Tom nodded, not taking his eyes from Murdoch. It took all his willpower to not demand he get the captain immediately. Murdoch exchanged an uncomfortable look with Moody as he went to rouse the captain. Tom checked the time. 10:40 p.m. One hour to go. One hour!
Knowing he had no real right to be on the bridge, Tom moved outside and over to the railing. Give Smith time to check things. He can’t miss those bergs marked on the map!
At nearly 11:00, he felt a presence beside him and looked up into Captain Smith’s frown. “Jitters, Tommy?” Smith asked quietly.
“Sir?”
Captain Smith looked away, out into the darkness, and considered his words. “You know sailing, Tom. I know you understand the risks we take, the fine line between caution and cowardice.” He looked back at Tom. “It’s a good crew we have, in the bridge and in the nest. They know their jobs. I’ve been at sea a long time, you know. Long before these wireless messages came along to add confusion to what should be straightforward decisions. I’ll tell you, I don’t entirely trust them. You and I both know the bergs move with the currents and we can’t pinpoint their exact locations. I’ve often run at night and I’ve never hit a berg.”
Tom nodded, heart pounding as Smith continued. “Bruce Ismay has made a few suggestions regarding course and speed. You are pestering my crew. Now I know Bruce owns the ship and you know the ship. But Thomas, I’m the captain of the ship. You and Bruce need to back off and let me do my job.”
Tom struggled to swallow past the dread filling his throat. Smith’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Tom. “Do you have a premonition, lad? I’ll tell you, in forty years of being on the sea, I’ve never had a real problem, but I’ve seen enough and heard enough to not ignore an experienced seaman’s nerves. Are you that worried about the ice?”
Tom’s breath returned. “Yes, Captain. I’m not a superstitious man, but sir, we need to slow down. I know that as well as I know my name.” He turned to stare at the night. “There’s a berg out there with our name on it. I’m sure of it.”
He glanced back and saw Captain Smith’s blink of surprise. “It could be,” Smith said reasonably, “that slowing down will put us right in its path. If our name’s on it, it’s possible that any action we take will bring us right to it.”
Tom nodded at this, looking at Smith earnestly. “Aye, it might. But if we’re moving slower, or better yet, stopped, the damage will be less. We need to do what we can.”
Smith stared out at the water a moment, before nodding slightly. “I’ll take it under consideration, Tom.” He turned, his expression unreadable. “That’s all I can do on the strength of a premonition. I’ll not run my ship based on superstition, but I’ll re-examine the ice reports and our heading. In the meantime, I’ll request that you return to your stateroom and cease bothering my crew. Can I count on that?”
“Aye, Captain. Thank you, sir,” Tom said, and he moved to follow his orders.
Dunallon—3:30 a.m.
Sam wearily looked up from his journal as Casey limped into the library, arms around her stomach. She looked ill and old, pain etching her pale face, her eyes hollow and lined with dark circles. His breath caught in his throat and he stood to put his arms around her and hold her.
Neither one of them found anything to say.
Titanic—11:30 p.m.
Tom’s breathing was unsteady and his heart was pounding. He stood in his cabin, staring at the door, waiting. Another heartbeat went by and he knew he couldn’t take any more. The captain’s implied order had been for Tom to remain in his room, but as long as he didn’t bother the crew, Tom felt he could be outside. He couldn’t stay in place another minute. He walked quickly out to the forward boat deck and stood out of the way, watching ahead with complete intensity. He saw nothing.
The boats creaked against the ropes, the ship continued to sail at a fast clip; Captain Smith had not reduced speed. A powerful ship, clean and strong, but not indestructible. His spine straightened with rage. He had built her for a full life. Careless fools would deny her that.
11:40 p.m. He saw it at the same moment he heard the shout from the lookout.
“Iceberg, right ahead!”
God almighty! A black mountain was suddenly there in the darkness, blocking the stars. So close.
Too close.
