I watched her die...

I still see her in my mind. Dying. Slowly dying. In my dreams I can even hear the streams and feel the fear, but there was nothing I could do except watch her die.

It was a cold night. Unusually calm for the North Atlantic. We were 400 nautical miles (a little more than 460 miles) off the Newfoundland, Canadian coast, heading back to port when we developed engine trouble. Due to the calmness of the night, the Captain ordered 'full-stop' and the engines to be shut down to make repairs. The engine room reported it would take three hours to make repairs.

We were out on an unsuccessful fishing expedition, farther off the coast than normal. I was the nights watchman and the Captain sent me up to the Crow's Nest at midnight to keep a look out for icebergs. Earlier in the evening we had heard scuttle about an unusual amount of icebergs in the area. There was even an ocean liner that had come to a full-stop. I believe her name was the 'Californian'.

Taking my binoculars, I climbed to the Crow's Nest. Silence. Calm. Clear. And yet, it felt eerie. Because of the calmness, icebergs were hard to spot. There was no trailing wake behind them. I spotted a few icebergs and radioed their position down to the bridge. We had nothing to fear as long as we remained motionless.

It must have been 10-15 minutes into my watch when I spotted the faint trace of lights on the edge of the horizon. She could have been 5-10 nautical miles from us. It was hard to tell. With such a clear night you could see much farther.

I radioed the bridge a second time.

“Ship on the horizon, starboard side.”

“Can you make her out? What kind of ship is she?” The reply came back.

“Too early to tell. She's too far away, but she is lit up like a Christmas Tree. And she has four stacks”

“We'll log it into the book – 0017hrs, ship on the horizon. She's probably the Californian. The one that pulled over for the bergs.”

“Could be. All I know is, that even at this distance, she looks big. Like nothing I've ever seen.”

“Copy that. Keep us posted.”

I watched her closely because she intrigued me. 'Maybe she shut down like the Californian,' I thought to myself.

That's when the radio chatter began.

In the Crow's Nest, I only had communication with the bridge. At 0020hrs, they informed me to be on the lookout for a ship that had just struck an iceberg and was taking on water fast.

There was a sinking feeling in my gut.

“What's our engine status?” I called down.

“Our engines will be down for two more hours.” Came the reply.

Something inside me shivered right down to my soul.

I focused my binoculars on the ship in the distance again. She seemed closer somehow. Was that the ship? Was she in trouble? Moments passed. Nothing. Then suddenly I could make out a distress flare. Yes! It's her.

“Bridge.” I shouted into y intercom. “That distress call, what was the last location? I think it's the ship on the horizon. I saw a distress flare.”

“The bridge reported back and confirmed my suspicion.

“We have to get to her” I shouted into the tube.

The only report I got back was: “keep us posted. Engines still down.”

Every minute dragged on into eternity. I forgot about the icebergs. All I could focus on was the ship. Minutes seemed like hours as I watched. We waited. Another report came in that she was sinking fast and needed help. We were powerless.

I do not know how long I stood there watching the lights of the ship. Praying for the people on board. Praying for our engineers to get our engines back online. But slowly, I saw the silhouette change. It was no longer horizontal on the horizon. The stern was rising, pointing to the heavens. Then the lights of the ship went dark.

Frantically I screamed into the tube; “she's going down! We have to get to her.” I was delirious with fear.

The bridge messaged back; “Engines still down. Keep monitoring. We'll respond as soon as possible.”

'How can this be?' I thought to myself. 'We're so close and yet, so helpless.'

Now I had to strain my eyes to find the ship. A dark misshapen form on the horizon. I found her again, but she looked different. She looked horizontal again. However, the shadow of her seemed only half as large. As I watched, the shadow once again rose into the air – and then suddenly, she was gone.

Nothing.

There was nothing on the horizon. No ship. No shadow. No sound.

I stood frozen up there in the Crow's Nest for the longest minute of my life. Tears flowing freely down my face. I had watched her die and I didn't even know her name.

“She's gone.” I whispered into the tube. “She's gone.”

An hour passed and I continued to watch the horizon. Reports came in. Our engines were coming back online. And finally, I saw another set of lights on the horizon. My mind shutdown.

Radio chatter said the new ship was the 'Carpathia', another Cunard luxury liner. She was picking up the few survivors of R.M.S. Titanic.

When our engines came back online, our Captain determined that since another vessel was on scene, there was no need for us to respond. We returned to port.

I watched her die and the thousand souls that went with her. I still imagine the screams, the pain, and the agony, every night in my dreams.

The Doctor's tell me I will recover one day. But I know better. I will never forget the beautiful lady on the horizon – the Titanic.

We could have saved them. We could have saved some. But we were lost in our own struggles; and when we were free, we chose to move on. My heart cried. My soul anguished.

I never recovered. I joined her eight years later. God have mercy on my soul.