The ship began to shudder violently.
Below deck, Thomas Andrews - the ship's proud designer - was reviewing the plans when his room began to shake. He rushed out of his room onto the top deck, only to see a towering wall of solid ice glide past, leaving small chunks on the deck. Then it disappeared.
Andrews returned to his quarters, grabbed his coat, and the plans, and rushed to the bridge. The Captain was already there, shouting at Murdoch.
"What in God's name has happened?" he demanded to know.
"Iceberg, sir. I tried to miss, but we hit... and..."
"Seal all the watertight doors." The Captain ordered.
"Already have, sir."
It was in that moment Andrews realised the fate of the ship. He rolled out the plan of the ship across the table, and looked it over, a frown appearing across his face. At that moment, Ismay walked in.
"What was that awful shudder?" he asked.
"We've hit an iceberg, Mr Ismay." the Captain said bluntly. Andrews finally spoke.
"If my calculations are correct, the iceberg will have opened 6 watertight compartments to the sea. The ship is designed to stay afloat with 5 flooded, not 6. But here's the worst part. The water will fill up in each bulkhead, then pour into the next, then the next, and so on, and so on, until the ship is entirely underwater. Titanic has but 2 hours afloat."
Silence filled the bridge. Then, Ismay laughed.
"But this ship can't sink..."
"She's made of iron, Ismay, I assure that she can. And she will."
In that moments, the entire ship was making her longest journey yet.
Not to New York.
To the seabed.
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