​

​
​Robertha and her mother occupied a stateroom with Ellen Mary Toomey, Rosa Pinsky and Marion Wright, fellow middle-class women. During the long days at sea, Robertha soon tired of the adult's conversations, but fortunately the 'ship of dreams' was a wonderland for an adventuresome, spirited girl of twelve. Aboard the ship Bertha befriended an English girl, Marjorie Collyer. Teaming up with her newfound friend, fellow survivor 8-year old Marjorie , the two roamed the decks for days on end. It seemed Robertha also had a mature, refined side, as she could speak basic school French, and also passed time babysitting young Marcel and Edmond Navratil, toddlers from Paris who also survived the sinking.​
Robertha slept through the collision, but her mother was awakened by the tremendous jolt of the Titanic hitting the iceberg and the eerie silence that followed. Suspecting the worst, Elizabeth Watt threw on an overcoat, hurried out the cabin and up the stairs, questioning the crew what was wrong. Despite their assurances that all was perfectly fine, she went up on deck where she met a man from their hometown, who revealed to her that the ship had struck an iceberg. (This man was probably Mr. Simon Kutscher, the only other passenger on board from Edinburg, who was lost in the sinking.)​
Elizabeth raced back to the cabin to rouse Bertha, whose most vivid memory was being jostled awake in the dead of night and told to say her prayers, for the Titanic was in trouble. This nightmarish awakening from the week-long nostalgia of a carefree Edwardian vacation was one that would haunt her for years. Mother and daughter donned thick coats and, with their roommates, headed for the boat decks. As the company boarded Lifeboat 9, Robertha's mother comforted her, saying, "If this were a nice night on Loch Ness, we'd just be out for a row." The girl also remembered this strange bit of cold 'comfort' from the same woman: "You weren't born to be drowned; you were born to be hanged."

​The following is an account of the tragedy written by Robertha Watt in an article for her High School Newspaper in 1917. I have interspersed it with accounts she gave in the 50's letter to Mr. Lord many years later; for sake of identification, comments from the later account are pale yellow. These accounts are poignant in their accuracy and, perhaps as the result of either childish exaggeration or keen observation, uncovers the rare treasures of incidents recorded nowhere else. For a Titanic enthusiast, Robertha's account is unique in that it is free of prejudices or overly emotional ramblings, merely recalling everything in sharp detail as a child would.
"We heard many pistol shots, and could see people running hopelessly up and down the decks. Some in the lifeboat were crying. Others were hysterical. There was nothing anyone could do. We just kept going.
We didn't row much, just enough to get away from the suction. Then we puttered. We had to just drift around till dawn, occasionally flickering a gentleman's cigar lighter to let the other boats know where we were. The fellow at the tiller was an Irishman. Paddy had no authority, he was just a deckhand, but he was wonderful, telling me about the stars. It was calm.
In charge of our boat was a fine old Irish seaman who did his best to keep folks in line ... By the time we got out just a little way, the Titanic was really going down by the nose, so Paddy, as we called him, said, 'Row for all you're worth or we'll be drawn down by the suction!' Two stewards were rowing, but it didn't look too experienced. Paddy asked the others for help. We heard cries for help but we couldn't see too well where they were ... The part regarding the sinking, how the ship broke apart in the middle and slid out of sight, is so plain to me that I could draw pictures of it. I remember sitting or standing with my eyes glued to the spot, watching lights go out almost as if I was hypntoized. Then all was calm and dark; up until them the lights of the ship gave some help, but as she sank lower and lower, row after row of lights went out.

I don't remember sloping around in the boat. There was nothing in the lifeboat but a keg of biscuits. No water, no liquor, no light. I don't know if the first-class lifeboats had all the things we needed, but if anyone was sick or collapsed in our boat, there was nothing to revive them with. It showed the disorginization. We didn't find the rudder until we were out quite a way.
I had a nightie slipped into a pair of panties, and house slippers. Luckily, I had a fur-lined coat. They lined them with squirrel bellies in those days, and it had a fur collar.
They asked if anyone could row, and mother said she could. That's how she spent the time. Rowing or standing.