He couldn’t move. For a wild, dizzy moment, he was filled with thoughts of home, feeling the softness of Casey as she moved beneath him, his nostrils filled with the smell of her skin, hearing her moans. If longing could move time and space, he could have reached out and twisted open a portal to take him home instantly.
The moment was gone in the same instant the ship shuddered around him. Screeching metal filled his ears as the ship scraped the berg, a stretch of time that seemed to last forever. Shouts from the crew rang out, orders were given and repeated.
With a vision of Sam’s description of the damage in his head, he raced for the crew stairway in the bow. He heard shouts from below. As he neared the Orlop Deck, he encountered frantic stokers racing up the stairs, and heard the watertight doors clanging as they closed. The saline smell of seawater reached him as he struggled past the men, pausing when he came to water, flowing along the deck. He saw no damage. The excited stokers milling about told him they’d barely escaped before the doors came down. A few mentioned names of those behind them; they had not seen them get out, although they still had access to the escape ladders.
“The hull buckled real sudden,” they told him, “like holes being poked all along the side. Water’s pouring in.”
He ran down the last flight of stairs to the tank top, which was really the top of the double bottom. The watertight doors to the sixth compartment were closed here, and as above, there was water pooling on the deck. He could see no other damage here, and he took a few minutes to run the length of the deck he could reach, checking for cracks. It looked clear.
Remembering that Officer Boxhall would perform a cursory examination and report no damage to Captain Smith, Tom abandoned his investigation and raced up to the bridge. As he approached, he heard Bruce Ismay’s voice.
“Perhaps we should restart the engines and head for Halifax. I believe it’s the nearest port.”
Tom moved faster, entering the bridge nearly at a run. “Don’t move this ship!” he shouted. Smith and Ismay turned, startled at his appearance. Ismay’s lips tightened in annoyance, but Tom addressed the Captain. “The hull’s been damaged in the forepeak and at least four compartments. Further investigation is needed to determine the full extent. But sir, you must not start the engines again until we know exactly where we stand. If the bottom is damaged the tank top could rupture.”
This is what happened in the other timeline, according to Sam. Moving the ship forward, even for a few minutes, had greatly increased the flow of water into the ship. It had been the final, fatal mistake.
Ismay spoke before Smith said anything. “Andrews, how soon can we be under way?”
Captain Smith stood straighter, his expression stern and determined.
“Have you seen the damage?” he asked Tom quietly, ignoring Ismay. “You’ve been below?”
“Aye, Sir. I need more time to look it over.”
Smith nodded once, and gestured to Tom to lead the way down. “Let’s go see for ourselves, shall we?” He turned to Murdoch. “Remain at full stop. Send the carpenter down to help sound the ship.”
Tom felt a brief rejoicing. At last! Something has changed! He left the bridge with Smith behind him.
At the first compartment, they climbed the short ladder to the upper hatch, swinging it open. They stared in dismay at the water flowing freely down the bulkhead and pooling on the deck below. It was worse the farther forward they went. The forepeak was completely flooded. Tom estimated the flow rate in each compartment as best he could. They discovered holes in the sixth compartment as well. The water flow was much slower there, moving in a thin, but solid, stream down the wall in three places.
“The post
office is flooded,” Tom remarked as they reached the staircase on their way back to the bridge. He spoke quietly as there were a few passengers about, whispering to each other or to stewards. They looked curiously at Smith and Tom, but no one approached.
Smith’s face was tight. “I’ll see if they need help moving the mail. Would you bring the ship’s plans to the bridge? We’ll discuss the damage with the staff in a few minutes.”
They parted and Tom went to his room to retrieve the plans. He paused a moment as he entered. His stateroom was quiet and clean, just as he had left it. Vertigo seized him and made the room spin for a moment. He rubbed his face with his hands.
The entire world had changed. He’d known it was coming, but now that it was here, he felt inadequate and guilty, full of fear. All this time, I’ve never faced the reality of this. It’s all been hypothetical. I never believed it would really happen.
He should have stopped it.
Smith, Lightoller, Chief Officer Wilde, and Bruce Ismay were waiting in the chart room when he arrived. He spread the plans on the table.
