Fun Fact #28: Filming the Water Scenes

In actuality, Jack didn't sink to the bottom of the ocean when he died. Tank 4, the smallest pool used with 350,000 gallons of water, and where they shot the scenes where Jack and Rose are in the water, was only three to four feet deep, and it stayed at over 80 degrees Fahrenheit. (Their frigid breaths were later added on digitally.) There was even a tank used to sink the replicated ship, which consisted of 17 million gallons of seawater from the Pacific. When Kate Winslet's character steps into the flooded hallway with the axe, her gasp was her real reaction. Because she refused to wear a wetsuit, the times she spent in the colder water caught up to her, and she got pneumonia and almost cancelled.

Chapter 27

The Ending Is Just the Beginning

The next morning, Jack and Rose were found peacefully sleeping, huddled on Jack's drawings. They had fallen asleep discussing everything, from the will, to their plans, and to their future. Rose didn't even shiver from the fact that the covers were never wrapped around her; Jack instinctually moved his arm around her waist during the night, his head in her red hair, his hand in hers.

One month later…

Nearly a month after the Titanic sank, and it was still making headlines. J. Bruce Ismay had been testified at the American Inquiry into the sinking that started on April nineteenth, and in his hesitance and unclear gestures, he refused that the Titanic had been trying to win the Blue Riband. He claimed that the White Star Line was for luxury, not speed, which was for the Cunard Line. He was questioned by Senator William Smith if he had convinced Captain E.J. Smith into speeding up, and though he could have refused, the evidence against him was overwhelming.

Rose had read the newspaper carefully over the inquiry, which ended on May twenty-fifth. It said that Ismay had indeed talked to the captain about lighting up the all the boilers and driving at full speed for Monday, April fifteenth. He even boasted to the passengers about it like it was going to be some huge show. In fact, it was even proven that he had been shown an ice warning on the day of the collision.

Many other testimonies from surviving crew members and passengers were made. There was Charles Lightoller, and Archibald Gracie. Even Harold Bride, who worked with the fervent Jack Phillips the night of the sinking, made his story and told his facts. And in the end, Rose was sickened at J. Bruce Ismay for trying to deny the fact that he had slipped in collapsible C last minute, and left his passengers to drown in the freezing sea.

But for the whole family, they were shocked to learn of a "mystery ship" which had been close by when the Titanic was sinking. They traced it back to a Captain Lord by a crew member of the Californian, who said he saw the Titanic sinking but the captain did nothing. In the end, it was discovered that Ernest Gill's story about Lord' refusal could have been faked, for someone had paid him five hundred dollars for his tale – and he disappeared from the scene without a trace after getting his cash.

Rose carefully read with wide eyes Captain Lord's account by Senator Smith, noting how he claimed that he saw a small freighter, not a huge passenger liner. He clearly pointed out dates and times, but left no information on his motives. Finally, Rose gave up on reading the newspaper.

Now the British Enquiry was taking place, but Rose ignored that, too. She had already had all the information she needed from the senator. Ismay was a coward and Captain Lord had witnessed the deaths of fifteen hundred people. For her, it was as simple as that.

May turned into June, and the cool spring days she had felt on the deck of the Titanic were replaced by the hot and humid summer air. As she packed her clothes into her suitcase, she couldn't help but squeeze in The Time Machine and a picture frame of her father in between the fabrics. She knew she couldn't leave without them, now that she was old enough and had the time to read H.G. Wells.

Her and Jack were planning on taking the next train to anywhere tomorrow night. They had talked the plans over and knew that eventually their destinations would take them to Santa Monica. But first, Rose wished to go somewhere else for the occasion.

"Jack, let's go where you grew up," Rose said at the breakfast table, taking his hand with an excited glint in her eyes. "Before you moved here. Let's go to Chippewa Falls." That had earned her a very grateful kiss in the hallway later on.

More than a month into the sinking, and everything had gone back to normal.

This certain morning Rose's packing was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Rose?" came Ruth's muffled voice through the wood.

"It's unlocked," Rose called out as she folded her favorite dress, a nice green color with white trim.

Ruth didn't make a statement until she entered the room and was by Rose's side, helping her gather her belongings. "Rose, are you sure about this?" she asked uncertainly. "I mean, you've never been on your own before…"

"Oh, Mother, I'm not alone." Rose smiled sympathetically at her mother. "Jack's with me, remember?"

