Monday, April 15, 1912, 2:00 a.m.

Jack Thayer and Milton Long stood together on the

Titanic’s deck. The stern of the ship was tilted up out of

the sea. The bow was covered with water, and inch by

inch it crept higher and higher. Nearby, hundreds of

people watched the lifeboats being loaded.

There was not much noise. Jack saw a father say

goodbye to his two young sons. He kissed the older boy

before thrusting him into the arms of a sailor who was

waiting in a lifeboat. Then the father picked up

the smaller boy. The man hugged his son and dropped him

into the arms of a passenger in the boat. When he

stepped back into the crowd, his face was so sad that

Jack couldn’t bear to look at it.

Farther down the deck was a man in an evening suit

and an elderly steward. They seemed to be tangled up in

a pile of deck chairs and rope.

“They’re tying chairs together.” As Milton said this, the

old steward picked up a couple of chairs and heaved them

overboard. The chairs floated gently on the glassy water.

Jack felt the back of his neck prickle with fear.

What he had known in his heart for the past hour was

suddenly very clear. They would never get in a lifeboat.

There simply weren’t enough. The floating chairs were

makeshift rafts. They would be something to grab on to

when the time came to jump.

And that time was now. The ship’s bow slowly began to

slide into the water. From inside the ship came a

rumbling sound, like the roar of an express train passing

over a steel bridge.

“This is it, Jack,” Milton said, holding out his hand.

“I’ll be right with you,” Jack said. He didn’t want to say

goodbye. “Good luck.”

Milton let go. Then Jack, with a push of his arms,

jumped into the sea.

The icy cold water went through his skin like a knife.

The ocean pulled him down and down. Jack used every

ounce of his strength to struggle back to the surface.