Night had already fallen when Henry emerged up top. The Boat Deck was empty, ghostly so. The freezing chill of the evening had sent all the passengers inside. The sky was deep black and glimmered with more stars than Henry had ever seen in his life. There was no breeze and the ocean was flat, without even a ripple. The only sound was the low rumble of the giant smokestacks that towered from the center of the deck and loomed high overhead. Henry began strolling the wide deck, moving toward the front of the boat, keeping a sharp eye out for Wheeler, though there was no sign of any life around. He passed alongside a single row of lifeboats and watched his frosty breath move through the air. It became apparent to Henry that no one was on the deck and he was getting cold. But then he heard voices. Two men emerged from the ship’s wheelhouse in an intense conversation. One was Wheeler, who towered over the other man, a dapper gentleman in a pinstriped suit and vest. The dapper man looked familiar to Henry. Archie had pointed him out when they boarded the ship. He was someone important. Henry stared at the man’s features – brown wavy hair, a precise mustache that ended with a slight curl at its waxed tips – and tried to recall just who he was.
Stepping behind a winch, Henry watched the two men amble around a lifeboat to the railing, where they were out of sight. He tried to make out what they were saying, but could hear only clumps of words and phrases. He needed to move closer, so he lowered himself onto the moist wood planks of the deck and slid under the lifeboat’s hull. The men were leaning over the railing, still speaking in hushed tones. Henry maneuvered around the metal bolts and ropes that held the boat in place, trying to move even closer, when the cuff of his pants snagged on a bolt. He tugged at his pant leg only to knock his head against the hull, causing it to rock ever so slightly. Both men at the rail turned. Henry pushed himself back under the lifeboat as far as he could.
“Did you hear something?” one of the men said. Then there was silence. Henry held his breath, hoping they would ignore the incidental interruption. Just when he thought he might be safe, Wheeler’s giant hand reached under the lifeboat and grabbed him by the scruff of his collar. “A little guttersnipe,” the dapper man said with a crisp English accent, seeing Henry being tugged out.
“Not a snipe, a snake,” Wheeler growled.
“You know him?”
“Yes, we’ve made an acquaintance.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Stowaway, I suspect.” Wheeler jerked Henry around. “Do you have a ticket, boy?” Henry said nothing. Wheeler squeezed the back of Henry’s neck with his rough hand. “He was never much for talking.”
“We’ll have to lock him up so he can’t get into any trouble. I’ll give you the keys. I need not be seen with him,” the dapper man said.
“Why not, Mr. Ismay?” Henry blurted, remembering the name Archie called the dapper man.
“Get him out of here,” Ismay said sharply.
* * *
Archie wasn’t surprised when he opened his stateroom door and found the room dark and empty. He was more disappointed. He wondered why the boy went to the trouble of finding him that afternoon only disappear again without a word. But he didn’t have time to ponder Henry’s absence. He had a dinner to attend. Archie quickly stripped to his underwear then, as he was putting on the pants of his tuxedo, he glimpsed at the mirror. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him. That man looked tired and worn, with a worried countenance and troubled eyes. “That can’t be Archie Butt,” Archie said aloud to his reflection. Then quieter: “That can’t be me.”
CHAPTER 60
“When anyone asks me how I can best describe my experience in nearly forty years at sea, I merely say, uneventful.” Captain Edward John Smith was speaking to the eight guests around George Weidner’s table. He sounded pensive. “Of course there have been winter gales, and storms and fog and the like. But in all my experience, I have never been in any accident. I have seen but one vessel in distress in all my years at sea. I never saw a wreck and never have been wrecked nor was I ever in any predicament that threatened to end in disaster of any sort.”
This was the last grand cruise for Smith who, at age 62, was considered the most esteemed Captain sailing the seas. Elegant, confident, and handsome, with a neatly trimmed white beard and mustache, he was the epitome of what a naval captain should be – always calm, always commanding and always at the center of attention. He was so well known and adored among the first class passengers that they all referred to him as E.J. A dinner with E.J. would have the Captain, who was always dressed in his gleaming white commodore’s uniform, regale his audience with tales of his long years on the sea. Along with the Weidners, at the table was their son Harry, John Thayer and his wife Marian, socialites William and Lucile Carter, and Archie.
