained after the discovery of the liner, explaining the reasons for its death, and tells about the fates of the survivors of the disaster.
FOREWORD BY THE AUTHOR
One unfortunate writer, a certain Morgan Robertson, wrote a novel in 1898 about a transatlantic liner, which, with its fantastic dimensions, surpassed all ships built until then. Robertson's fairy-tale ship is populated with rich, complacent passengers. During the course of the novel, on a cold April night, the liner collides with an iceberg and the ship dies. This shipwreck, according to the author, was supposed to symbolize the futility of everything earthly. Robertson's book, published in the same year by the publishing company M. F. Mansfield, was called “Vanity.”
Fourteen years later, the English shipping company White Star Line built a liner that was remarkably similar to the ship described by Robertson. The displacement of the new liner was 66 thousand tons, the steamship from Robertson's book was 70 thousand. The length of the real liner was 269 m, the literary one - 243. Both liners had three propellers and could reach a speed of about 24-25 knots. Each of them was designed for approximately 3,000 people, and the lifeboats of both could accommodate only part of the passengers and crew, but no one attached any importance to this, since both ships were considered “unsinkable.”
Robertson named his ship "Titan", the owners of the White Star Line company christened theirs new airliner"Titanic".
On April 10, 1912, the real airliner set off on its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York. Among other cargo, there was a priceless manuscript of Omar Khayyam's "Rubaiyat" on board, and the travelers included in the list of passengers on the liner were "worth" a total of 250 million dollars. On a cold April night, this liner, like its literary “prototype,” collided with an iceberg and also sank.
This book is about the last night of the Titanic.
Chapter first
"BACK TO BELFAST!"
In the crow's nest, high above the deck of the new Titanic, owned by the White Star Line, lookout Frederick Fleet peered into the darkness of the night. The sea is calm, the air is transparent and piercingly cold. There is no moon, but the cloudless sky sparkles with stars. Surface Atlantic Ocean resembles mirror glass; many later recalled that they had never seen such a calm sea before.
It was the fifth night of the Titanic's maiden voyage to New York, and it had already become clear that this was not only the largest, but also the most charming ship in the world. Even the passengers' dogs are adorable. John Jacob Astor brought with him his Airedale terrier, Kitty. Henry Sleeper Harper, who belongs to the famous book publishing dynasty, was accompanied by a Chinese medal-winning pug. Robert W. Daniel, a prominent Philadelphia banker, took on a trip a prize-winning French bulldog he had just purchased in England. Clarence Moore from Washington also went to buy dogs, but decided to send 50 pairs of English greyhounds, which he had purchased for the Loudoun Hunting Society, on another ship.
For Frederick Fleet, this whole world was completely alien. Fleet was one of six lookouts on board the Titanic, and the lookout should not be concerned with the problems that occupied passengers. Those who look ahead are, first of all, the “eyes of the ship”; this evening Fleet was ordered to watch the sea especially carefully and not miss the appearance of icebergs.
So far so good. He took over the watch at 22 o'clock, exchanged a few phrases about the ice conditions with lookout Reginald Lee, who was on watch with him, exchanged a couple more comments with Lee about the cold, but mostly Fleet was silent, peering, like his comrade, into the darkness .
Now the watch is coming to an end, and nothing unusual has been noticed. All around is night, stars, piercing cold and the wind that whistles in the rigging of the Titanic, gliding across the black surface of the ocean at a speed of 22.5 knots. The clock hands were approaching 23 hours 40 minutes. Sunday ended, April 14, 1912.
Suddenly, Flit noticed something darker than the darkness of night ahead. At first the object seemed relatively small (about, the lookout thought, like two tables put together), but with every second it became larger and larger. Immediately Flit signaled the presence of danger ahead with three blows to the bell. At the same time, he picked up the phone and contacted the bridge.
- What did you see? - someone asked in a calm voice at the other end of the line.
“The iceberg is straight ahead,” Flit answered.
“Thank you,” the voice on the phone was unusually dispassionate and polite. Nothing more was said.
