Few understand the haunting sound of a bugle, but those that survived, share a kindred plague. A bugle called us to the foot of the grand staircase. My fellow passengers and I tamped the crude excitement we shared for a placid expression of passive expectation. Despite the dripping opulence of the carved English oak paneling that hugged the lounge or the extravagant bay windows that lined the promenade, we exuded an air of boredom. We were not just first class; we were first class on the Titanic. It wasn't just a stamp of luxury; it was the hallmark of invention, a testament to the infallibility of technology.
The bugle was one of the final joys that filled innocent ears. Eager for the evening's premier entertainment, a lavish meal of French, English, and American influence, design drove us past the sweeping curves of the breathtaking staircase. We paced beneath the glass dome that crowned the chandelier on our way to the reception room. Cocktails and the high-pitched trill of ladies' laughter bounced around the carved mahogany and glossy-white-painted room. We perched on Chesterfield dressed in rich green silk while the men sipped Manhattans and the women enjoyed the slushie sweetness of Punch a la Romaine.
At 7 pm on the dot, many settled into the brilliant white of the dining saloon. My fellow passengers' chatter would bounce freely between the graceful glass windows that obscured the blemish of portholes. My father found the frivolity uncivilized and scheduled our meal later in the more exclusive Ritz restaurant. Low murmurs there would tangle with the lush red and gold carpeting.
Oysters, scallops, and salmon passed our plates as though it were a cruel joke. Many would soon be sinking into their watery world. Eleven courses weighed us down, each accompanied with the perfect glass of wine. But that excess wasn't enough; lavish dessert carts then rolled out filled with pudding, pastries, and jellies. Over-plumped and tipsy, we made our way back to our elegant staterooms to retire for the evening.
The magnificent ship's piercing scream jolted me awake. My father found me gazing out of our suite's bay upon a peaceful moonless night. The darkened sky matched with the inky sea blurring the horizon.
"Go back to sleep, Isabella," my father yawned as he set a groggy hand on my shoulder.
"There's ice on the promenade."
"You can play with the snow in the morning." His hand slipped from my shoulder as he shuffled back to his bed.
My eyes clung to the ice as it poured into me, chilling my blood. I tossed and turned in my bed as the smooth sailing I had grown accustomed to became uneven. The ship swayed and creaked in a call for help.
Pounding on the door pulled me from my labored sleep.
"What's the meaning of this intrusion?" My father demanded.
"I apologize for the intrusion. The captain has requested that everyone move to the promenade with their life vests. Just a small precaution," the porter assured. "I'm sure you'll be tucked safely back in your beds shortly. Dress warm; there's quite a chill in the air."
"Chill in the air? No, we'll have none of these trivial drills. Go away," my father swatted him away like a bothersome gnat.
"Sir, I must insist. I'll give you a moment to dress, but I'm afraid this is quite mandatory." With a nod, the porter left.
"Father, we should listen to him. He said it came from the captain," I pleaded.
"Nonsense, everyone knows this ship is unsinkable."
But as he spoke, another severe scream came for the bowels of the ship, and an unmistakable pitch tipped the floor, causing me to stutter in my footing.
"We must go," I demanded as I hurried to my room and gathered my warmest clothes. I pulled on my life vest as I returned to the suite's sitting room, relieved to find my father dressed. "Your life vest," I offered as I lifted it to him.
"I'll only indulge so much," he indignantly murmured as he tossed aside his vest.
We opened our cabin to chaos that quickened my footsteps and blurred my thoughts. Many argued like my father while others bustled to gather checked jewelry and other babbles. I grasped at my father and pulled him along behind me. The cold air of the clear evening burned my skin.
A few sparsely populated boats drifted away from the clearly pained ship that creaked and tilted beneath our feet. The dire situation was now clear to most. Around me, fervor spiked; the quickening pulse of the mass roared like a drum. I was tugged and pushed to the edge until I was staring down at a nearly full boat.
"May I accompany my daughter?" My father asked as his voice edged with panic.
"I'm sorry, sir, woman and children first," a crewman directed with an agitated tone that matched the clumsy twitch of his hands.
Suddenly, a scuffle erupted. Bodies twisted and gnarled as one lashing out at the crewman. I stumbled, but rather than the kind hand of a gentleman, rough shoves of heathens greeted my tumble. My foot rolled with a corrupt crunch as I called out in the searing pain. But my cries were drowned out by three gunshots. The crowd scattered at the new fear as the crewman savagely grabbed my waist and shoved me to the boat.
The boat lowered to a chorus of screams from panicked passengers aboard the languishing ship. In the distance, the sound of a band playing curdled in my ears.
"My God, they're jumping," a woman beside me gasped. "We have to turn back!"
My eyes followed bodies flailing to the water with tiny splashes as the stern of the ship rose higher and higher. The propellers were clearly in view.
"Stop rowing; we must turn back," the woman's shrill scream would have agitated my father. My father... my eyes scanned the ship, attempting to discern him from the specks growing smaller with each splash of the oar.
"We can't turn back. We'll be sucked in by her pull," the crewman growled.
"But they'll die!" The woman fought.
Her words stabbed in my brain; they'll die. The men and women that had given passing smiles, the newlyweds we played cards with, the department store owner and his wife excitedly expecting a child; they'll die.
As though the morbidity of my thoughts connected, the bow split from the stern with an ungodly crack. The lights flickered twice, and then the front of the ship plunged into the icy depths. The stern bobbed in a confused state for a few more minutes before it too listed in a sickly pitch before making its final descent. And then the water was placid again. The sky blurred with the ocean, and silence blanketed the horror. My father and the Titanic had sunk and taken the confidence of invention to its watery grave.
Suddenly, the sounds of whistles from other boats filled my ears. I clenched my eyes painfully shut and willed the sound of dinner's bugle to fill me once again. It would warm me to morning and haunt me to this day.
