Please Make A Post About The Story Of The RMS Carpathia, Because It's Something That's Almost Beyond

Please make a post about the story of the RMS Carpathia, because it's something that's almost beyond belief and more people should know about it.

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a responsibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I think the least we can do is remember them for it.

What I'd give for one of the Cinderella remakes to go into how when you're in an isolated and abusive situation, sometimes you need to be saved and you're not weak if you can't escape by yourself

I've never been a fan of bad faith reinterpretations of fairy tales, especially ones which flatten the originals into "princesses is saved by a prince and nothing else", to then go #girlboss. The princess can save herself because she's a strong female character! (Implying if you're in a bad situation, it's because you're not strong enough to get out)

I like to imagine that in any atla modern au, aang still, for some reason, finds a reason to beat ozai’s ass

the command structure of the GAR suffers so badly from “we haven’t had a standing galactic army for 1000 years, we had to invent all of this yesterday” syndrome it is so fucking funny. the jedi high council had no idea what they were doing and were like, okay, the jedi are all generals now. what general do you answer to if two generals give you conflicting orders? the general. which of the generals is in charge? the general. which of the generals is the general over all the other generals? also the general. anakin is both the general of just the 501st and also the commander of gold squadron, apparently, how does he manage to be so annoying that he’s in a position of command in two separate branches of service? i cannot emphasize enough that the idea of rex explaining that their general is locked in a dogfight with separatist ships, so they have to hold off on such things as “orders” is just a thing that does not happen to people, ever. this makes absolutely no sense but given that the republic handed a military to the local superpowered wizard monk order that coordinates battles at most in small groups, i guess that’s kind of a fair way to take it. you win this round, rave baloney

imagine you are fifteen years old taking your little sister to the grocery store because your dad is busy and your grandmother is old and you need food. as you turn a corner you accidentally ram your shopping cart into God with a capital G and he promises to show you the world you’ve never seen from inside the ten square miles of your hometown in exchange for your company. you hate the risk but your demigod sister has untapped potential and an unrelenting determination to get ghost, so you follow God with a capital G through heaven and hell and back. God with a capital G is twelve and wiser than even your grandmother and treats everything like a game and he’s your brother now and suddenly you would (and have and will) kill and die for him. your first love becomes a different god and you add her name to the list of things (your childhood, your vulnerability, your parents, your safety) you don’t have the time to grieve right now (or ever) and you become a man on foreign soil and your dad isn’t there to see it. you are fifteen and God with a capital G’s best friend and your little sister– sisters, now– are the most powerful demigods on the planet and you are the only one keeping three divine tweens focused on saving the world and you are still not allowed to say fuck.

Yknow what. I’m just gonna say it.

It’s about time we have a fictional princess who actually enjoys being a princess.

She enjoys the politics. She enjoys the diplomacy. And she enjoys the balls and banquets and attention and pretty dresses and that doesn’t make her a dumb shallow bimbo or some regressive anti feminist handmaid or whatever the kids say these days about women who don’t fall in line with their Strong Female Character power fantasies.

All the princesses urging for ‘something more’ that’s all fine and good but I’m ready to see a princess who appreciates that being a princess is already a lot!