Over the next 37 seconds, Flit and Lee silently watched the approach of the ice colossus. Now they are almost over it, but the ship still doesn’t turn around. The iceberg, wet and sparkling, rose significantly above the forecastle deck, and both lookouts prepared for the push. But, as if by magic, the nose of the liner suddenly rolled to the left. A second before the seemingly inevitable collision, the Titanic's bow passed the iceberg, which then floated smoothly along the starboard side. Flit thought with relief that the liner had escaped mortal danger.
At the same moment, helmsman George Thomas Rowe was standing watch on the aft bridge. And for him it was the most ordinary night - just the ocean, the stars, the piercing cold. Walking along the deck, Rowe noticed “lamp whiskers,” as he and his comrades called the tiny ice “specks,” particles of ice in the air that create a rainbow-colored halo around the deck lights at night.
Suddenly he felt that some sound had crept into the rhythmic noise of the working engines, as if the ship had not approached the quay wall very carefully. He looked ahead and couldn’t believe his eyes: it seemed to him that some kind of ship was passing on the starboard side with full sails. But then he realized that this was not a sailboat at all, but an ice mountain, an iceberg, rising no less than 30 m above sea level. The next moment, the iceberg disappeared astern, plunging into the darkness of the night.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the first class dining salon on Deck, four more Titanic crew members sat at one of the tables. The last of the diners had long since left the salon, and now there was no one in this room, with an interior in the style of the era of James I, with the exception of the indicated group. These four - stewards of the dining salon - indulged in the favorite pastime of all waiters - they washed the bones of “their” passengers.
During their conversation, a soft grinding sound was heard from the depths of the ship and the ship shook - a little bit for everyone, but the conversation was interrupted, and the silver cutlery, arranged for breakfast the next morning, rattled.
Steward James Johnson decided that he could name the reason for these strange phenomena. Approximately the same shaking of the ship's hull occurs in the event of the loss of one of the propeller blades. Johnson knew that such an accident would send the ship back to the Harland and Wolfe shipyard in Belfast, where the stewards would have plenty of free time and opportunity to enjoy the port city's hospitality. One of his comrades agreed with him and sang cheerfully:
- Back to Belfast!
In the galley aft of the dining salon, night chief baker Walter Belford was preparing scones for the next day's meals (the day shift had the honor of making the shaped cookies). The shock made a stronger impression on Belford than on Steward Johnson, if only because the baking tray on the stove jumped up and the buns piled in it scattered across the floor.
The passengers in the cabins also felt the shock and involuntarily tried to associate it with something similar from their experience. Marguerite Frolischer, a young Swiss woman accompanying her father on a business trip, woke up in a fright. The small ferry, clumsily mooring to the pier in Zurich, was the only thing she could think about in her half-asleep state. She said quietly to herself:
- Isn't it strange? We're mooring!
Major Arthur Godfrey Pochan, who was about to go to bed and had already begun to undress, thought that the shock might have been caused by something hitting the side of the ship. big wave. Mrs. J. Stewart White was sitting on the edge of the bed and was about to reach out to the switch when, as it seemed to her, the ship suddenly “rolled over a thousand balls.” For Lady Cosmo Duff Gordon, the sound that woke her made her think of “a giant finger that someone had squeaked along the side of the ship.” Mrs. John Jacob Astor decided that some unpleasant incident had happened in the galley.
Some passengers felt the shock stronger than others. Mrs. Elbert Caldwell imagined the big dog grabbing the kitten in its teeth and shaking it. Mrs. Walter B. Stevenson remembered “the first ominous shock of the San Francisco earthquake, which she had witnessed, but then she decided that the present shock was not so strong. Mrs. E. D. Appleton felt almost no shock, but she heard the sound something tearing, as if someone were tearing off a long, long piece of chintz.
For J. Bruce Ismay, managing director of the White Star Line, who was in a celebratory mood as he toured the B deck suite of his company's newest ship, the jolt evoked more realistic associations. Feeling it, Ismay woke up in fright - he was sure that the ship had hit something.