Smith held forth with a well-practiced monologue about the ship. “At 883 feet, the Titanic is 100 feet longer than any other ship on the oceans with the exception of her twin sister, the Olympic. The ship has three engines, which combined, can send over fifty-five thousand horsepower to our three giant propellers, giving us a maximum speed of twenty-three to twenty-four knots.”
The women told the Captain how impressed they were by the ship’s luxury. Smith was less interested in expounding about the carved wood interiors of the sitting rooms than he was with the technological wonders of the Titanic. Archie desperately wanted to tell Smith about the dynamite and was looking for a moment, a private moment, when he might take him aside. But before he had a chance, Bruce Ismay strode into the restaurant and came up to the Wiedner’s table. After polite, perfunctory greetings to everyone, Ismay leaned into Captain Smith and whispered something. “You’ll have to excuse me for a moment,” Smith said to his dining companions. “Mr. Ismay wishes a word with me.” The two men moved to a far corner of the room. Whatever Ismay was saying to Smith, it wasn’t sitting well with the Captain, who kept vigorously shaking his head. After the short conversation Smith returned to the table and Ismay quickly left the restaurant.
“Are you alright, E.J.?” George Thayer asked.
“Fine,” Smith replied in a soft voice. “It’s all fine.”
Archie leaned to the Captain and asked, “Did something Mr. Ismay say disturb you?”
“No, not really, Major. He’s a businessman and all businessmen want to make a big splash. He wants me to increase our speed so that we might make New York by the evening of the 16th rather than cruising in on Wednesday.”
“Is there a problem with that?” Thayer asked.
“We’ll have to turn up the fire in the furnaces and there’s really no need to. Other than that, no problem. It’s fine.”
“What about the ice field?” Marian Thayer asked.
“What ice field?” Smith quickly replied.
“As Mrs. Ryerson and I were walking the promenade this afternoon, Mr. Ismay showed us an ice warning that came from another ship.”
“Ah, yes,” the Captain acknowledged, then absently took a cigar from his front pocket and lit it. “No need to worry. We’re taking a southern route. Chances are we won’t even see ice.” He drew on his cigar, letting the smoke linger in his mouth before allowing it to leak out and envelop his head in a wispy blue cloud. Everyone around the table grew quiet. “Well…” Captain Smith said, snuffing out his cigar after only one puff, “I must get to the bridge before I retire for the evening. Thank you all for a wonderful dinner.” Smith saluted and got up to leave. Archie rose from his chair and started after the Captain. “Sir,” Archie called out before Smith left the dining room. “Can I have a word with you?”
“Of course, Major,” the Captain said, inviting Archie to speak.
“You looked agitated when you were speaking with Mr. Ismay. You said it was about increasing the ship’s speed…”
“There’s no need to worry, Major Butt,” Smith said, cutting Archie off. “An increase of two knots is a routine matter for this ship. We’ll just turn up the fire and it will be fine.”
“I must tell you something,”
Archie said. “This ship could be in danger. I found a cache of explosives…”
Smith interrupted Archie again, this time somewhat impatiently. “Major, this vessel is the safest ship I have ever been at the helm of. It could be cut in half and each half would remain afloat almost indefinitely. I venture to add that even if the engines and boilers of this vessel were to fall through its bottom, this ship would remain afloat. No need to worry about the Titanic.”
“But…”
“I’m sorry, but I really must get to the bridge. Why don’t you enjoy a brandy with the other gentlemen and I’d be happy to resume our conversation tomorrow morning.” Smith quickly turned away before Archie could say another word. Archie walked back to the table thinking that perhaps Captain Smith was right. The Titanic is unsinkable, everyone knows that.
“What was that about, Archie?” George Widener asked.
“I just had a question for the Captain.”
“And did he answer it?” Harry Widener asked.
