OUT OF THE FOG

CAPTAIN INMAN SEALBY stepped onto the bridge of the Republic and peered into the gray gloom. It was 5:30 a.m., January 23, 1909, and the 585-foot luxury liner was steaming 50 miles off Nantucket Island, headed for the sunny Mediterranean. But first Sealby had to steer his ship safely out of the foggy Atlantic.

Sealby tried to scan for ships, but it was no use: the fog was so thick that he could barely see his own boots. So he closed his eyes and listened.

A whistle echoed in the distance. That was no surprise. This dangerous stretch of sea was so busy that sailors called it the Times Square of the Atlantic. Usually ships traveling east and west stayed on opposite sides of Nantucket Lightship, a safe distance of about 30 miles apart. But on this murky morning, Sealby wasn’t taking any chances. He kept listening.

The whistle sounded again. It seemed to be getting closer. Then it blared a dozen times, each time louder than before. Now there was no doubt.

“Stop! Full speed astern! Hard aport!” Sealby ordered, hoping to avoid the oncoming ship.

Then Sealby sounded three sharp blasts on his own whistle, signaling the unknown ship that it should turn away. But it was too late.

Seconds later, the sharp prow of a ships engine room. The giant liner lurched to starboard. Passengers, equipment, and cargo careened across the decks. And tons of frigid water began pouring into the engine room.