Sunday, April 14, 1912, 11:30 p.m.

Inside his stateroom, Jack pulled on his pajamas. Jack

wound his watch. It was 11.40 p.m. He pulled down the

crisp white sheets of his bed and turned out the light.

Just as he began to climb into bed, the ship swayed

slightly. The movement was so small that Jack almost

thought he had imagined it. Then the engines stopped.

Then he heard running footsteps and muffled voices out

in the hallway.

“I’m going out on deck to see the fun,” he called to his

parents.

“I’m putting on my clothes now, son,” Mr Thayer

replied. “I’ll be right up to join you.”

Up ahead, Jack saw Mr Andrews. “Let’s ask him,” Jack

said. “He’ll know what’s going on.”

Mr Andrews spoke in a low voice. “We have struck an

iceberg. I’m afraid that the ship has not much more than

an hour to live.”