The Titanic Plan

by Michael Bockman

  “Astor,” Vanderbilt blurted. “You were right, Mr. Morgan. He’s simply impossible. An unremitting, unreliable, excuse the expression, jackass. He’s lazy, he’s autocratic, and ever since that spoiled little teenage brat has become his wife, he doesn’t care about anything or anyone else. He’s become her lapdog. And now she’s pregnant and insists they return to the States immediately.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. The fact that he’s distracted might not be a bad thing. It will give you more opportunity to run the meeting.”

  “He wants to cancel the meeting! They want to be on the first ship home and damn us all! It doesn’t matter that we invited all those gentlemen to Rome. He’s going to turn around and abandon them. And he asked me to clean up the mess. He wants me to somehow make things right when nothing is right! I’m done. I’m going to call the whole thing off.”

  Morgan stroked his chin calmly. “Calling the whole thing off now is a little extreme, don’t you think? Especially considering how far you’ve taken it.”

  “I don’t see any other choice. I can’t work with Astor any longer.”

  “But I like your project, George. I believe everything you’ve said about it is true – it will revitalize business and is the most important project of the 20th Century. I believe your plan could accomplish everything you’ve set out for it.”

  “Not with Astor.”

  “Who says Astor has to be involved?”

  “It’s his project. He won’t relinquish control.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Things change,” Morgan said in a soft, steely voice. “That’s the nature of business. Things change.” Morgan tugged his robe closed around his belly, shut his eyes and leaned back in the chair. His mouth dropped open and he became lost in thought. A minute went by. Then two. Morgan didn’t move a muscle. Vanderbilt began wondering if Morgan hadn’t died right in the middle of their conversation. But just then Morgan rubbed his pitted nose. “I have an idea...” Morgan said, still looking up at the ceiling “…an idea that can solve all of the problems. And it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.” He leveled his head. His blue eyes were ablaze. “Do you understand, George?”

  “I’m not sure I do, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Of course not,” Morgan smiled. “What if I told you that the unions had agreed to allow this project to go forward if certain amenities were given to them? Hmmm? What would you say?”

  “I’d say that would be a major development, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Yes, it is a major development. And now Astor wants to subvert everything and that’s the best thing that could have happened. It’s as if the planets were struggling to align and Astor, by acting in a selfish, stupid way, is nudging everything into place. It’s all crystal clear,” Morgan asserted, his voice strong and steady. It was the voice of a banker, but filled with something different – there was a spark of zealous inspiration behind it. Vanderbilt had never seen Morgan so fired with passion. “It’s been like this throughout my life, George. Divergent things fall into place and a clear path is revealed. I’m a religious man. I believe in God and he has often shown me a way even when there was no apparent way perceptible. Now God is showing me a way with this project. And when the Lord directs me to take a certain road, to carry through with certain actions, I don’t ask questions, I just follow his orders. And I believe he is directing me – directing us – to put our country on solid footing with we businessmen leading the way. Astor’s belligerence will allow us to remove the excess debris so there is a clear path for us to succeed. Are you onboard with me, George?”

  “Of course I am, Mr. Morgan,” Vanderbilt said, unsure what he was onboard to.

  “It’s a big step we’ll be taking,” Morgan said. “But a necessary one if this project is to succeed. So…” Morgan tapped his fingers on his armrest, “…we must have that meeting and it must take place with the men who have traveled here.”

  “What about Astor?”

  “Him, too. He must not only be there, but he has to be in charge.” Morgan smiled a strange, enigmatic smile. “That’s what he really wants, right?”

  * * *

  “Hello?” Archie said, answering the phone in his room.

  “Major Butt. It’s George Vanderbilt. How are you?”

  “I’m well. Thank you, Mr. Vanderbilt.”

  “I read in the newspapers that you have already arrived in Rome.”

  “Yes, some 10 days ago. I was going to get in touch with you or Mr. Astor about the details for that meeting.”

  “That’s why I’m calling,” Vanderbilt said. “A complication has risen. John Astor’s wife is with child.”

  “That’s wonderful. Congratulations are in order for Colonel Astor.”

  “Yes, but this happy news has necessitated a change in plans. It seems it’s imperative that Astor’s wife return to the United States immediately for health reasons and Astor feels it’s necessary that he return with her. That complicates our plans for the meeting we are to begin next week.”

