There was a light knock at the door.
“Come in,” Andrews said, not looking up from his notes.
Steward Henry Etches entered the room carrying a tray of fruit and tea.
“Where would you like this, sir?”
Andrews gathered some of the papers and piled them on one side of the desk.
“There will be fine, Henry,” he said, pointing to the spot he had cleared.
“Might I be of anymore assistance?”
“No.” Andrews smiled thinly up at the steward. “Thank you. That’ll be all for now.”
BRENNAN
Elise had felt fine when she went to bed.
She shared a room on D-deck at the stern of the ship with a woman much older than her, also travelling alone. They had talked briefly on her arrival the previous afternoon, but the older woman seemed more interested in keeping to herself.
Elise had found better company in the general room, including a number of other women around her age, and a French man whose advances were less than subtle.
Dinner that night had been equally satisfying.
Corned beef, sweet corn, boiled potatoes, fresh biscuits. Even dessert.
Her stomach had never felt so full.
In her things, she had brought along a diary to document her trip to America. So far, all it contained was trivial information about the ship, her roommate, the food. She had left out the part about Queenstown—the incident. She hadn’t even thought about it much.
She had showed the doctor the mark on the back of her neck during inspection yesterday.
She had lied and told him it was from a bug bite.
And he had said there was only a slight amount of redness that would probably go away soon, but to come see him again if she began noticing any other symptoms.
The first of the “other symptoms” came in the middle of the night.
She had woken suddenly in a cold sweat, her heart drumming inside her chest.
A moment later she was vomiting in the washbasin between the two beds, over and over again, each time reminded of what she ate for dinner. Thankfully, her roommate was a heavy sleeper.
Exhaustion lulled Elise back to sleep as well.
When she woke the second time, it was morning and her roommate was gone.
Her symptoms were not.
She visited the doctor again and told him about the vomiting.
The chills.
The lethargy.
The brutal headache that felt as if her brain wanted to grow beyond the limits of her skull.
The doctor had given her some Dover’s Powder and recommended lots of rest.
Rest?
It didn’t happen.
Hours later, she felt worse.
She remained in her cabin for most of the day, developing a high fever and continuing to vomit here and there and everywhere—all liquid, some of it blood.
In between sessions, she would write in her diary.
Everything, no more holding back.
The truth.
And the truth was there would be no dinner tonight. No fun, relaxation, or making new friends. No more enjoying the marvelous new ship.
Would she even make it to America?
Would she even make it through the night?
While the sun set in the west and passengers moved from the dining saloons to the smoking rooms, Elise lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, the realization finally taking hold.
She was going to die.
She knew it.
By the time she stumbled out of her room and up the stairwell, she no longer knew anything. Not where she was from. Not even her name.
The people she passed were blurry shadows, their voices a demonic cacophony of slurs.
They couldn’t help her.
They didn’t even try.
Elise Brennan came to a rest on the aft well deck at the ship’s stern, face up to the starry night, shaking from the cold and mumbling incoherently.
MARGARET BROWN
9:42 p.m.
Margaret Brown sat in the first-class lounge across from Colonel John Jacob Astor, the wealthiest passenger on the ship, and his second wife, Madeline.
Margaret had been travelling with her daughter Helen and the Astor party on a tour of Europe that led them from Egypt to Italy to France, when she received a telegram that her five-month-old grandson was ill. She immediately booked passage on the Titanic, while Helen stayed behind in Paris where she attended the Sorbonne.
They were discussing some of the sights they had seen when Thomas Andrews walked up.
“It was nice dining with you tonight,” said Andrews. “Are you enjoying everything so far?”
“Very much so,” John replied. Madeline smiled and nodded in agreement.
John Jacob Astor had been the topic of much gossip after divorcing his first wife and marrying nineteen-year-old, Madeline, who was twenty-eight years his junior, and one year younger than his son, Vincent. He had fled the states to get away from the public eye for a while, finally forced to return after Madeline became pregnant.
Andrews sat down in the empty seat next to Margaret. “And you, Mrs. Brown?”
“Of course I’m enjoying myself. You’ve put together one fancy ship here.”
The first-class lounge was decorated like the Palace of Versailles, the walls covered in rich wooden carvings and gold sconces. In the center, a three-foot wide chandelier filled the room with light. With plenty of seating and tables of all different sizes, many passengers were using the room to socialize over a game of cards.
“If you ain’t married yet, I bet you will be soon. And who is this Mrs. Brown? Call me Margaret.”
“I am married, in fact. My wife’s name is Helen.”
“No kidding. That’s my daughter’s name,” Margaret said.
“I have a daughter named Elizabeth. She’ll be two in November.”
“Well done, Mr. Andrews, well done. I wish you and your family all the best. I tell you what, I love my kids and grandkids to death, but I think I’m gonna take a break on the marriage thing for a while. I do hope one day my daughter will have the good sense to marry a man as hard working and well mannered as you. Closer to her age, of course. Don’t wanna end up like old John here.”
Margaret broke out into laughter. Andrews responded with a reluctant smile.
