The Wreck of the Titan

impact been received by a perpendicular wall the elastic resistance of bending plates and frames would have overcome the momentum with no more d

low beach, possibly formed by the recent overturning of the berg, received the Titan, and with her keel cutting the ice like the steel runner of an iceboat, and her great weight resting on the starboard bilge, she rose out

e of ladders, gratings, and fore-and-aft bulkheads came these giant masses of steel and iron, puncturing the sides of the ship, even where backed by solid, resisting ice;

losing walls, and the whistling of air through hundreds of open dead-lights as the water, entering the holes of the crushed and riven starboard side, expell

d wrenching them, smashing boats, and snapping tackles and gripes, until, as the ship cleared herself, it capped the pile of wreckage strewing the ice in front of, and around it, with the end and broken stanchions of the bridge. And

nearest boat — No. 24 — seemed to be swinging by the tackles. Then the fog shut her out, though her position was still indicated by the roaring of steam from her iron lungs. This ceased in time, leaving behind it the horrid humming sound and whistling of air; and when this too was sudde

. Not a boat was intact. Creeping down to the water’s edge, he hailed, with all the power of his weak voice, to possible, but invisible boats beyond the fog — calling on them to come and save the child — to look out for a woman who had been on deck, under the bridge. He shouted this woman’s name — the one that he knew — encouraging her to swim, to tread water, to flo

amma,” sh

ore than Heaven, but I think our chances are about even now. Are y

which rested on its forward side. As he did so, the bottle of whisky fell out of the pocket. It seemed an age since he had found it there, and it requ

ked boats, he hung it over the open side and end of the bridge, crawled within, and donned his coat — a ready-made, slop-cbest garment, designed for a larger man — and buttonin

cold and lifeless, fathoms deep in the sea. He pondered on her chances. She was close to, or on the bridge steps; and boat No. 24, which he was almost sure was being cleared away as he looked, would swing close to her as it descended. She could cli

beach, and the muffled creaking and crackling beneath and around him — tbe voice of the iceberg — ov

this boat was a moaning, praying woman, who cried and screamed at intervals, for husband and baby, and would not be comforted, even when one of the brass-buttoned officers assured her that her child was safe in the care of John Rowland, a brav