“I suppose he did,” Archie said. “Yes, I suppose so.”
* * *
On that Sunday evening in Oyster Bay, New York, Theodore Roosevelt was packing, preparing to leave for a campaign swing through Nebraska, Kansas, Arkansas and North Carolina. He was feeling bully once again. The Republican Party was holding state Presidential primaries for the first time in its history and Roosevelt was trouncing Taft. He was the Roosevelt of old – the tough talking Rough Rider who took no prisoners, gleefully savaging his old friend Taft with venomous barbs. It got to the point where Taft’s campaign manager complained that Roosevelt was conducting a “nationwide campaign of willful and malicious misrepresentation and assault against the President of the United States. Such a campaign, amounted, in fact, to a conspiracy, not only to humiliate the President personally but to commit the Republican Party to rank Socialism.”
That same Sunday evening in Washington D.C., William Howard Taft was looking for a diversion from the political battles he was fighting. So he traveled to Poll’s Theatre to take in a comedy called “Nobody’s Widow.” One reviewer called the play “one of the silliest conglomerations of twaddle and indelicacy with which the trash-ridden Stage of America has been encumbered.” Taft found the play delightful and laughed his way through the entire performance.
Both men – Taft and Roosevelt – went to bed contented. One was relieved by a diversion; the other was chomping at the bit for the thrill of a campaign battle. Neither had an inkling of the drama that was about to unfold in the North Atlantic and how it would affect them both.
In New York City, Belle da Costa Greene was dining at Delmonico’s that Sunday evening with Katrina Ely Tiffany, the wife of the jeweler Charles Tiffany. Katrina was trying to convince Belle to join the suffragette movement. “Why don’t you come to one of our meetings? You’ll see we’re not wild-eyed, misguided, high-strung, emotionally overwrought women that the other side portrays us to be.”
Belle agreed to go to a meeting of the Woman Suffrage Party the following week. She went home tired and ready for a good night’s sleep. Before turning out her bedside light, she checked her engagement book for the upcoming week’s appointment. Wednesday afternoon was circled. “White Star Pier 59. Titanic.”
J. Pierpont Morgan left Paris by train late Saturday evening, heading southeast. On Sunday morning, April 14, he arrived in Aix-les-Bains, a small mountain town in the French Alps, renowned for its mineral baths and treatments. He checked into the town’s Grand Hotel, having reserved its entire upper floor, and spent the evening playing bridge with his sister at a franc a hundred points. Tired from the day’s travel, he retired to bed early.
CHAPTER 61
“Owww!!” screamed Henry. Wheeler twisted Henry’s thin legs together then tied a coarse rope around his ankles. “You’re hurtin,’ me.”
“Shut up,” Wheeler snapped, grabbing Henry’s arms and yanking them behind his back. Henry yowled again. Wheeler sent a sharp elbow into the boy’s ribs, taking cruel glee in the boy’s agony. He secured Henry’s wrists and then pulled the knot tighter so the rope scrapped off bits of Henry’s skin.
“Dammit,” Henry swore. “Ain’t no reason to…” Wheeler pushed a gag into the boy’s mouth to quiet him and then tied it tightly with a sash. He threw Henry to the hard floor of the cargo hold, the same isolated room Henry had earlier sought refuge in. “This is what happens to boys when they snoop around like little rats,” Wheeler snarled, and then slapped Henry across the face with his oversized hand. Henry wailed through his gag and jerked forward, smashing his skull into Wheeler’s forehead, splitting the skin. Blood gushed and streamed into Wheeler’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. Henry slid along the floor and crawled for a narrow gap between two crates, trying to escape. He sucked in his breath then pushed his tiny body through the tight opening. Wriggling his head through the crack, Henry was able to undulate his body like a snake, using the tight pressure of the crates’ sidings to propel him along. He was serpent quick, disappearing into the dark slit, wedged into seeming safety, when Wheeler’s giant hand snatched his ankle and yanked hard, whipsawing Henry back, scraping his body and face along the rough wood. Hauling the boy out, Wheeler snapped Henry’s foot, twisting it with such ferocity that the small bones of his ankle shattered like crushed glass. Henry howled. Wheeler closed his fist and swung as hard as he could, striking Henry square in the temple. A little groan emerged from Henry before he went limp.