Some passengers already knew about what. Mr. and Mrs. George L. Harder, the newlywed couple of cabin E-50, were still awake when the dull sound of a heavy thud was heard. Then they felt the ship shake and “some kind of rattling, grinding sound” was heard along the side. Harder jumped out of bed and ran to the porthole, through the glass of which he saw an ice wall floating past.
James B. McGough, a traveling wholesale buyer for the Gimbel trading house of Philadelphia, experienced almost the same thing, although his impressions were somewhat more disturbing. As the iceberg scraped along the side, pieces of ice rained down into McGough's cabin through the open porthole.
At the moment of the shock, most of the Titanic's passengers, like Mr. McGough, were lying in their beds. There was probably little that could compare with a cozy, warm bed on this quiet, cold Sunday night. And yet there were restless revelers who were still awake. As always, the largest group of night owls was in the first class smoking lounge on A Deck.
And, as usual, it was a very motley bunch. Sitting at one table were: Archie Butt, aide-de-camp to US President Taft; Clarence Moore, traveling greyhound expert; Harry Weidner, the son of a Philadelphia streetcar magnate, and William Carter, another railroad businessman. They were finishing a small dinner given by Widener's father in honor of Titanic captain Edward J. Smith. The captain himself rose early from the table, the ladies soon left, and now the men were enjoying their last cigar before bed. Table talk turned from politics to Clarence Moore's adventures in West Virginia, where he helped interview old warlike mountain man Anse Hatfield, one of the participants in a local blood feud.
Beside them, seated comfortably in a deep leather chair, Spencer W. Silverthorne, a young buyer for Nugent's department store in St. Louis, was leafing through the latest bestseller, The Virginian. Nearby, Lucien P. Smith (another Philadelphian) bravely negotiated the language barrier playing bridge with three Frenchmen.
At another table, young players were playing a somewhat rowdier game of bridge. Usually young people preferred to spend time in the more lively Café Parisien, located below, on deck B, and this evening was no exception at first, but then it became so cold that the ladies went to bed, and the men went to the smoking lounge to sleep in the coming night. "nightcap". Most ordered a highball; Hugh Woolner, the son of a famous English sculptor, took himself some whiskey and hot water; Lieutenant Håkan Björnström Steffanson, a young Swedish military attache heading to Washington, preferred hot lemonade.
Someone took out a deck of cards, and while everyone was sitting at the table, busy playing, there was this jolt, accompanied by a grinding sound - not very strong, but enough to make a person flinch in surprise - Mr. Silverthorne still shudders when he talks about it . The steward of the smoking salon and Mr. Silverthorn instantly jumped to their feet, ran out the stern door, passed the "palm courtyard" and found themselves on the deck. They arrived just in time to see the iceberg, slightly above the boat deck, scratch on the starboard side, as blocks of ice fell into the sea, breaking off from this mountain that smoothly slid past. The next moment the iceberg disappeared into the darkness astern.
Now other curious people poured out of the smoking lounge. Having climbed onto the deck, Hugh Woolner heard someone exclaim:
- We collided with an iceberg, look, here it is!
Woolner stared into the darkness of the night. About a hundred and fifty meters astern, he made out an icy mountain that seemed black against the background of a star-strewn sky. Immediately the iceberg disappeared into the darkness.
The excitement it generated soon dissipated. The Titanic seemed as reliable as ever, and the searing cold made it impossible to stay on deck for long. Slowly, one by one, the company returned to the salon. Woolner took his cards from the table and the game resumed. It seemed to the last of those returning to the salon, when he slammed the door leading to the deck, that the ship’s engines were stopping.
He was not deceived. On the bridge, First Mate William M. Murdock had just pulled the engine telegraph handle to the "Machine Stop" mark. He was on watch on the bridge and had to act after a warning from Fleet over the phone. The minute that passed from that moment was tense: he ordered helmsman Hitchens to shift the rudder to port, again jerked the engine telegraph handle, gave the command "Full Back", pressed the button for closing the watertight doors with force and, finally, waited for a full 37 seconds with with bated breath.
