Georgiana had long learnt that in her society, looks, not facts, were the tools the strong needed to survive.
Jessop paused; Georgiana could tell she wasn’t going to get the entire truth, but enough would suffice. “She … I’m not entirely sure, My Lady. I think Mr Hamilton had something of hers that she wanted back. I do not believe she’s aware of the danger, nor the roll call of passengers that’s currently being inspected.”
Georgiana frowned. It was twenty past twelve; it would take her a spell to travel down to D Deck, especially if the elevators were out of service, which they likely were to be at this time of night. Though, it was possible that the Captain had ordered Bellhops to service them, now that he was inconveniencing his passengers by waking them up at some ungodly hour for a lifeboat drill. “Well, it’s likely someone has told her to return to the Boat Deck, is it not?”
“Possibly, My Lady. I don’t know when she left or who she may have seen.”
“Then I’ll have to find a way to go after her,” Georgiana frowned. Saying it didn’t make it any easier. How would she slip away?
“Would you like to change? What would you like me to fetch? A particular dress?”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. She wanted to return to bed, not dress as if she were attending another function. “No, just my mink coat, which is already fitted. Though see that you bring several blankets with you; they could be welcome if we’re to spend a long time out while the captain completes his repairs. I will wear boots, of course, but nothing more than the coat over my gown for now. I believe it will not be long before we’re instructed to retire for the night. Perhaps the Captain will save us all peace of mind and cancel this blasted drill.”
“It isn’t a drill, my darling,” William’s voice came. “We did hit an iceberg.”
“Yes, but you barely felt it, and I felt nothing. I don’t think it’s our fault that the iceberg hit us. And it clearly didn’t do any damage; otherwise we would have felt it. We didn’t.”
“I know. I’m just saying, it can’t be a drill. The captain’s just taking extreme precautions. I’ve heard that Captain Smith is a stickler for the rules and likes things to be just so.”
Georgiana turned to Jessop, beaming. “See? Everything will be fine. There isn’t a place safer than this ship.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Monday, 15th April, 1912
Rostron
Rostron, a tenacious man nearing his forty-third birthday, was rugged in his captain’s quarters, enjoying a night’s rest after a long, sixteen-hour day. He was dreaming of Ethel, his wife, and their children. He imagined he was back home, a solid twenty years younger than he was now, and they’d taken their children to Pembrokeshire in the summer. Ethel looked beautiful, and the children had enjoyed exploring the nearby castle. It had been one of his favourite holidays.
He was smiling, leaning in to kiss his wife – in his dream, her long, brown hair was blowing in the wind, even though she would never wear it down, or even leave the house, without a hat, when someone knocked at the door. “Who is it?” he’d asked in his dream, waiting for his wife’s answer. She didn’t give it; her mouth was open, black and empty. A moment later, a blinding white light entered his cabin room, and he sat up fast in bed.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he snapped; he’d had a long day; they were four days into their journey from New York to Trieste, and it was not gentlemanly behaviour for anyone to rush into the captain’s cabin without permission, especially so rudely. He rubbed his tired eyes, removing the crustaceans from them, realising it was young Harold Cottman, the Marconi employee, in front of him. He frowned; the boy was just a lad, not more than twenty-one; he did not know his place.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Cottman?” he repeated, ready to reprimand the young man.
“It’s the Titanic, sir,” Cottman’s voice came, rushed. Rostron realised the young man seemed flighty and uncertain; Rostron worked to tame his anger. The boy wouldn’t have woken him for no reason, he decided. Something about Cottman’s tone – an urgency – made Rostron sit upright.
“Spit it out, boy,” he said; he had no time for timewasters. If the boy had woken his slumber, he had to have good reason.
“She’s – they’ve sent a CQD, Captain,” the boy replied.
“A CQD?” Rostron frowned. “The Titanic? Are you sure?”
“Certain, sir. I messaged to confirm; Phillips and Bride are using the ship’s call sign. What should I do?”