Six compartments were flooding. Tom showed them the consequences of their collision, pointing out the sections on the plan. “The watertight doors are all sealed, but these compartments are filling with water. Once the water reaches C Deck, it’ll start flooding into the stair wells.”
Ismay sputtered, but Captain Smith held up a hand to silence him, never taking his eyes off of Tom. “Will she stay afloat?”
“No sir.” Tom thought for a moment that those words would kill him.
“That’s ridiculous! This ship can’t sink.” Ismay moved next to them, sounding angry, but uncertain.
“Without a double hull, the water is filling those compartments. It will reach the top of the bulkheads on C Deck and from there will flood the rest of the ship. We have no way of blocking off the stair wells past that point.” Tom could barely bring himself to look at Ismay, he was so angry.
“What about the pumps?” the Captain asked.
Tom shook his head. “The pumps have a new efficient mechanism developed recently, but they can’t stop it. They buy us time, though. A few hours, maybe.”
He reached for paper and pencil, making a rough calculation. “Conservatively, we can stay afloat for about four hours, maybe five.” Whatever else, they were in better shape than in the other time line, when the ship had sunk in two-and-a-half hours. “We need to get everyone off this ship, quickly, and call for help.”
~~~
RMS Carpathia, North Atlantic, 1:30 a.m.
Harold Cottam sighed with relief as he pulled off his dratted boots and pulled down the sheets. This was the last time he ever went to sea as the lone wireless operator. In the future, if he didn’t have a backup, he wouldn’t take the job. He had hoped to turn everything off and be in bed an hour ago, once he received a reply from the liner Parisian. But that reply had required a response, and now he was waiting for a confirmation to that. But that was it. He was going to bed the second the response came through.
Once he was ready for bed, to keep himself awake for the reply, he switched over to the Titanic’s frequency. He’d heard several messages come in for them, but they had not been replying. Eejits, he sniffed disdainfully. They had two wireless operators and still couldn’t keep up!
Ah, they were transmitting, now. Too tired to translate, he leaned on his elbow and listened to the clicks, until something made him sit up. What was that? Had that been a CQD? All Stations Attend: Distressed. He started translating automatically. The Titanic was broadcasting her position. He wrote it down and waited. Nothing else happened and he tapped quickly: Repeat your message. Did you say CQD?
The reply came back in an instant: Yes. Come at once. We have struck a berg Old Man. Going down by head. CQD. CQD. They repeated their coordinates.
“Blimey,” Cottam breathed. Throwing on his boots and jacket, but otherwise not bothering to dress, he grabbed the message and ran to the bridge. He presented his disheveled self to the first officer, who read the message and pulled Cottam with him to the captain’s quarters.
Captain Rostron had just fallen asleep, leaving him groggy and irritated at the interruption, but the message he read woke him instantly. Dressing quickly, he took the others to the chart room to determine distance and course. He sent Cottam back with a message for Titanic: we’ll be there in four hours. Then he immediately began giving orders to turn his ship into a rescue boat.
~~~
Dunallon, Monday 15 April 1912, 4:00 a.m.
Neither Sam nor Casey knew when they could expect news. The telegraph office opened at six, but they had no idea when a specific telegram would be sent to someone at Harland & Wolff and from there, to them. They did expect that telegraphed messages were flying through the airwaves from ship to ship as Titanic called for help, and these would be picked up by various news sources. News should be getting out soon.
If events followed the original timeline, Titanic would have hit the iceberg at 3:40 a.m., Belfast time. By 6:20, she would have sunk and Tom would be gone. Casey, fighting rising panic and despair, fainted twice, until Sam insisted she lie down on the sofa. He put a pillow under her feet and a cool rag on her forehead and forbade her to move.
At seven o'clock, the doorbell rang. Ham stood on the step, his hat in hand, his long face miserable, as he faced Sam. "Dr. Altair," he began, and paused in shock as Casey came into view. Sam realized how strange her appearance must seem to Ham: her hair was loose and wild, her face pale and pinched, with deep lines around her mouth, her eyes groggy and unfocused.