  “Yes, it would seem to throw a wrench into things if Astor has to return home.”

  “Fortunately, Mr. Morgan has come up with a solution that we hope could satisfy everyone’s needs. It would necessitate some changes in travel plans though.”

  “Do tell, Mr. Vanderbilt.”

  “Well…Mr. Morgan has proposed that we move the meeting to his White Star ship that sails for America next week. Mr. Morgan says it will give us the seclusion needed for the meetings and allow us to focus on the work. Anyway, Mr. Morgan has been gracious enough to make sure there are staterooms available for all of us so that we could do business in the most comfortable circumstances. Most everyone I’ve informed has said they will make it. I would hope you would be able to be onboard with us.”

  Whether he wanted to or not, Archie knew that he had to be at the meetings, if only because the President requested he find out the details of the project. “Yes. I believe that would be fine with me, Mr. Vanderbilt.”

  “I’ll make sure your passage is booked,” Vanderbilt said. “And, of course, all your expenses will be covered.”

  “I will be traveling with one other person. My valet, Henry Kosinski.”

  “I’ll book his passage as well. The ship departs April 10. It’s the liner’s maiden voyage. The Titanic. Should be an absolutely divine cruise.”

  CHAPTER 55

  It started as a bright and blustery spring day along the docks in Southampton, England, a day where the whole world seemed to shine. The great ship stood ten stories high and nearly a sixth of a mile long, a monument in steel to the shipbuilding technology of the era. There was a celebration for her send off, though it was not excessive – that occurred at her Belfast launch the previous year. While the Titanic was the biggest (46,328 tons) and most luxurious liner ever to sail, she was only a smidgen larger and a tad more elegant than her celebrated twin sister, the Olympic. Although there were no bands playing or fireworks being shot into the air, there was excitement – harried porters rushing to and fro hauling stacks of luggage; curious locals crowding the dock to catch a glimpse of the majestic ship; eager passengers waiting restlessly in long, snaking lines that led to a boarding agent who stood at the bottom of the gangways. Archie and Henry waited patiently in the first-class line. When they finally stepped to the gangway, the boarding agent greeted them with a sharp “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Archie answered. “Archibald Butt, First Class, with my manservant, Henry Kosinski.”

  The agent peered at his boarding list and flipped through several pages. His brow furrowed. “I have you, Major Butt, but I do not see Mister Kosinski listed.”

  “I’m his valet,” Henry piped up. The agent acted as if he didn’t hear Henry, lowering his eyes again and examining the boarding list. “He was booked into second class,” Archie added.

  “I am sorry, sir,” the agent said, sounding not very sorry at all. “But there is no record of that booking.”

  “George Vanderbi
lt took care of the reservation,” Archie stated firmly. “It was done at the behest of Mr. J. P. Morgan. Surely you will let my valet board.”

  “If he doesn’t have a ticket or verified reservation, I certainly cannot let him board.”

  The crowd in line behind Archie began getting restless. There were a few shouts to get on with it. “Well, where can we get a ticket?” Archie asked, trying hard to maintain his civility. The agent pointed through the thicket of people that packed the dock to a building some distance away. “Tickets are sold at White Star ticket office.”

  “And how much would his fare be?” Archie inquired. The crowd behind them was growing even more unsettled.

  “Twenty-seven pounds for second class. But all those tickets have sold out. So sorry,” the agent said, still not sounding very sorry.

  Archie opened his wallet and pushed close to the agent. “Thirty pounds. The boy boards now and stays in my berth. No one knows but me and you...” Archie pressed several bills into the agent’s palm. “Unless you want me to bother Mr. Morgan about this problem?”

  The agent huffed indignantly then flicked his hand, waving the two onto the gangplank.

  Stateroom B-38 was on an upper deck, only a few steps from the entrance to the centerpiece of the Titanic, the Grand Staircase. With its patterned silk wallpaper and gilded lamp fixtures, the stateroom oozed elegance. There was one large bed in the corner of the room with a thick red satin spread over the mattress. “I need a nap, Henry,” Archie said as he stepped into the room.

  “You can’t sleep now, Captain. We gotta get to the deck for the send off.”

  “You go. I’m going to get a little shut-eye. You can wake me when we get to Cherbourg.” Archie plopped onto the mattress.

