by Tonie Chacon
He knew what to do. He’d think up a little ditty to remember his place on Titanic. Okay, here goes.
A printer’s helper is now what I be.
I live on Titanic Deck E, berth 3.
My cabin has a number which cannot find a rhyme
So it’s just Cabin E59.
Not bad. Colin was a little overwhelmed. He walked onto the gangplank and handed over the papers to the officer on board. The officer found what he was looking for and shoved the rest back to Colin.
“Here, mate, take these to Deck E, but stop off at the dining room to fill out the proper papers. You would be doing yourself a favor to have them done before you get there. Start off on the right foot and all.”
Colin left, holding the papers in one hand and his violin in the other. He used his back to open doors to a new hallway for him to explore. He noticed some young women in crisp new uniforms. He could tell some of them didn’t bother with the laundry and had put them immediately on, fold marks and all. They were dusting and polishing the woodwork to make it gleam.
A young man in a white uniform was wiping down the wood wainscot, doing the task in great style. He stood and let Colin pass by. Colin stepped through the door that was opened by a man in another all-white uniform. It was a very sharp image. Colin stood a little taller.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that for me,” Colin said.
“I was practicing, is all. Getting ready for the big day,” the man said.
“Good man,” Colin said with a swagger. “Carry on.”
He found himself in an enormous room filled with tables, fifty of them at least. Wait staff in the back were busy spreading white cloths on the tables, while women followed setting sparkling glassware and utensils down on them. Brocade stuffed chairs surrounded the tables. Other men and a few women were scattered about near the front of the room, their heads bent over stacks of papers like his. He nodded a greeting to those who looked up and found a bare table. He didn’t want to get the pristine tablecloth dirty.
Colin felt in his pocket for a pencil. He was about to give his life in signatures to the R.M.S. Titanic. Read, sign, repeat. Read, sign, repeat. Colin was good at reading and writing. He had the papers done in a jiffy and had some extra time before the meeting. He took the chance to explore this ship of dreams.
As Colin strolled the decks and halls, he encountered many workmen doing their various jobs. The different uniforms and caps signified a rank of sorts. Those in all-white were stewards, the blue jacket men were porters and those with stripes were officers. No one questioned him about what he was doing wandering about. He was just one of many.
He entered a huge, open hall with a marble floor. Small tables and plush chairs were scattered about the room, and a wide, well-polished staircase in the middle led upward. An etched glass dome accented with gold covered the whole ceiling over the staircase. The light pouring in glanced off two gold cherubs standing as tall as Violet on the railings at the bottom of the stairs. There was at least as much gold as black on the wrought iron railing and gold on the face of the wooden clock on the wall. He had never seen so much gold in one place. Even the dust particles dancing in the air were turned to gold sparkles from the light shining down through the dome.
He climbed the set of stairs and on the landing stopped to look at the carved wooden clock on the wall. Women in Grecian clothes held ribbons with a timepiece in the middle. He noticed the time and continued to walk up the stairs. The railings were smooth to the touch, with carved leaves on the sides.
The different areas he went through were each a magnificent usage of space and imagination. He came upon at least four grand pianos, on adjacent floors, all discreetly hidden by palms or doorways or set back in coves. He stopped on one of the landings on the staircase to study the fine oil portraits that were hanging on the walls. Some were filled with landscapes full of colorful scenery that depicted another land he was unfamiliar with. He wished at times he possessed the patience to paint. He walked on and eventually found his own cabin. He almost walked on by, but he stepped back. There it was. He was on Deck E, Cabin E59, berth 3, just like the mantra he had been repeating.
He was there, in his cabin, for a crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. His home away from home. It was all working out just fine. Who would ever have thought he would wind up a printer’s helper? The Atlantic Daily Bulletin. Titanic’s newspaper. It was far better than being a coal mucker. Colin set his violin on his bunk. He examined the room. Two bunks lined each side, with a cabinet underneath for personal storage and a toilet at the end of the hall. Not that bad of a place to end up for a five to seven day voyage. He sat upon his bunk and took out his pocket watch. It seemed he had a bit more time before that meeting in Stern, Deck E, Third Class general room for further instructions. He should go find his mates and take his time getting to that meeting. Maybe he would go back to that golden staircase?
As he sat there, pondering his fate, he decided to play Violet. The first song he started was one that he’d been working on for the last week. It wasn’t quite finished. A half a measure in from the second stance of the composition, a knock sounded on his door. Colin set Violet down and opened the door. He found a tall, wiry gentleman standing there.
“Hi there, was that you playing?” the gentleman asked.
