ew York Harbor is just ahead. The day is bright and sunny — a wonderful day to complete a sea voyage. But we have not arrived on the unsinkable Titanic; instead, the rescue ship Carpathia brings us to dry land. It has taken three days to reach New York Harbor. During those long days and nights the world must have been hungry for information; it looks as if the whole of America has come out to

welcome us home or possibly to witness the unbelievable. Over 30,000 people line the shore; tugboats, ferryboats and just about anything that floats charge over the calm waters toward the Carpathia, impeding her progress.

We dock. As we walk down the gangplank and touch solid earth for the first time in eight days, reporters and newspapermen shout offers of money for our stories, each trying to outbid the other. I know

that if the retelling of events mangles the truth a bit, so be it — just as long as it makes good copy. My mind travels across the ocean to those who cannot tell their stories. Over 1,500 people lay dead — trapped within the giant hull of the Titanic or floating somewhere in the North Atlantic.

A few short days ago, we had hope and confidence, the fateful meeting of a ship and an iceberg has changed all that.