There was silence just before the boat pulled out--the
silence that usually precedes the leave-taking. The heavy
whistles sounded and the splendid Titanic, her flags flying
and her band playing, churned the water and plowed heavily
away.

Then the Titanic, with the people on board waving handkerchiefs
and shouting good-byes that could be heard only
as a buzzing murmur on shore, rode away on the ocean,
proudly, majestically, her head up and, so it seemed, her
shoulders thrown back. If ever a vessel seemed to throb
with proud life, if ever a monster of the sea seemed to "feel
its oats" and strain at the leash, if ever a ship seemed to
have breeding and blue blood that would keep it going until
its heart broke, that ship was the Titanic.

And so it was only her due that as the Titanic steamed
out of the harbor bound on her maiden voyage a thousand
"God-speeds" were wafted after her, while every other vessel
that she passed, the greatest of them dwarfed by her colossal
proportions, paid homage to the new queen regnant with the
blasts of their whistles and the shrieking of steam sirens.


THE SHIP'S CAPTAIN


In command of the Titanic was Captain E. J. Smith,
a veteran of the seas, and admiral of the White Star Line