“Do you have their location?” Rostron was already up, throwing on his Captain’s uniform as quickly as possible.
“Yes, sir. They say they are about sixty miles from here. What should I do, sir?”
Rostron nodded; the journey would take longer than he’d like; even at full speed, he could not hope to surpass fifteen knots; perhaps he could push her to sixteen, if he told his engineers to redirect all heating towards the engines. The passengers would lose their heating for the night; but they were tucked in bed. It was likely well after midnight; they wouldn’t notice, and they could request extra blankets if need be. If the Titanic was truly foundering, he hoped dearly there was a ship nearby; he didn’t want the Carpathia to be Titanic’s sole rescuer. “Return to the wireless room, and message the Titanic. Tell the men of our position, and that we’ll be turning the ship around, heading for her coordinates. Tell them we’ll be about four hours. Do not tell anyone of what you’ve informed me.”
“So – so the ship’s sinking, then?” Cottman asked, and Rostron realised the young man was looking for reassurance. “We’re really going to Titanic’s aid?”
“Nothing is certain in God’s world; we’re His pawns, used for a greater plan than either you nor I could endeavour to imagine. I cannot judge what I have not seen; all I know is that the ship is in distress, and I do not need to know more than that to adjust our course. Message the Marconi men on the Titanic and find out what you can; do it now. If the ship’s in trouble, there isn’t a moment we can waste.”
The young man hurried out of the Captain’s room, and Rostron made his way to the Bridge, signalling the change of route to the boiler rooms. He did not think the Titanic was in any serious harm, but he had a duty of care. He meant what he’d said to the young boy; nothing was certain in God’s world. The ship very well could sink; and if they were requesting his help, his help would be given, even if all turned out to be well.
After reaching the bridge, Rostron ushered a few of the officers into the helm, shutting the door. He turned to his First Officer. “The information I’m about to tell you is not to be leaked to the passengers, nor any crew not present,” Rostron started, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to contain the news spread. Someone always talked. Hopefully, however, by the time someone did, Rostron would be able to ascertain the Titanic’s situation better, and what distress they were in. “The wireless boy, Cottman, said the Titanic is transmitting a CQD; they claim they’ve struck ice, and are preparing the lifeboats. We are to adjust course, and rush to Titanic’s aid: North 52 West True. Have the officers and crewmen assemble all stations, but do not alarm the passengers. If, by chance, someone wakens, assure them everything is fine, and urge them to return to their cabin. We are going to need every man and woman at their assembled stations, readying ourselves to prepare for whatever may come.”
One of his officers stared at him. “Captain Rostron, it’s the Titanic.”
“And we have a duty of care, and due diligence. The Titanic has called for assistance, and we will heed that call.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Rostron turned to his chief engineer, Johnston, and told him to redirect all steam from all possible areas – including the staterooms – to the boilers. Johnston nodded solemnly; he’d spent near fifty years at sea, far longer than Rostron, and he seemed more aware than anyone of the gravities of what could transpire at sea. At times, Rostron felt that Johnston worshipped the sea in the way he did not worship God. Rostron tried not
to let his assumption bother him; he was a fiercely religious man, and at times, his devout nature could make him prickly. Being a punctilious man, Rostron liked things to be just so.
Johnston turned on his heel, opening and closing the bridge’s door. While Rostron waited for the summons of the other men, he began pacing; he needed to speak with Dr McGee, Purser Brown and Chief Steward Hughes to arrive. It was vital Rostron addressed them of their situation; and they were taking longer than he’d hoped. He wondered what was keeping them, as a knock rapped on the door.
“Enter.” The three men walked in, each addressing the captain.
