So far all had gone well. Now disaster lowered. Fate had prepared a
tragedy that was to load the king's soul with life-long grief and yield
to English history one of its most pathetic tales.

Of the vessels of the fleet, one of the best was a fifty-oared galley
called "The White Ship," commanded by a certain Thomas Fitzstephen,
whose father had sailed the ship on which William the Conqueror first
came to England's shores. This service Fitzstephen represented to the
king, and begged that he might be equally honored.

"My liege," he said, "my father steered the ship with the golden boy
upon the prow in which your father sailed to conquer England, I beseech
you to grant me the same honor, that of carrying you in the White Ship
to England."

"I am sorry, friend," said the king, "that my vessel is already chosen,
and that I cannot sail with the son of the man who served my father. But
the prince and all his company shall go along with you in the White
Ship, which you may esteem an honor equal to that of carrying me."

By evening of that day the king with his retinue had set sail, with a
fair wind, for England's shores, leaving the prince with his attendants
to follow in Fitzstephen's ship. With the prince were his natural
brother Richard, his sister the countess of Perch, Richard, earl of
Chester, with his wife, the king's niece, together with one hundred and
forty of the flower of the young nobility of England and Normandy,
accompanying whom were many ladies of high descent. The whole number of
persons taking passage on the White Ship, including the crew, were three
hundred.