Two minutes later, as he passed the Marconi shack, Jonathan noticed that the ocean was only some five meters from the boat deck, where the members of Titanic’s all-string band had just finished a new Irving Berlin tune—“One O’clock in the Morning I Get Lonesome”—which was getting very close to being the last piece they would ever play. Legend would have it that they closed with “Nearer My God to Thee,” and classical films would depict the passengers in the lifeboats looking on in awed silence as the liner’s three giant propellers rose out of the water and the heartwrenching strains of the Welsh hymn reached them. It was dignified and highly dramatic, but it never happened.

In reality, the final notes from the boat deck included:

Camptown ladies sing this song, Doo-dah, doo-dah.

At least, that was what J onathan W ayville heard, reconstructed from actual survivors’ accounts, as he made his way toward the stem. The musicians’ way of coping was to impose a mental gag order on their distress and keep busy. A few meters away, in the Marconi shack, wireless operators Harold Bride and Jack Philips tried to control their fears with gallows humor.

Sinking fast by the bows, they morsed to the rescue ship Carpathia. we are about all down. BETTER HURRY, OLD MAN, OR IT WILL BE FISH FOR BREAKFAST FOR US TOMORROW … OR VICE VERSA.

As he passed under the third funnel, Jonathan heard a young man calling down to a friend in a lifeboat. “When you get back, you’ll need a pass. You can’t get on the ship for breakfast tomorrow without a pass.” Jonathan shot the man a puzzled look and kept on walking.

Titanic was never going to get anywhere near serving another breakfast. She was creaking and snapping throughout, and the sound of windows imploding under the crush and swirl of water was making it harder to hear “Camptown Races”; and in the midst of this horror that no one wanted to believe, this passenger was worried about meal tickets. Jonathan guessed that the man must have been the last person aboard the Titanic who was still certain of life going on; but when he caught up with Edith, he saw that she, too, just did not seem to understand.

He watched a crewman toss her toy pig into lifeboat number 11, and then stood in stunned silence as she steadfastly refused to follow it.

(What in hell? That wasn’t in my program!)

“Edith!” Jonathan shouted. “What are you doing? You must get in that boat at once. Don’t hesitate!”

“But where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“You needn’t worry about me.”

“Get in the boat, son. I won’t leave without you.” And Jonathan saw that she meant it.

A crewman, watching the scene from the bow of number 11, called up to Jonathan, “Young man, are you a seaman?”

“Well, sort of,” he said hesitantly. “I’ve taken the helm of Alvin a few times.”