These were the husbands and wives, children, parents,
sweethearts and friends of those who had sailed upon the
Titanic on its maiden voyage.
They pressed to the head of the pier, marking the boats
of the wrecked ship as they dangled at the side of the Carpathia
and were revealed in the sudden flashes of the photographers
upon the tugs. They spoke in whispers, each group
intent upon its own sad business. Newspaper writers, with
pier passes showing in their hat bands, were everywhere.
A sailor hurried outside the fence and disappeared,
apparently on a mission for his company. There was a deep-
drawn sigh as he walked away, shaking his head toward
those who peered eagerly at him. Then came a man and
woman of the Carpathia's own passengers, as their orderly
dress showed them to be.
Again a sigh like a sob swept over the crowd, and again
they turned back to the canopied gangplank.
THE FIRST SURVIVORS
Several minutes passed and then out of the first cabin
gangway; tunneled by a somber awning, streamed the first
survivors. A young woman, hatless, her light brown hair
disordered and the leaden weight of crushing sorrow heavy
upon eyes and sensitive mouth, was in the van. She stopped,
perplexed, almost ready to drop with terror and exhaustion,
and was caught by a customs official.
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