Now the wait is over, and it has become absolutely clear that all actions were taken too late. As soon as the grinding noise died down, Captain Smith jumped out of his cabin located next to the wheelhouse. He burst onto the bridge, and there was a quick exchange of terse phrases:
- What was that, Mr. Murdoch?
- Iceberg, sir. I shifted the steering wheel to the left side and worked the cars “Full back”, I wanted to turn to the left, but the iceberg was too close. There was nothing more I could do.
- Close the emergency doors.
- They are already closed.
They were really closed. Below in No. 6 Boiler Room, fireman Fred Barrett was talking to mate James Hesketh as the alarm bell rang and the red light flashed above the aft watertight door. A sharp cry of warning, a deafening roar - and it seemed that the entire starboard side of the ship collapsed. The sea cascaded into the boiler room, swirling around pipes and valves, and just as Barrett and Hesketh had time to jump through the doorway, the door clanged down behind them.
Barrett found that in his new place, in boiler room No. 5, where he now found himself, the situation was no better. In this compartment, from the bulkhead itself, there was an almost meter-long hole in the side of the ship, and sea water was pouring into the hole in a strong stream. Nearby, ironworker George Cavell was climbing out from under a pile of coal that had fallen like an avalanche from a bunker after the collision. Another fireman looked mournfully at the soup that had poured out of a bowl, which he had placed to warm up on some hot surface of the boiler equipment.
In the other boiler rooms located in the stern, it was dry, but otherwise the situation was approximately the same as in boiler room No. 5 - people got up after the shock that knocked them down, called to each other, asking each other what happened. It was difficult to understand what had happened. Until now, service on the Titanic has been compared almost to a country walk. The liner was making its first voyage, and everything on the ship was sparkling clean. The Titanic, as fireman George Kemish still recalls, was “a nice thing, not at all what we were used to on the old ships, where we tore our guts out with back-breaking work and just didn’t get fried by the fireboxes.”
The duties of the stokers on the Titanic consisted only of promptly throwing coal into the fireboxes. There was no need to poke around in the firebox with a poker, pike, or scraper. The people in the boiler rooms weren’t particularly zealous on this Sunday night either - they sat on the stitchers’ iron wheelbarrows and overturned buckets, “poisoned the gruel” and waited for the arrival of the shift, which was supposed to stand watch from 12 to 4 at night.
And suddenly there was this dull blow... a grinding sound, the sound of something tearing, the frantic ringing of a machine telegraph was heard, the clang of slamming watertight doors. Most boiler workers simply could not imagine what had happened; Rumors spread that the Titanic had run aground on the Great Bank of Newfoundland. Many continued to think this way even after shouting: “Damn me! We hit an iceberg!” - some stitcher came running from above.
About ten miles from the Titanic, on the bridge of the Californian, owned by the Leyland Shipping Company and en route from London to Boston, stood third mate Victor Groves. This relatively small (displacement 6 thousand tons) hard-working steamship had 47 passenger seats, but in this moment it did not carry a single passenger. On the described Sunday night, the Californian, starting at 10:30 p.m., was stopped by floating ice that completely blocked it.
At approximately 11:10 p.m., Groves noticed the lights of another steamer on the starboard side, coming quickly from the east. By the glow of the deck lights of the ship catching up with them, Groves recognized it as a large passenger liner. At approximately 11:30 p.m., he knocked on the chart room door and reported the alien to Captain Lord. He suggested communicating with the liner using Morse code using a signal lamp, and Groves was going to do just that.
But then, at about 11:40 p.m., he saw the plane suddenly stop and most of its lights go out. This didn't really surprise Groves. Previously, he sailed for some time on Far Eastern lines; At midnight, the deck lights were usually turned off there, reminding passengers that it was time to go to bed. It never occurred to him that perhaps the lights on the large passenger liner had not gone out at all, that it only seemed to him as if they had gone out, since this liner was no longer facing them, but had turned sharply to the left.
Chapter two
"THAT'S TALKING ABOUT AN ICEBERG, M'AM"
Almost as if nothing had happened, the lookout Fleet continued to keep watch, Mrs. Astor went back to bed, and Lieutenant Steffanson returned to his hot lemonade.