Rostron paused, choosing his words wisely; the men were scarce likely to believe the Titanic was in actual distress any more than he did. However, it was not for Rostron to have an opinion; a ship had sounded distress, and regardless of what he thought of the ship’s capabilities, he needed to aid her. “You are to speak of what I’m about to tell you to no one, and I expect that each of you take the matter seriously. We are heading toward the Titanic, who has messaged with distress.” Dr McGee opened his mouth to speak, but Rostron raised a hand to silence him. “According to the Titanic’s operators, she has struck a berg, and the lifeboats are being prepared. It is unlikely that the Titanic is in any danger of foundering, though I have ensured that Cottman will regain contact with the Wireless men, and we will make further assessments as we reach her distress location. Regardless, it is our duty to ensure that we are able to help thousands of passengers if need be; it the Titanic truly is in peril, we will need to make sure we are prepared for thousands of passengers, perhaps more.
“Dr McGee, the first-class dining saloon will be converted so that you and your physicians may tend to those with injuries; ensure that the maids assemble as many blankets and rags for bandages as possible. You will need to instruct Dr Risicato and Dr Lengyel to assemble their dining areas for the same purpose. Have on hand any stimulations, bandages and blankets that can be spared on the Boat Deck, as well, so that any passengers can be immediately assisted. Ensure that each area is equipped to deal with any injuries that may present themselves when we arrive at the Titanic’s call location.”
Rostron turned to the purser, Mr Brown. “It will be the duty of you and yours to be ready to receive passengers via the gangways, with tea, coffee, soup, brandy and whiskey on hand, for the passengers to immediately receive. It’s colder than the ninth circle of hell tonight; if we arrive and these passengers are in distress, they’ll need every ounce of warmth we are able to spare. All the officers’ cabins are, of course, to be given up to passengers for accommodation, though we may need to use the general rooms, such as the library, if need be, with makeshift beds, and force passengers to share cabin rooms. The steerage passengers will need to be isolated according to America Immigration Law, so ensure they are confined to the third-class dining hall. Any passengers you see throughout the night are to be reassured that everything is fine, and that they should return to bed. Do not alert them to the idea that we may be racing to a sinking ship. If the passengers become aware, they’ll become excited by the gossip and roam the halls. We’ve a lot to achieve in a small space of time, gentlemen, and I shan’t wish time we don’t have waiting on passengers that, by rights, should be sleeping.” Rostron paused, looking each man in the eye. He found people were less likely to break vows when eye contact was made. It was difficult for a man to lie when looking in someone’s eye; and just as easy to catch it, if you knew what you were looking for.
“This is of the utmost importance, gentlemen. If we inform the passengers of the potential calamity, disorder and chaos will be sure to follow. It is imperative we reach the Titanic’s as orderly as possible, and we cannot have our stewards and officers distracted by the wanton desires of our more curious passengers.”
Each man nodded; their expressions solemn, not grave. Rostron couldn’t help but wonder if that would change. After all, it was easy to disbelieve that anything could, in fact, harm a ship as grand as the Titanic. Yet, he could feel God’s presence inside him, driving him, urging him on, as if a tiny voice – God’s voice – was telling him that this was his destiny.
Rostron moved to the Bridge, issuing further orders. “We need more lookouts,” he informed his quartermaster. “We need a few at the bow. The ice reports are grave, and we are potentially heading into an ice field where we know at least one vessel has suffered damage enough to issue the International Code of Distress. It’s a moonless night; by the time we see ice, it will be too late, and we will meet the same fate as the ship we are trying to assist. The seawater is calm, so do not try to watch for foam and wave breaks; you may not find them. Look for distorted images and mirages; it is likely an iceberg is hiding in the darkness. There is no moon tonight, so you need to look for the starlight twinkling on top of any bergs or growlers you may see. Keep sight for lights and flares as well as ice; it will help guide us to the ship’s position. Any questions?”
“Captain, it’s the Titanic,” Hughes said. “Are you sure it’s not a joke? Perhaps some first-class passengers got a little topsy turvy. Surely you don’t think she’s in real danger?”
“It’s not a matter of an opinion,” Rostron replied, terse. He was tired of repeating himself; he found the matter incredulous, as well, but didn’t they understand they had to heed the code? Titanic had called for distress. “It is our duty to respond to the call. If it were us, and need of assistance, would we not wish that every other available vessel came to our need?”