“Oh, Molly. All that money and still no self control,” said John, shaking his head.
“You ain’t gonna lecture me on self control, now are ya? And speaking of which, you know I hate the name Molly.”
John surrendered his hands in the air. “I’ll never say it again.”
“It seems I’ve wandered into more than I bargained for,” Andrews said, loosening up a bit.
“See, Mr. Andrews, I’ve been poor before and I may be poor again, but no amount of money is gonna change me. And John can go ahead and deposit that in the bank.”
A short time later, the Astor’s said goodnight and left for their stateroom. At her request, Thomas Andrews escorted Margaret out to the A-deck’s partially open promenade on the port side of the ship. The change in air temperature was startling after the heated comfort of the first-class lounge.
The deck was empty. No one else was brave enough to battle the cold.
Margaret gazed out into the dark expanse of the Atlantic, unusually still this evening.
“It’s so peaceful,” she whispered. “I know that must sound funny coming from me, a loud gal born on the Mississippi, but even I can appreciate a little tranquility every now and then.”
“Nothing funny about it at all. We could learn a lot from the sea and all the memories it holds. I think we would be wise to try and replicate that kind of enduring timelessness in our own lives.”
Margaret looked over the hand railing at the water below. “How cold do you think it is? The water, I mean.”
“Colder than the air. Thirties, perhaps.”
“So I guess swimming is out of the question.”
&
nbsp; Andrews smirked. “Only if it’s in the pool.”
They walked down the promenade deck, passing the first-class smoking room and the Verandah Cafe & Palm Court. Andrews talked about some of the changes he planned to make with the ship, while kindly listening to Margaret’s many suggestions, one of which was to stain some of the wicker furniture green.
“That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“You sound surprised,” Margaret said.
“Not at all. Perhaps surprised that I hadn’t thought of it first.”
“If that’s a compliment, I’ll take it.”
They reached the end of the promenade deck and stepped beyond the overhead enclosure and out into the open air. The wind blew much harder here than on the partially enclosed deck, although not nearly as hard as on the bow due to the ship’s forward momentum.
Andrews sat down on a wooden bench, the ship’s mainmast pointing high up into the dark sky in front of him, while Margaret peered over the white railing to the aft well deck below.
A young woman was stumbling around like she’d had too much to drink. By the look of the quaint dress she wore, Margaret guessed she was probably from steerage.
A second later, the woman collapsed underneath the outstretched arm of a white cargo crane.
“Miss! Miss!” Margaret yelled.
Andrews got up from the bench and walked up next to Margaret. “What’s the problem?”
Margaret pointed to the woman curled up on the ground. “I think she may have passed out. She’ll freeze out here.”
“Come. Let’s go down and help her.”
SECOND OFFICER
CHARLES H. LIGHTOLLER
The three senior officers worked four hours on and eight hours off. Second Officer Charles H. Lightoller was assigned the six to ten. He stood next to First Officer Murdoch in the chart room as they checked the ship’s progress.
At only thirty-eight-years-old, Charles Lightoller had already experienced more to life than most men twice his age. At thirteen, he began a four-year apprenticeship at sea. One year into it, he found himself shipwrecked for eight days off a small, uninhabited island in the Indian Ocean. The next few years he would survive a cyclone and help save a ship known as the Knight of St. Michael that had caught fire.
In 1898, he went to prospect for gold in the Yukon but was unsuccessful. He even briefly worked as a cowboy in Canada, before finally hitching a ride on a cattle boat back to England.
Lightoller had come to the White Star Line looking to settle into a more stable career, and over the course of twelve years, moved up the ranks aboard such distinguished vessels as the Majestic and the Oceanic. When he was offered a role on the Titanic under the command of Captain Smith (whom he had worked under on the Majestic), Lightoller jumped at the opportunity.
Thought by many as having a steadfast and unyielding temperament, Lightoller had little patience for those who did not take this brand of work seriously, and had no problem letting them know. He was often seen staring off into the horizon smoking his pipe.
During each four-hour watch, the officers were expected to perform a number of tasks, such as checking the maps, checking weather reports and wire messages, scanning the horizon for other ships or icebergs, checking the water temperature, and occasionally supervising the helmsman on the bridge. When a watch concluded, the officer must give a report to his relief in order to keep everyone up to date on the latest information.
It was just after ten and Lightoller’s four-hour evening watch had come to a close. It was Murdoch’s watch now, and Lightoller would begin again at six in the morning.
“We’re running at twenty-one knots. We’ve covered a little over five hundred miles since we left Queenstown,” said Murdoch. “Not exceptional, but certainly within reason.”
“The captain seems pleased,” Lightoller added. “Slower speed means less vibration and a smoother ride, and overall passenger’s comments have been positive.”
Murdoch nodded in agreement. “Still, given the current rate, we should be in New York by Wednesday morning.”
Lightoller followed Murdoch from the chart room to the bridge. Quartermaster Hichens was at the wheel with Sixth Officer James Moody standing by his side. From the large window that looked out on to the bow, lookout’s Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee could be seen standing in the crow’s nest atop the foremast scanning the night sea.
