Titanic Bound by Destiny

Chapter 25: Salvation Arrives

April 15th, 1912. (4:00 Am)

Time became untrackable after the Titanic vanished. Each second felt like an eternity had passed. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. The only sound that remained was the ocean waves colliding with the side of the lifeboats. In these tiny vessels, scattered across the cold, dark waters, the survivors faced an agonising period of waiting—waiting for rescue, dawn, and any sign of hope. Nicholas felt numb, his entire body nearly frozen to the seat. The endless waiting was a profound ordeal. The survivors, many inadequately dressed and all shivering violently. The cold was biting, seeping into their bones, making every minute feel longer and more torturous. Wrapped in whatever blankets had been available, they huddled together for warmth; their bodies pressed close in the cramped quarters of the lifeboats. A stoker on the lifeboat handed around a hip flask, and Nicholas took it with trembling hands. The whisky briefly warmed him but did not settle the deep cold within him. Nobody knew if they would ever be saved from this Icey watery hell.

Time became untrackable after the Titanic vanished. Each second felt like an eternity had passed. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. The only sound that remained was the ocean waves colliding with the side of the lifeboats. In these tiny vessels, scattered across the cold, dark waters, the survivors faced an agonising period of waiting—waiting for rescue, dawn, and any sign of hope. Nicholas felt numb, his entire body nearly frozen to the seat. The endless waiting was a profound ordeal. The survivors, many inadequately dressed and all shivering violently. The cold was biting, seeping into their bones, making every minute feel longer and more torturous. Wrapped in whatever blankets had been available, they huddled together for warmth; their bodies pressed close in the cramped quarters of the lifeboats. A stoker on the lifeboat handed around a hip flask, and Nicholas took it with trembling hands. The whisky briefly warmed him but did not settle the deep cold within him. Nobody knew if they would ever be saved from this Icey watery hell.

Fear was a constant companion during those hours. There was the fear of not being found, the dread of the lifeboats capsizing, the terror of what lurked beneath the dark waves. Every creak of the lifeboat's timbers and every wave slap against its side heightened the tension. The cold, too, was a relentless adversary, gnawing at their resilience, threatening to numb their senses completely. There were moments when Nicholas wished he had remained with Sebastian till the bitter end, but he knew deep down that he had to keep the promise he had made to him. Nicholas's mind turned to his friends as his eyes drifted to the lifeboats rocking in the sea. He wondered how many of them awaited news now and just how many had perished with the Titanic. He had no way to know that besides himself, only two lived. Salvation seemed like it was never coming; hope had seemingly died with the Titanic as their wait continued. All Nicholas could do was sit and stare at the letter, hoping somehow, someway, Sebastian would appear next to him and all would be okay again.

As the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, casting a golden glow across the vast, cold Atlantic, the survivors in the lifeboats were greeted with a bittersweet mix of hope and sorrow. Nicholas, huddled in his lifeboat, wrapped in a blanket that provided minimal relief from the chill, watched as the sky slowly lightened, its orange haze bathing the lifeboats in light. His eyes, red-rimmed and weary from the night's horrors, caught a glimmer of light on the horizon. For a moment, his heart filled with an ethereal hope—perhaps a divine light was coming to lift them from their despair. It seemed their time was up, and heaven had come to deliver them from this agonising wait. But as his gaze sharpened, the light resolved into something more tangible and immediately hopeful: the approaching silhouette of a rescue ship. After what felt like an eternity, salvation had arrived to save those left behind.

In Lifeboat 14, near Nicholas, action was underway to ensure their visibility. Fifth Officer Harold Lowe, one of the few ship's officers who had survived and taken command of a lifeboat, ignited a green flare. He waved it vigorously through the early morning air, the bright colour stark against the dawn light, signalling their position. His efforts were crucial, a beacon for the approaching rescue ship that promised real salvation. Other lifeboats followed suit, a green mist hanging in the air. The ship was the RMS Carpathia, which had steamed through the night after receiving the Titanic's distress calls. She had travelled over 107.82 km to reach the Titanic; it took her over three and a half hours, but she was finally here to save the broken and the dammed. As the Carpathia drew nearer, the survivors saw her outline become more apparent, a solid and comforting presence against the backdrop of icebergs that dotted the waters like silent witnesses to the tragedy. Nicholas was shocked at how many icebergs littered the sea where the Titanic had vanished forever. It felt like a mockery for a brief moment.

As the Carpathia manoeuvred closer, the lifeboats began to approach her. The survivors rowed with exhaustion and renewed vigour, driven by the sight of their rescuer. Nicholas, his emotions a whirlwind of relief and grief, watched as the Carpathia's crew met each lifeboat. They were carefully pulled aboard, each survivor stepping onto the deck into the warm embrace of blankets and the comforting hands of the crew who helped them. As Nicholas's lifeboat approached the RMS Carpathia, the relief among the survivors was palpable yet muted by the gravity of their loss. As his turn came to transition from the small, bobbing lifeboat to the stability of the Carpathia, Nicholas felt a mixture of relief and profound sorrow. His hands, numb from the cold and clutching the precious letter from Sebastian, trembled slightly as the crew members reached down to help him aboard. He was not sure he would have been able to pull himself up and feared falling backwards into the sea, so he was ever grateful for the help the crew of Carpathia gave to the survivors.

Once on deck, he was immediately wrapped in thick, warm blankets that enveloped him in a much-needed embrace of warmth; in a way, it reminded him of Sebastian. The physical comfort starkly contrasted with the emotional chill that continued to grip his heart. A crew member handed him a cup of hot tea, the steam rising in the cold air, offering a small but significant comfort. Nicholas found a bench on the deck of the Carpathia and sat down, the blanket around his shoulders and the cup of tea in his hands providing a temporary refuge from the chilling memories of the night. His gaze was drawn back to the ocean, the vast expanse that had just claimed the Titanic and so many lives. He felt like throwing the tea at the sea in revenge, but he knew that would do nobody any good, so instead, he sat there, his eyes transfixed on the ocean. Unable and unwilling to move.

As he sat there, staring into the waters that had swallowed the Titanic, Nicholas's mind was besieged by questions. How could such a disaster happen to a modern and supposedly fail-safe ship? How could something magnificent and strong succumb so quickly to the icy waters? The reality of the ship's rapid demise plagued his mind considerably. It did not help that the weight of the tragedy pressed heavily on Nicholas. He felt broken, a part of him lost forever to the cold depths along with Sebastian. The trauma of the night's events, the sounds of the ship breaking apart, the cries of the passengers, and the haunting finality of watching the Titanic disappear—these memories were etched deeply into his psyche. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the screams of these begging to be saved. And yet nobody saved them; could they have returned and saved more? He had no answers to these lingering questions. As he sipped his tea, Nicholas wondered if he would recover from the night's horrors. The path to healing seemed as vast and uncertain as the ocean before him. Yet, holding the letter from Sebastian, he knew he carried a piece of his beloved with him—a final message waiting to be read, perhaps a source of closure or a beacon of guidance for the future. But he could not open it, not now. He continued to stare out to the ocean. Maybe one day, when the time was right, he would open it, but it would stay sealed for now. Somehow, someway, he would have to figure out a way to move forward, but for now, he stared out into the ocean, trying to find comfort in a world that had forever changed.