Ruth's face still held unreliable glimpses. Rose put her hand on her arm. "Look, you know Jack. And Father trusted him, too."

"Why does it matter what your father thought?" Rose glanced up at her mother, a neutral look on her face. There was a tearful grin on her face. "I was all you had. The least I can do is let you go. Um…" She sniffed and blinked her wet eyes, putting her hand in her pocket. "I, uh, have something to give you. Think of it as a welcome gift to whatever home you decide to settle at."

Rose stared down at the pack of bills. After she had refused the offer her father's will gave, she signed the contract that would donate it all to Ruth. Now she no longer had to worry about any other unwanted courtships or arranged marriages. "Oh, you don't have to…," she began, but was immediately silenced by Ruth's raised hand.

"Trust me on this, Rose. You need to start somewhere. I'm not letting you go do whatever you want without a cent to your name. You'll thank me later." She then stuffed the bills in Rose's hand and patted it before continuing folding the clothes.

Rose didn't know what to say. She didn't want to start off with Jack making a stupid decision, and she knew that her mother was right: She couldn't leave without at least some money. How would they pay for a train ticket? Were they planning on sleeping under a bridge?

"I'd better get some rest," Rose decided to say, ending the moment with her mother. Yesterday she and Jack had stayed up all day and night, and though a couple of wine bottles had disappeared, her mother hadn't noticed yet. The headache still ached dully in her skull, reminding her of their drunken state in the early morning. She hoped they wouldn't be intoxicated messes all the time and burn their money away – though one of the fun things about the pier was the cheap beer.

"What time are you leaving?" Ruth inquired as Rose snapped the suitcase shut.

"The train leaves at four." She moved the bag near the doorway. "We want to get there early so we can spend our whole first day in the town before heading off into the country."

"And where are you going again?" Ruth tried to remember the name Rose told her, but it was foreign on her tongue.

"Chippewa Falls."

"Oh yes, of course."

Ruth wished her daughter a good morning's rest and exited the room. When she knew she was gone, Rose snuck out of her room and evasively climbed the steps and to the guestroom. "We're leaving tomorrow!" she squealed with a laugh as she ran into Jack and jumped on to the bed, falling into his arms.

That evening, Rose wanted to spend her last time in the house in her father's study. Before she would make herself comfortable on her chair and read a book, she scanned the room thoroughly, remembering how she felt whenever she was in here.

She started at her father's desks, his papers still stacked how they were two years ago. Her hands grazed the soft wood of a carved rabbit, its ears getting dusty. "You poor thing," she said as she held it in her palm and cleaned it with her skirt. "You've been working too hard keeping these papers down." And with that comment she gestured to the stack that the little bunny sat on to prevent them from flying away in a sudden burst of wind.

She placed it back down, and her fingers traveled the edge of the desk, touching the papers, the picture frames, and the box of cigars. Sadly, the pads of her fingers always came up with dust. No one had touched this place in what seemed like a decade.

Acknowledging the book cases, she opened each one and scanned the bindings, enjoying the familiar names of Voltaire, Montesquieu, and Locke. Her father was quite the philosopher and politician. But then she came upon the adventure books, Moby Dick and Tom Sawyer; there were the mystery books with the whole collection of Sherlock Holmes; the romance collection with authors such as Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte; and it looked as though someone still kept the shelf meant for new editions fresh with authors by Gaston Leroux and Victor Appleton.

After the bookshelves came the plush couch in front of the elaborate window. It was an ideal place to take naps and wake up to the sunlight; Rose was always found doing her homework on this sofa, her small body falling into the soft seating.

She sat upon that couch now, soaking in the sunny weather outside with a deep sigh. Yet, even with the impeccable way her life was going at the moment, something still felt terribly wrong.

"I knew you'd be in here."

Rose looked up to see Jack smiling at her, and when she moved her gaze back out the window, he began to inspect the study like she had before. "I remember this room pretty well," he said, coming to sit next to her.

She kept her scrutiny on the grass dancing in the breeze as a car passed by, its black color matching Rose's sorrow. It had been a month and she still had the dreams repeatedly; the ones of her dead friends, and the one of Jack freezing in her arms. "I still have them," she said vaguely, her expression troubled.