Ham seemed to throw off his shock, though, stepping inside and gripping her shoulders. "Casey, I have some news. Let me say first that, as far as we know, Tom is okay."
Her expression didn't change and he took an uncertain breath. "We're still trying to find out what's happened, but wireless messages between ships at sea have been picked up by several news services. Mr. Kempster received a call about an hour ago from a reporter who had heard about the messages."
He glanced at Sam, instinctively begging for help with Casey's blankness. "Titanic hit an iceberg sometime last night. We don't have details, so we don't know when it happened or what the damage was. The last we heard, they're loading people onto boats. We know that several ships are working their way to her. That's all I know."
Casey stared at him a moment, her hands on his chest, but before she spoke, Sam put a hand on each of them and turned them toward the parlor. "Sit down, Ham," he directed, as he guided Casey to a divan. She went with no argument, staring blankly at the floor. Sam sat next to her, bringing his attention back to Ham. "Do you have any idea of when or how you'll learn more?"
Ham swallowed, hard. "Carpathia is excepted to arrive within the hour. We'll have to give them time to rescue everyone, which could take several hours. We hope to hear more sooner than that, but we're uncertain." He shifted as Casey's haunted eyes moved up to watch him. "You see, they are much closer to New York than to us. The messages we're getting are being passed on from other ships as they move in and out of range. It's quite haphazard, I'm afraid. We've sent inquiries, but have not received any replies. We don't expect to, really. We must allow them to concentrate on their situation, and understand they cannot take the time to send information."
Casey placed a hand on Sam's arm and stood up. Both men stood awkwardly, not sure what to expect. Her gaze at Ham was direct, with eyes that were suddenly clear. "Is there someone at the telegraph office? How is Harland & Wolff getting the information?"
"George Cummings is down there, with a few of the office boys. Since we're not having any telegrams addressed to us, Mr. Kempster thought it best to remain on the scene. George is having the boys run information to us, although someone at the telegraph office is letting him use a phone there, too." Ham twisted his hat and held out a hand to her. "We're getting it in bits and pieces, Casey. I'll return to the office and call you every time I get more news. Is that all right?"
"Has any
one contacted Tom's parents?"
Ham shook his head. "We wanted to talk to you first."
She nodded. "I'll talk to them. Go back, Ham. Let me know everything. Even if it doesn't make sense. Even if you don't trust it. Call immediately."
He nodded, giving her a piercing look before heading for the door. She turned to Sam, lips tight, cheeks flushed with color against her paleness.
"There's been no change." She was almost accusing him.
"That we know of," he reminded her. "We really have very little news. Remember, even if the collision occurs exactly as before, we have higher bulkheads, better pumps. This will certainly give them more time. We have forty-eight lifeboats and perhaps enough time to load them up. Don't lose hope."
She reached for his hand. "Will you gather the staff? I'll speak to them after I talk to Tom's parents."
Chapter 41
15 April 1912 Titanic, 12:08 a.m.
Captain Smith ordered all hands on deck and assigned Chief Officer Wilde to see to the lifeboats. He sent crew to wake all passengers, to tell them to dress warmly, put on their life belts and where to wait. Blankets were collected. Tom offered the help of the guarantee group. His electrician, Billy Parr, was already below, but the others could help with the lifeboats and in assembling passengers. Captain Smith agreed.
Tom took immediate action. This scenario had been discussed at length with Sam and Casey over the years, and he already knew what he wanted the guarantee group to do. "There was chaos in third class," Sam had told them when they first discussed it a few years ago while sitting in the garden. "No one gave them instructions, and they all just waited below until it was too late. Those who tried to find the lifeboats got lost because they didn't know their way around the ship. A lot of them didn't speak English, and there were no translators."
Tom knew that some stokers had probably died when the iceberg hit. He was determined to not lose another soul to this disaster. That meant taking charge of third class. He gathered the guarantee group and gave them instructions.
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