* * *
All the men cheered when Astor opened the bottle of Courvoisier. The night’s meeting in the First Class Lounge was more a celebration than it was serious business. Most of the arduous planning had already been done, the framework for The Plan was in place. With brandy snifters in hand, each man went over what they saw as their individual responsibilities within The Plan, then spoke of the specific actions they would be taking to achieve their goals. Archie reiterated that he would be a bridge to the government and would need the group’s cooperation in order to shepherd the project through the various political minefields. But as the words left his mouth, he felt like a traitor. How would these men, who were nodding at him so approvingly, feel if they knew that his real purpose was to spy on them? What would they think if they realized he was a mole who would ultimately destroy The Plan, not help usher it into existence? It disturbed Archie deeply, particularly because he liked these men. He felt a kinship with them. They were patriots, in their fashion. They believed what they were doing was best for the country.
After Archie talked, Astor rose to his feet. Even though alcohol usually loosened his tongue, words did not come easily at first. “Gentlemen,” Astor said, raising his glass for a toast. “Tonight my head is filled with gratitude to all of you and with what we are about to embark upon. We, here, together on this great ship, are the vanguards of civilization. It is men like us – men with vision and the courage of our convictions, who will continue to bring greatness to the United States of America.” Then Astor added wistfully, “If only George and Morgan were here.” It was obvious that in Astor’s proud moment of triumph, he wanted his partners to see the success he was responsible for.
Yes, they should be here, Archie thought. Why weren’t they? And then it hit him – an insight that was so stunning, so inconceivable, and yet so obvious. The men before him were celebrating what they thought was a significant business opportunity. But, as the confidential report laid out, The Plan had the potential to be much more. And who but Morgan, the shrewdest and most powerful of them all, would want the even greater power that came with The Plan’s success? But he would have to wrest control from the others. There was only one way. It was too horrible to contemplate, yet there was no other explanation. Wheeler, the dynamite – it made absolute sense. Morgan and Vanderbilt were not on the Titanic because they were indisposed; they were absent because, in the most Machiavellian way, they had allied to hijack The Plan for themselves alone, the riches and power it brought not to be shared with anyone else.
“G
od bless our country, America,” Astor declared. “And God bless us, the architects of the future!” The men liked the ring of the phrase and enthusiastically repeated: “The architects of the future!” They swallowed their cognac in triumphant gulps and began congratulating themselves, shaking hands and joyfully slapping each other on the back. Archie waited a moment before slipping out of the lounge, unnoticed.
* * *
“It’s getting cold,” Captain Smith said to his Second Officer, Charles Lightoller. They were standing on the bridge, looking out over an eerily calm ocean.
“Yes it is, sir,” Lightoller answered. “The temperature is dropping quickly.”
“We need to make sure our fresh water supply does not freeze.”
“I will take care of that, Captain.”
“What do you think about icebergs?” Smith asked, remembering that Mrs. Thayer brought it up at the dinner.
“We are well south of the ice region. There shouldn’t be any problem. Full throttle, Captain?”
“That’s what Ismay wants, yes,” Smith said, still a little perturbed. “Full throttle. If it becomes at all doubtful, let me know at once. I shall be just inside.”
“Yes, Captain,” Lightoller said, and saluted.
At 10 p.m., two young crewmen, Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee, climbed to the Titanic’s crow’s nest for their Sunday night lookout shift. Fleet had been disturbed the entire voyage because the crow’s nests’ binoculars, essential equipment for the lookouts, were missing. The officer responsible for the binoculars, Second Officer Lightoller, noted the problem and told the sailors that the matter was “in hand.” But another pair of binoculars were never delivered. The lookouts were essentially functioning as if one of their eyes, their strongest one, was blind.
The Titanic Plan Page 37