At the request of several passengers, James Witter, steward of the second-class smoking salon, went to investigate the circumstances surrounding the shock. The gamblers sitting at two tables barely raised their heads. Card playing was usually not permitted on White Star Line ships on Sundays, and on this evening the playing public was eager to take full advantage of the unexpected connivance shown by the chief steward.
No one sent the librarian from the second-class lounge to clarify the situation, and he continued to sit at his desk, calmly counting the forms of books issued for the day.
In the long passenger corridors one could hear the muffled sounds of voices coming from the cabins, the distant slamming of some buffet doors, and the occasional leisurely click of high heels - usual for passenger airliner sounds.
Everything seemed absolutely normal, or rather, almost everything. Seventeen-year-old Jack Thayer had just entered the cabin of his father and mother to wish them Good night. The Thayers occupied adjoining cabins, a privilege befitting the high position of the head of the family, Mr. John B. Thayer of Pennsylvania, who was second vice-president of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company. Standing in his cabin and buttoning the buttons of his pajamas, young Jack Thayer suddenly noticed that the uniform sound of the wind could no longer be heard from the slightly open porthole.
Below deck, Mr. and Mrs. Henry B. Harris sat in their cabin playing double Canfield solitaire. Mr. Harris, a Broadway producer, was dog-tired, and his wife had recently broken her arm. They hardly spoke, and Mrs. Harris watched idly as her dresses swayed on the hangers with the vibration of the vessel. Suddenly she noticed that the rocking had stopped.
Another deck below, Lawrence Beasley, a young teacher of mathematics and physics from Dulwich College, lay in a second-class cabin reading a book, pleasantly lulled by the rhythmic rocking of the mattress. Suddenly the rocking stopped.
The creaking of wooden structures, the distant rhythmic noise of working engines, the rhythmic rattling of the glass dome above the A-Deck foyer - all these familiar sounds died away as the Titanic gradually began to lose speed. This silence alarmed the passengers much more than any shock.
The calls for stewards were heard, but it was difficult to find out anything.
- Why did we stop? - Lawrence Beasley asked a passing steward.
“I don’t know, sir,” the response that followed was typical, “I think it’s nothing serious.”
Mrs. Arthur Ryerson, from a family of steel workers, was somewhat luckier.
“They’re talking about an iceberg, ma’am,” steward Bishop explained to her, “we stopped so as not to run into it.”
While her French maid waited in the back of the cabin for any orders, Mrs. Ryerson was wondering what to do. Her husband, Mr. Ryerson, had fallen truly asleep for the first time on the entire voyage, and she really didn't want to wake him. She walked to the square porthole, which overlooked the sea. On the other side of the thick mirror glass, she saw only a quiet, beautiful night and decided to let her husband sleep.
Not everyone, however, agreed to remain blithely ignorant. Pushed by the restless curiosity that takes possession of almost everyone on board the ship, some of the passengers undertook exploratory forays in order to obtain a definite answer to the questions that bothered them.
Colonel Archibald Gracie from cabin C-51, who, thanks to his education at West Point and his independent financial situation, worked as an amateur military historian, slowly put on his underwear, long stockings, trousers, boots, jacket with a belt and, puffing, stood up to the boat deck. Jack Thayer simply threw his coat over his pajamas and left the cabin, telling his parents he was going “to see if there was anything interesting.”
There was nothing interesting on the deck, there were no noticeable signs of danger there. Passengers for the most part wandered aimlessly around the deck or stood at the railing of the railing, peering into the emptiness of the night, hoping to somehow satisfy their curiosity. The Titanic was motionless, three of its four huge pipes spewed steam with a roar that shook the quiet starry night. In other respects everything seemed normal. At the stern on the boat deck, holding hands, not noticing the roaring steam and groups of people scurrying nearby, an elderly couple was walking.
It was so cold on deck and there was so little worthy of attention that most of the passengers hastened to retreat to warm quarters. In the luxurious lobby on Deck A, they met other passengers who had also left their beds but preferred not to venture out into the cold.
