All day the vessel had raced before a half a gale which beat fiercely against her prow as her course was changing northward. The rain fell heavily and was blown in gusts that defied protecting shelter. Spray flew from the waves and was thrown in showers as high as the top of the huge bulwarks. Such good headway had the Carpathia made, that she docked fully two hours before it had been expected. All day heavy fog had hung over the lower bay and it was reported that the weather was heavy and thick outside. Officers of the Cunard and White Star Lines, from their offices on Lower Broadway, informed the anxious hundreds who appealed for information that the boat would not be in until probably one or two o’clock in the morning. Tug skippers, shipping men and the weather-wise made wagers among themselves, over the time the Carpathia would arrive. There were many who predicted confidently that the sorrow-laden liner would not be able to come up the channel before the dawn. CARPATHIA’S WELCOME RETURN. At 6 o’clock in the morning the wireless flashed to the shore that the Carpathia was abreast of the Nantucket light ship. This is 187 miles from Ambrose Light, at the entrance to the Channel. The Carpathia is rated as a thirteen knot boat, and it was not believed port would be reached until at least 11 o’clock at night. But a favorable wind beat upon the ship that was bringing home the grief-stricken women who had sailed so joyously on the Titanic. The gale that beat the waves, also hurried the ship on the last leg to port. It seemed that Captain Rostrom, in command, anticipating possibly that fog might make dangerous a trip up the channel in the night, had wished to avoid the scores of tugs that he knew would be sent to meet him. In consequence, the first word that came from Fire Island Light was vague and uncertain. They knew only that a great vessel, lighted from stem to stern, was approaching the harbor, but whether it was the Carpathia, the Mauretania or some other liner, could not be ascertained. But when the vessel came opposite Ambrose Light, there was no longer any doubt. From Sandy Hook to Quarantine and to all the stations up the channel the word was flashed that the Carpathia was coming. From the Battery to the Bronx the news spread and sent thousands hurrying toward the great Cunard docks. Then the tugs began snorting and steaming as they pushed the large hulk around in midstream. Slowly she yielded until headed straight toward the slip. The slow process was accomplished while a dozen other tugs pressed their noses against the sides, and those on board tried vainly to get some connected descriptions of the great catastrophe that stunned the peoples of two continents.