The men nodded, though Rostron could tell they found the situation wasn’t one of action, but curiosity. Rostron felt confident that his second officer understood the gravity of the situation; his face appeared displeased about the fact that they were heading into danger.
“Captain,” one of the able seamen asked, “is this wise?”
“It’s our duty to respond when a ship calls distress. We are close enough to hear the call, and we are close enough to assist.”
“But it’s the Titanic.”
“Yes,” he replied. “And it’s sinking.” Rostron wasn’t sure he believed it himself, but he didn’t want to repeat the argument.
“But the ship can’t sink,” the officer protested.
“Tell that to God,” replied Rostron, heading towards the helm of the bridge. “In the meantime, resume your posts and complete the tasks I’ve instructed.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Monday, April 15th, 1912
Smith
It was a long walk from the boilers and mailroom back to the Bridge. The entire time, Smith’s mind was filled with visions of letters and postcards floating aimlessly, reaching the ceiling of the mailroom; boiler rooms five and six were partially flooded and it seemed as if there would be no abating the water, even with the pumps; plenty of crew members, and even some of the steerage passengers, had awoken to water in the beds. Smith had seen them, running through the long corridors of the affectionately (and aptly) named Scotland Road.
Smith didn’t call for them to halt; he didn’t have it in him. There were three things in Captain Smith’s life he abided by, and held above everything: His God, his family, and the passengers and crew of the vessel he was commanding. Smith’s career, for the most part, had been untarnished; he was known for his impeccable safety record. He knew some of the crew resented his addendums and procedures; after all, sailing was the safest form of travel. There had been automobile accidents and plane accidents, but when White Star Line’s liner, the Republic, had foundered, only two men died, and the rest of the passengers had been saved due to Binns’ exceptional Marconi skills.
Yet, as every step took Smith closer to the Bridge, he knew one thing for certain: The Titanic was sinking. With water already reaching the Turkish Bath, Smith knew that the Titanic wouldn’t take long to reach the ocean floor.
The ship wasn’t equipped with lifeboats for but half; not that that was unusual. The Republic, when it had sunk, had the same amount, and yet all passengers had been
rescued by another liner, responding to the ship’s distress call.
A hollow pit had replaced Smith’s stomach.
The hope of the crew and passengers now lay in the fate of the Marconi officers, and whatever liner happened to be nearby, because the ship had two hours, at most, to live.
Many of the passengers and crew had less than that.
Titanic, Smith knew, would not survive the way the Olympic had, and unless a liner happened to be in the near vicinity, nor would her passengers likely to be saved.
We need to ensure there’s no panic, Smith thought dully, reaching the Bridge, calling his officers inside, formulating a plan in his mind. If the passengers realise there is no hope for survival, chaos will ensure. They cannot know that they are sentenced to die; it is imperative we save as many women and children as possible. Smith didn’t know how many they could likely save; there were two thousand, two-hundred-and-twenty-four souls under Smith’s protection.
“Men,” Smith began. “The Titanic has struck ice. She is taking on significant water, with the engine rooms filling up. The pumps are being prepared. I need you to prepare the lifeboats.”
“Women and children first, sir?” Lightoller asked. Smith liked Lightoller; he was a gentleman of the highest form.
“Yes,” Smith replied. “Women and children first. Have the band assembled. Play music. Pass drinks. Open the lounge, and if the men are keen, keep the liquor running in the Smoking Room. We need the passengers to remain calm and relaxed while we prepare the ship.”
“Is it serious?” Boxhall asked.
Smith wondered if he should convey the severity of Titanic’s calamity to the men. They should know some of what they’re facing, Smith decided. He wouldn’t tell them everything; if word spread among the passengers from a man’s loose lips, it would be a disaster. He would speak to his Chief, First and Second Officers later; for now, he would keep the matter closed. “It’s serious,” Smith replied. “We are taking on water. You should all address this with the urgency befitting an emergency.”
The Light in the Darkness 2 Page 7