  Henry grabbed Archie’s hand and tugged. “Com’on Captain. You and me, we ain’t never gonna see somethin’ like this again.”

  “Of course we will, Henry.”

  “No, not somethin’ this big. Let’s go, Captain,” Henry insisted. Archie grumbled as the boy kept pestering him until he finally gave in.

  The Titanic’s engines were already churning when the two reached the first class promenade. Plumes of black smoke blasted from the ship’s four massive smokestacks and a swell of cheers rose from the dockside crowd. Whistles blew and the ship began floating away from its berth. Henry waved to the crowd below who flapped their handkerchiefs back. As the Titanic started through the harbor, its massive bulk created an enormous wake. A smaller liner, the New York, was caught in the mammoth turbulence. Its rope moorings drew taut, then snapped, popping like gunshots. The frayed ropes arced into the air, scattering people along the dock. The wake then sucked the New York right toward the Titanic.

  At the helm of the Titanic, Captain Edward Smith – a venerated sailor making his retiring voyage for White Star – frantically ordered his port propeller surged to create a backwash that would push the New York away. But the ships continued to drift closer like magnets inescapably attracted to each other. It appeared certain that their hulls would smash together. A similar harbor accident happened seven months earlier and sent the Olympic – also piloted by Captain Smith – to the repair docks. A crash would have ended the Titanic’s maiden voyage before it even left Southampton. There was a frantic whistle, then, with less than 10 feet separating the ships, the stern of the New York glided to the Titanic’s port side and began inching away. The New York just missed hitting the Titanic’s steel hull. Disaster was averted – barely.

  “Wow!” shouted Henry, his eyes as wide as saucers, “That was close!” Archie couldn’t believe what he just witnessed. The dark premonitions that had been suppressed once again bubbled to the surface. The passengers who were festively celebrating the departure on the deck became eerily quiet. A few onboard were so shaken they decided to disembark the ship in Cherbourg. But most passengers quickly forgot the incident – if they were aware of it at all – and the Titanic steamed away into the English Channel, sailing past the Isle of Wight toward Cherbourg for its second boarding of the day.

  Because of the delay in Southampton, it was already dark when the Titanic anchored outside the harbor at Cherbourg. The liner was too large for the French port so a smaller tender, the Nomadic, loaded the new boarding passengers on the Cherbourg docks to ferry them to the boat. A squall was blowing in and the Nomadic was bobbing at its mooring, occasionally smashing into the wood dock with unsettling thuds. The gangplanks that led to the tender swayed from side to side, turning the simple boarding into something of an amusement park adventure.

  There were only 274 people coming aboard, among them were John Astor and Madeleine, the Wideners, John Thayer, and Frank Millet, who decided to join Archie, having finished his business at the Academy. Darkness had already descended when the Titanic departed Cherbourg. The port sparkled like a crescent jewel box with the crown jewel steaming out of the harbor and into the night.

  Archie had left Henry in the stateroom and met Millet for dinner. The first class dining room was buzzing. Men were in tuxedoes, women in evening gowns. The dinner conversation that night was mostly about the ship. While almost all of the first class passengers were Transatlantic veterans, few had experienced the supreme luxury the Titanic offered – a full gymnasium, a Squash Court, Turkish baths, a large swimming pool, opulent sitting rooms, a smoking parlor, a veranda and palm court, three dining rooms along with a French a la carte restaurant, and grand promenades for each class. Millet was in his usual high-spirited form, relating who was sleeping with whom among European royalty. When Archie stuffed a bit of his steak and some rolls in a napkin to take to Henry, Millet teased him on becoming a parent late in life. “Don’t misunderstand me, Archie, I like the boy,” Millet said. “He brings a bit of street spunk with him. Something us jaded elders can use.”

  The two old friends made their way to the upstairs smoking salon and talked, drank brandy and smoked cigars until nearly eleven when both decided to call it an evening. As Archie walked along the first class promenade he could hear the ship’s band playing a medley of waltzes from two decks down. He felt light again. Easy. The Titanic’s elegant refinement made the whole world seem properly ordered and civilized.