Jack put his hand over hers, his thumb rubbing her palm tenderly. "By tomorrow we'll escape all this," he whispered. "I promise."

Rose shook her head, her sad eyes looking into Jack's piercing gaze. "I can never forget what happened," she responded as her mind became full of the screams. "All I can do is move on."

"Rose, it's over now. It has been for a while. The ship is gone; Cal will no longer hurt you." He wiped away a tear that dropped down her cheek, his hand lingering there. "Why do you let yourself be like this?"

"Because it haunts me," she snapped. Feeling bad for her quick remark, she looked down at her lap and lowered her voice. "I assume it will for my whole life."

There was a teasing edge to Jack's tone when he said, "Excuse me, miss, but are you assuming?" Rose blinked at him innocently with a crinkled brow. "What did I tell you about assuming?"

Her eyes lit up when she remembered their conversation more than ten years ago. A broad smile took hostage on her lips, the corners turning up with laughter. The gloom in her eyes was replaced by a familiar, fiery glow. "And what was that?" Their laughter rung out in the small study, and the photograph of the deceased lord in the frame on the desk watched them as they tease each other.

As their moment of happiness subsided, Rose leaned her head against the wall and watched the flowers dance around outside. "I just wish there was someone to get my mind off of it."

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "Write a book."

One perfectly plucked eyebrow rose in return.

"You've always wanted to be an artist," he pointed out. She nodded thoughtfully. A book…

"I have to go finish packing. You know, for the big trip tomorrow. Bright and early in the morning," he said while getting up. He gave her his hand. "You coming?"

Rose shook her idea-filled head and waved him off. "No, I'll just stay here."

When he closed the door behind him, she turned back to the window. "A book…," she repeated, liking the sound of it. She could write a lot, turn it into a story, and make the plot into a novel.

She walked over to her father's desk and brushed away the dust, sitting down in the comfy seat. Her eyes gazed at the picture of her and her father when she was little in Egypt. She then focused her attention on pulling out a blank sheet of paper and picking up a pen from the cup full of writing utensils.

Clearing her throat, she stared at the intimidating blank page. But then, everything started to come back from the last few months, and she put her anticipating pen on the paper and started to write.

The four o'clock in the morning train to Wisconsin set off on its tracks with perfect timing. In car six, Rose was laying her head on Jack's shoulder to pass the time, wanting to sleep but her adrenaline keeping her wide awake.

Before their departure, Rose and Jack bid farewell to Maggie, who was also leaving the same day to visit her ill grandson in Denver. They would never forget when Maggie, a month after the tragedy, presented Captain Rostron of the Carpathia and his crew a silver cup of gratitude from the Titanic survivors. They were glad to have met her, and she gave them her address if they ever wanted to visit.

Then there was Ruth. Though Rose never felt close to her mother, the least she could do was give her a parting hug. Which was exactly what she did before climbing into the train with Jack, taking one last look at Philadelphia before it huffed away from the city she grew up in.

Rose had noticed many new things about her city, but the next thing she saw made her stand up in shock. "Jack, look!" she exclaimed, pointing to the passing landscape. "This is where we first met."

The field look liked it always had, and though the sky was dark, they could still make out the lush trees, the rolling hills, and tall grass. "Oh yeah," Jack mumbled as the scene went by, and for a second he could see two kids out in the fields.

Rose sat back down across from him, and at first all they did was stare at each other. She thought of how long they'd known each other; he contemplated of all the things they'd been through together. She reminisced her desolate times without him; he remembered the days when all he did was draw her face over and over again. Then both of them recollected their moments on the Titanic, and the long moment of silence dragged on to its limit – and so the couple burst out into giggles.

"Remember that party we went to in third class?" Rose recalled, taking Jack's hand in hers from across the space between them.

"How could I forget?" he gasped, trying to get some air in his empty lungs.

They kept laughing as Jack pulled out his sketchbook, raising his pencil as a sign of approval. Rose nodded happily, and tucked her feet underneath her, resting one hand on the seat and the other in her lap.

As she kept a smile for him, she couldn't help but break it. "Just you and me now? No one to get in our way?"

Jack glanced up from his work and smiled at her. "Just you and me, Rosie," he said, his hand sketching out the familiar details of her face. "Just you and me."