Together they presented a most curious picture. What an awkward mixture of clothing styles: bathrobes, evening dresses, fur coats, sweaters. The surrounding environment did not go well with all this: a huge glass dome overhead, majestic oak panels, magnificent balustrades with curlicue cast-iron patterns and, finally, an incredible clock looking down on everyone from above, decorated with two bronze nymphs who were supposed to personify Honor and Glory, crowning Time.
“In a few hours we’ll be on our way again,” a steward vaguely explained to first-class passenger George Harder.
“It looks like we've lost the propeller, but now we have more time to play bridge,” Howard Case, manager of the London office of Vacuum Oil, told New York lawyer Fred Seward. Mr. Case probably borrowed his version from Steward Johnson, who still dreamed of taking a walk in Belfast. But most passengers by this time already had more reliable information.
Walter Lord's book, which has gone through over 10 editions in the United States, tells about the Titanic liner, its short life and dramatic death. Written on the basis of rich factual material, this book recreates the events of the tragic April night that claimed the lives of more than one and a half thousand people. After the writing of W. Lord's book, the sunken Titanic was finally found, which led to the publication of many sensational materials, and the opportunity arose to supplement W. Lord's book with new pages. In the presented part "Titanic". A Look Through the Decades,” written by the shipbuilder and historiographer of the Titanic, S.I. Belkin, provides new facts obtained after the discovery of the liner, explaining the reasons for its death, and tells about the fates of the survivors of the disaster.
One unfortunate writer, a certain Morgan Robertson, wrote a novel in 1898 about a transatlantic liner, which, with its fantastic dimensions, surpassed all ships built until then. Robertson's fairy-tale ship is populated with rich, complacent passengers. During the course of the novel, on a cold April night, the liner collides with an iceberg and the ship dies. This shipwreck, according to the author, was supposed to symbolize the futility of everything earthly. Robertson's book, published in the same year by the publishing company M. F. Mansfield, was called “Vanity.”
Fourteen years later, the English shipping company White Star Line built a liner that was remarkably similar to the ship described by Robertson. The displacement of the new liner was 66 thousand tons, the steamship from Robertson's book was 70 thousand. The length of the real liner was 269 m, the literary one - 243. Both liners had three propellers and could reach a speed of about 24-25 knots. Each of them was designed for approximately 3,000 people, and the lifeboats of both could accommodate only part of the passengers and crew, but no one attached any importance to this, since both ships were considered “unsinkable.”
Robertson named his ship "Titan", the owners of the White Star Line company dubbed their new liner "Titanic".
On April 10, 1912, the real airliner set off on its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York. Among other cargo, there was a priceless manuscript of Omar Khayyam's "Rubaiyat" on board, and the travelers included in the list of passengers on the liner were "worth" a total of 250 million dollars. On a cold April night, this liner, like its literary “prototype,” collided with an iceberg and also sank.
This book is about the last night of the Titanic.
Chapter first
"BACK TO BELFAST!"
In the crow's nest, high above the deck of the new Titanic, owned by the White Star Line, lookout Frederick Fleet peered into the darkness of the night. The sea is calm, the air is transparent and piercingly cold. There is no moon, but the cloudless sky sparkles with stars. The surface of the Atlantic Ocean resembles plate glass; many later recalled that they had never seen such a calm sea before.
It was the fifth night of the Titanic's maiden voyage to New York, and it had already become clear that this was not only the largest, but also the most charming ship in the world. Even the passengers' dogs are adorable. John Jacob Astor brought with him his Airedale terrier, Kitty. Henry Sleeper Harper, who belongs to the famous book publishing dynasty, was accompanied by a Chinese medal-winning pug. Robert W. Daniel, a prominent Philadelphia banker, took on a trip a prize-winning French bulldog he had just purchased in England. Clarence Moore from Washington also went to buy dogs, but decided to send 50 pairs of English greyhounds, which he had purchased for the Loudoun Hunting Society, on another ship.