  All the lights in the stateroom were on when Archie entered. Henry lay atop the mattress, fully dressed and lightly snoring. Archie didn’t want to wake him from what seemed to be deep sleep. But he noticed that Henry’s face was contorted and he was emitting small, tortured yelps. Archie bent over the bed to touch the boy’s shoulder.

  “Henry…you’re having a bad dream…” Archie said softly.

  But Henry only moaned. Archie shook the boy a little harder. “It’s only a dream…wake up now…” Still asleep, Henry began angrily babbling then struck an arm out, smacking Archie in the chest. Archie grabbed Henry’s tight fist. “Henry!…” Archie’s tone was no longer gentle. “You have to wake up! It’s only a dream!”

  But Henry was now barking his unconscious rage. His face was red, his mouth bent. Archie grabbed Henry by both shoulders and pushed him hard to the bed. Henry’s head snapped back and bounced on the mattress. His eyes shot open. Archie smiled reassuringly, seeing Henry come back into this world. “It’s only a bad dream,” Archie said gently. But Henry erupted with a bloodcurdling shriek. His hands shot up and latched around Archie’s neck. The boy’s eyes were vacant; he was grunting hot animal breaths, squeezing Archie’s neck with a primal aggression that funneled unnatural strength to his hands. Archie could barely get out a croak. Henry drove his thumbs into Archie’s carotid artery. Archie felt a white haze pulsate around him. His eyes grew unfocused. In that foggy moment, a strange sort of admiration flashed: that this small boy that Archie was growing so fond of, possessed the fierceness of a warrior. But that was only a lightning thought before his own self-defense mechanism clicked in and he struck his fist into the boy’s chest. His knuckles plunged into Henry’s body. The bones were thin and delicate. Bird bones. Archie thought he had completely shattered Henry’s breast. Henry r
eleased his grip, fell back on the bed and blinked his eyes, appearing to emerge out of his rabid spell.

  “Henry…” Archie said sharply.

  “No…no…no…” Henry murmured, then looked directly at Archie. “I tried to kill you, Captain, but I didn’t know…” The boy couldn’t finish his sentence, dissolving into racking sobs.

  “It’s alright, son,” Archie said, trying to understand what just happened. “I must have surprised you and you thought I was attacking you.” Henry just kept wailing and crying, “No…no…no…” Archie wrapped his arms around the boy.

  “I’m a bad seed,” Henry whispered hoarsely.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s what they said. I was born evil. A bad seed.”

  “Who said that, Henry?”

  “The nuns at the orphanage.” Henry pushed away and pressed his back against the wall. “They said I was a bastard and a bad seed.”

  “No, you’re a fine boy,” Archie said, reaching out to console Henry.

  “The devil’s inside of me, Captain. And sometimes I can’t control him.”

  “I surprised you and you defended yourself. You didn’t realize it was me.”

  “I’m stained with sin in my soul,” Henry cried. “Get ridda me, Captain.”

  “Stop talking nonsense.”

  “No, this is the real Henry! I’m a devil. Don’t y’understand, Captain. I’m a criminal and a thief. You’re better off without me!”

  “Stop it, Henry. Stop it!!”

  Henry had stopped crying but his expression turned strange. Hard and distant. He swallowed once, looked right at Archie and uttered in a frightening growl: “I’m… just…no…good.” Then he leapt from the bed and bolted.

  “Wait! Henry…” Archie shouted. But Henry was already through the door. Archie started after him, but the boy was jackrabbit quick. Archie barely caught a glimpse of him scampering down the Grand Stairway. Still, Archie gave chase until it became an impossible task. Henry had vanished. Archie stopped just outside the Turkish Baths to catch his breath. A deep sadness swept over him. He had seen how resilient Henry was, how the boy burst with enthusiasm for life. He never worried about Henry because, from all appearances, he didn’t have to worry about him; Henry was one of the strongest, most spirited people he had ever encountered. But Archie was now realizing that he hadn’t seen the wounds that cut deeply through the boy. He had been blind to what was obvious: that Henry had suffered far more in his short life than Archie could ever imagine. While Archie had witnessed the horrors of war and experienced death and loss and the cruelty of men, he had experienced them as an adult. Henry had suffered at the hands of the world from the moment he was born. His ebullient spirit, his uplifted soul, was just protection from the cruel reality that was always lurking in the shadows, ready to bring him the heartache and sorrow he had come to expect from life.