The symphony of cacophony opened with the sound of breaking glass as the finest Waterford crystal goblets slid from polished mahogany shelves and smashed into a million pieces, covering the floors of the saloons with shards like diamonds. Then, seconds later, came the crash of breaking china as ten thousand plates broke away from their anchor points in the galleys of the First and second class kitchens and dining rooms: Royal Crown Derby in First Class, plain white china in Steerage. Not that such distinctions were important any more, the deafening noise drowning even the cries for help from the poor souls already in the water. Now tables and chairs were on the move, some flying through the windows of the saloon, showering the band from behind with broken glass. In the dining saloon on D Deck a Stienway piano - one of six pianos on the ship - snapped its chains, killing a steward as it gathered speed across the dance floor, ending its last waltz upside down and broken in half, its guts spilling out in a final fortissimo of wire, wood and ivory.
Account of the “Titanic” during her final moments.