For Frederick Fleet, this whole world was completely alien. Fleet was one of six lookouts on board the Titanic, and the lookout should not be concerned with the problems that occupied passengers. Those who look ahead are, first of all, the “eyes of the ship”; this evening Fleet was ordered to watch the sea especially carefully and not miss the appearance of icebergs.
So far so good. He took over the watch at 22 o'clock, exchanged a few phrases about the ice conditions with lookout Reginald Lee, who was on watch with him, exchanged a couple more comments with Lee about the cold, but mostly Fleet was silent, peering, like his comrade, into the darkness .
Now the watch is coming to an end, and nothing unusual has been noticed. All around is night, stars, piercing cold and the wind that whistles in the rigging of the Titanic, gliding across the black surface of the ocean at a speed of 22.5 knots. The clock hands were approaching 23 hours 40 minutes. Sunday ended, April 14, 1912.
Suddenly, Flit noticed something darker than the darkness of night ahead. At first the object seemed relatively small (about, the lookout thought, like two tables put together), but with every second it became larger and larger. Immediately Flit signaled the presence of danger ahead with three blows to the bell. At the same time, he picked up the phone and contacted the bridge.
The iceberg is directly ahead,” Flit answered.
Over the next 37 seconds, Flit and Lee silently watched the approach of the ice colossus. Now they are almost over it, but the ship still doesn’t turn around. The iceberg, wet and sparkling, rose significantly above the forecastle deck, and both lookouts prepared for the push. But, as if by magic, the nose of the liner suddenly rolled to the left. A second before the seemingly inevitable collision, the Titanic's bow passed the iceberg, which then floated smoothly along the starboard side. Flit thought with relief that the liner had escaped mortal danger.
The book, which has gone through over 10 editions in the United States, describes the disaster of the famous transatlantic liner Titanic, which claimed more than 1,500 lives. Based on factual material (archival documents, correspondence with eyewitnesses to the sinking of the Titanic), the author, with documentary accuracy and literary skill, not only recreates the events of that tragic night from April 14 to 15, 1912, but also notes omissions in the organization of the service in fact the liner, as well as technical policy miscalculations made during its construction. No less interesting is the analysis of the causes of the disaster, made from a modern perspective.
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From the book “Mysteries of History” Magazine, 2012 No. 1 author Magazine "Mysteries of History"version SECOND LIFE OF "TITANIC" ========================================================== ======================================= The story of the terrible disaster of which the Titanic became a victim. still excites researchers. The shipwreck that happened on April 14, 1912 has left us with several unsolvable mysteries.
From the book Curse of the Pharaohs. Secrets Ancient Egypt author Reutov SergeyFrom the scarab to the Titanic In 2005, a resident South Africa, in order to get rid of the curse of the pharaoh, returned to Egypt an amulet in the form of a scarab from the tomb of Tutankhamun. In a letter to the Egyptian Minister of Culture, she gave a long list of misfortunes that happened to the owners
From the book Treasures Washed in Blood: About Treasures Found and Unfound author Demkin Sergey IvanovichTO THE TITANIC SAFES According to the testimony of the surviving first and second class passengers and information leaked to the press, there was a lot of treasure on board the Titanic. According to the calculations of the managing director of the Andrews shipyard, where the giant steamship was built,
From the book Privatization according to Chubais. Voucher scam. Shooting of parliament author Polozkov Sergey AlekseevichLast night in the White House After the train, I popped home to visit my family. Wife and children are fine. I wanted to get some sleep, but my nerves were at their limit and I couldn’t do it. I remember that I took an inflatable beach mattress with me to the White House, since sleeping on chairs is already
From the book Putin against the liberal swamp. How to save Russia author Kirpichev Vadim VladimirovichEffective managers of the Titanic The captain knows everything, but the rats know more. Alexander Furstenberg Oligarchs are fleeing to London, feverishly buying real estate in Cote d'Azur, now the big officials and generals are following them. Russian is coming
From the book The Tale of a Harsh Friend author Zharikov Leonid MizhailovichChapter Twelve THE LAST NIGHT And the Sun of truth, freedom, love will rise above the bloody dawn, Even though we bought happiness at a terrible price with our blood