Lightoller briefly engaged in light conversation, and then bid them farewell and headed out to do his final sweep of the ship.
He began at the upper most deck, the boat deck, and walked the length of the ship with a cold wind blowing at his back. Along the way, he passed the captain and officer quarters (where soon he would go to rest), the forward entrance to the first-class staircase, and also the gymnasium.
The boat deck got its name from the twenty lifeboats that lined the outer edge, sixteen of which were connected to davits by ropes. Two of these called emergency cutters were always kept swung-out for quick descent, as in the case of a passenger accidently falling overboard. The four boats not attached to davits had collapsible canvas sides for easy storage and to maximize deck space.
Between the third and fourth funnels was the engineers mess room. A few of the crew said hello to him as he briefly stepped inside and out of the wind to load and light his pipe. He took a heavy drag and then left to continue his security check.
The end of the boat deck came just past the entrance to the second-class staircase and elevators. Lightoller used a vertical iron ladder to climb down to A-deck and then another to get to B-deck. From here, he could see there was no one on the stern of the ship. Most passengers had already headed to their staterooms, and those that hadn’t yet resigned to bed were inside one of the lounges or smoking rooms, out of the bitter air.
Lucky them, Lightoller thought. The wind was making it hard for him to keep his pipe lit. He huddled under the enclosed starboard walkway to relight, when he saw them hurrying toward him.
He didn’t recognize the woman, but the man was clearly Thomas Andrews.
“Is there a problem?” Lightoller asked.
“A woman collapsed on the deck just below here,” said Andrews. “If you could be so kind to help us.”
“And who is that?” Lightoller pointed at the shipbuilder’s female companion who didn’t stop to chat and continued down a short set of stairs.
“Oh, forgive her. That’s Margaret Brown.”
Lightoller followed Andrews down the steps to the aft well deck. The woman Andrews spoke of was lying motionless on the ground under a rotating crane, Margaret down beside her.
“Come on now, can you hear me?” Margaret lightly patted the young woman on her face to get her attention, unsuccessfully. “She’s so cold. She’s barely even breathing.”
“I don’t think she got this way from drinking too much,” said Andrews, looking panicked.
“She needs to see a doctor immediately.”
“Guess we’ll have to carry her then,” Lightoller said, taking one final puff before extinguishing his pipe. “Grab her feet.”
A small third-class hospital was located just below them on D-deck. Margaret led the way down the stairs with Andrews and Lightoller following with the young woman in tow.
They ran into Catherine Wallis, the third-class matron, on the landing for C-deck. Catherine was in charge of helping third-class passengers get around the ship, or with things such as using the toilets, which many of them had never seen before, and was to monitor and report any signs of illness.
“Is Dr. O'Loughlin on duty?” asked Lightoller.
“Not this late,” Catherine replied.
“Better go wake him up.”
Catherine took a long look at the young woman currently being held up under her arms by the second officer. “That’s Miss. Brennan.”
“You know her?” Margaret asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Elise Brennan. I helped her to the hospital this morning. She complained of stomach pain. What’s
happened to her?”
“I don’t know,” said Lightoller. “But I don’t think this is stomach pain. As I said, better wake up the doc. We’re taking her down to D.”
Catherine hurried up the stairs to C-deck where William O'Loughlin stayed.
Lightoller and Andrews carried the young woman named Elise down one more flight of stairs and then around a corner to the small hospital opposite the stairwell on D-deck.
The third-class hospital contained three rooms, one main room for examinations, and two small bedrooms for patients. A larger hospital with more beds was located further down D-deck beyond the second-class dining saloon.
Once inside the hospital, Andrews and Lightoller lifted Elise on to the examination table. Margaret helped by wrapping her in some spare blankets she found in a storage closet.
“They need to hurry up.” Lightoller slipped back out into the stairwell but saw no sign of Catherine or the doctor.
“She seems to be warming back up real fast,” Margaret said.
“Is that a good sign?” Andrews asked.
“Heck if I know.” Margaret gently brushed her fingers down Elise’s face trying to soothe her. “Come on, dear. Stay with us. Listen to my voice. Just stay with us.”
Catherine Wallis delivered Dr. William O’Loughlin to the third-class hospital over ten minutes after the meeting on D-deck. She had also managed to round up Dr. John Edward Simpson, O’Loughlin’s assistant surgeon, and the hospital steward William Dunford.
Lightoller and company stood back as the two doctors immediately went to work, unwrapping Elise from the blanket and checking her vital signs.
First for a heart rhythm using a stethoscope.
“Her heart is beating very slowly,” said O’Loughlin. “Her temperature?”
“North of 104,” Dr. Simpson replied.
“Jesus,” Margaret gasped.
O’Loughlin checked her eyes. “Unreceptive to changes in light or movement, but otherwise no obvious abnormalities. Officer Lightoller, you say you found her like this outside?”
Titanic With ZOMBIES Page 2
