Full passage
Jimmy scanned the dark water beyond the railings, then looked up at the forward deck where the lifeboats had been. None remained. By now — just after 2:00 a.m. — every boat that could be lowered had gone. Only two of the four collapsibles were left: canvas-sided Engelhardt boats that had not been launched properly. The other two had already been swept from the officers’ quarters roof as the ship went under.
The bow was almost submerged now. The angle of the deck was no longer subtle — it was steep and dangerous. People stumbled as they tried to move. Some fell. One of the funnels groaned overhead, cables snapping, steel twisting, though it still loomed intact against the star-strewn sky.
Somewhere amid the chaos, Jimmy spotted something in the water beyond the rail: an overturned collapsible, swept from the roof as the ship went down, bobbing half-submerged near the stern. It must have been swept over by a wave or dislodged during the earlier confusion on the boat deck — now it floated alone in the freezing sea, just close enough to offer a chance.
He pointed. 'There,' he said. 'We’ve one chance. We have to jump.'
Hannah-Jane looked down into the black sea. 'Da —'
'I’ll be with you,' Jimmy said. 'I promise.'
The ship shuddered again — by 2:05, a deep groan rose from the hull as if it were crying out in pain. The stern was lifting higher, and beneath their feet the wooden planks no longer felt like part of a ship — they felt like the side of a hill.
'I think we need to go,' Jimmy said, steadying her.
'Where?' she asked.
'Towards the stern. As far back as we can.'
'But what about the boats?'
'They’re all gone.'
Hannah-Jane’s voice trembled. 'But Mam —'
'She’ll be safe,' Jimmy said firmly. 'She’s strong. We’ll find her again.'
They turned — and that’s when she heard it.
Faint, yet clear against the roar of wind and water: music.
The band was still playing. Somewhere on the upper deck near the forward entrance, barely visible in the shadows, the musicians stood shoulder to shoulder, instruments raised, coats flapping in the cold.
It was a hymn now — Nearer, My God, to Thee — though the notes bent slightly in the wind. The sound of it caught in her chest. Not triumphant, not terrified. Just… accepting.
'They’re still playing,' Hannah-Jane whispered, almost to herself.
Jimmy glanced towards the music, eyes glassy. 'Ay,' he said. 'They’re braver than most of us.'
He pulled her close, and together they began to make their way aft, stumbling along the tilted deck, heading towards their only hope: the open sea. By 2:15 a.m., the ship’s stern was rising higher by the minute, groaning beneath their feet. Behind them, the music faltered — one last note blown off-key by the wind.
Jimmy took Hannah-Jane’s hand, his voice low and firm despite the panic breaking out around them.
'Now!'
They jumped.
The sea struck like a hammer — black and bone-deep cold. Hannah-Jane gasped, but no sound came. The shock seized her lungs, locked her limbs. Her ears rang with silence. The weight of the freezing Atlantic pressed in from all sides.
Jimmy surfaced beside her, coughing, eyes burning. He pulled her towards an overturned collapsible. Its dark hull bobbed amidst the chaos. Others were already making for it, struggling, swimming, flailing.
'Hold on to me!' he shouted, his voice hoarse, half-swallowed by the waves.
He boosted her forward, numb fingers fumbling at her back as he hoisted her up. She slipped once — twice — but with a final surge, she scrambled atop the slick underside of the collapsible, clinging desperately.
Jimmy tried to follow, but more men were clambering on from every side. One shoved past, another fell across him, and in the struggle he lost his grip.
'Da!' Hannah-Jane cried.
He surfaced again, gasping. 'Stay on it!' he shouted. 'Stay on it!'
And then, before her eyes, the sea closed over him. He did not rise again.
At 2:18 a.m., a monstrous groan rose from behind her. The Titanic reared against the stars.
Then came the thunderous crack, the deep, grinding roar. The ship broke in two.
The upturned collapsible rocked wildly as a great wave rolled out from the breakup. Hannah-Jane clung fast, her cheek pressed against the freezing wood, while men around her cried out in fear.
And then came the screaming. Dozens, then hundreds. Until even that faded.
Hannah-Jane lay across the curved hull of Collapsible B, soaked to the skin, her limbs like stone. Around her, other figures clung — officers, crewmen, steerage passengers. Somewhere close by, a man muttered prayers; another simply slid away, no longer moving.
Then a voice rang out, clipped and commanding: 'Steady, men! Keep her balanced or we’ll all be in!'
It was Second Officer Charles Lightoller. He pulled himself up onto the hull and immediately took charge, ordering the men to shift, to stay low, to keep still. 'No sudden moves — we live or die together. Do as I say!'
His authority steadied them. Colonel Archibald Gracie, breathless and shivering, added his voice, urging calm. Wireless operator Harold Bride, half-frozen, clung near the stern. Hannah-Jane pressed flat among them, listening to their orders, trying not to tremble too violently.
Hours passed. The stars wheeled overhead, cruel and bright. The cold dulled her fear; she drifted in and out of awareness, hearing snatches of voices, the slap of waves, the creak of timber. She thought she still heard her father’s last cry: Stay on it.
At last, a pale light touched the horizon. Dawn. A lifeboat approached — Number 12 — its oars flashing in the weak sun.
'There!' someone called. 'Hold steady, they’re coming!'
One by one, the survivors on Collapsible B were hauled off, stiff and sodden. A sailor bent low, his lantern brushing Hannah-Jane’s face. 'There’s a child here — get her in first.'
Hands seized her, dragging her over the side into the bottom of Lifeboat 12. She curled into herself under a blanket, half-conscious, as the boat turned towards the waiting Carpathia.
The sea was calm now, deceptively gentle, as if it had never swallowed her father whole.