April 15, 1912, 2:20 am. I'm on the bridge with the other passengers. No one is speaking. The men have a grave look on their faces, a woman prays quietly. The captain of the Carpathia posted watchers in the front, their mission to watch for drifting ice or the slightest sign of the Titanic. Everything seems quiet, too quiet. How could one imagine that a few miles from here, and enormous ship was lost?