“Yes it was,” said Colin. “Am I bothering you? Is that why you’ve stopped and knocked? I’ll stop at once if that be the case.”
“Actually, I’m with the orchestra here on board. I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Wally. I believe you are in the wrong room. All my musicians are being housed together in a different wing than this. That was beautiful. What was it? Perhaps you could play it again but from the beginning. I am unfamiliar with it.”
“I can assure you that I am in the correct room, and I can play that tune for you. It’s one of my own.” Colin smiled as he picked up Violet and placed her under his chin. A soft sweet sound came forth. He played for a few minutes and then finished. He placed Violet in a standing position, then dropped both arms to the attention stance of a resting musician.
“That was wonderful. What did you say your name was? Why are you down here in this area? All of the orchestra are on D deck, in the bow, starboard side. They sanctioned two rooms for us.”
Colin replied, “But sir, I’m not with the orchestra. I’m a printer’s helper.”
“Is that so? You play so beautifully. Do you know any songs from the Seamen’s Handbook?”
“Well, I think I know all the songs you’ll be doing on board this fine ship.”
“What, all three hundred and fifty-two of them?” Wally sounded astounded.
“Well, yes. You see, I did try to audition for a position here on Titanic, but I never heard back from the Black Brothers. So I got on board as a printer’s helper instead.”
“What shall I call you?”
“My apologies sir, my name is Colin Mahoney, from Southampton, sir.”
“Good to meet you. Just call me Wally and we should get along fine. Would you mind playing number twenty-seven then?”
Colin began the piece slowly and surely, breaking where needed and then taking up again as if he were playing in the ensemble. He lost himself in the music. He had forgotten how beautiful this song was.
Broken out of his reverie by a sound from the ship, he stopped. Embarrassed at being caught playing with such emotion, he smiled over at Wally.
Wally smiled back. “Well done, lad. You played that with some heart. What can you do with number seventy-two? It’s one of my personal favorites.”
Colin took a moment to turn the pages of the songbook in his mind and then placed Violet under his chin. Adjusting his shoulders he launched into the song with gusto. Note after note he played, enjoying himself, not noticing Wally after a bit. He finished up the last note with a flourish of his bow into the air, opened his stance, and waited.
“Splendid, my boy, just splendid. I can imagine they had a hard time not placing
you on board. You are a fine musician, but you’re still very young. Seniority is a great influence, you understand?”
“No, I hadn’t thought of it in that way before, sir. Thank you for that,” Colin replied.
“Do you think you might be up to playing with us when we set sail? Once we’re out of British waters, it’s my orchestra to guide and play, so I’ll invite you now, but do wait until we are in open seas to come find me. We get off shift at eleven, and I’m sure the boys would be up for a bit more. Think on it. I must be going. Thanks for playing for me. This will be a jolly good crossing.”
With that said, Wally left the cabin. Colin stood there and shook his head. Had that just happened? Here he had been wondering what his job really was?
But now? Such an opportunity had arisen that he couldn’t pass it up.
He would have to break it to the family tonight. Not that it would be too much of a shock. He’d been trying to get on a ship for three years now. It was just time. He couldn’t forget about Catherine, either. He had a busy night ahead. First, though, the meeting in the Third Class general room waited. Colin smiled to himself. His life had taken an exceptional turn for the good.
A printer’s helper? What the hell was that anyway? Well, he guessed it made sense. He supposed a ship the size of Titanic would have a daily newspaper on board, and the presses and the reporting would need to be done. He supposed they wanted him because he had some experience along those lines. He could put together stories that they could publish without much editing needed. It was like his old job being a printer for the Southampton News. The Atlantic Daily Bulletin, littered with the happenings of passengers, their stories, where they hail from. Daily menus, too, he saw in his papers. Menus would be published for the four restaurants, the First, Second and even Third Class dining rooms, and also the Palm Room. Of course it would be a popular part of the service and all. The printer would certainly need a helper.
Chapter Four
07 April 1912 — Southampton
THAT NIGHT AT the family dinner Megan thought she’d be breaking everyone’s heart by telling them she would be leaving on a voyage to the Americas. But no, her big, ugly brute of a brother had to make his big announcement that he was going to be on that ship, her ship, working in the print shop. Who knew there would be a press on board to churn out a daily newspaper? She would keep her mouth shut and not say anything.
Colin was so happy. She hadn’t seen him this ecstatic since he found the joy of music in Violet. Here he was singing about his place on Titanic. Something about Deck E, berth 3 and not having a rhyme for E59. Well at least she would know where to find him once she got on board. On board!
But the news from Colin actually worked in Megan’s favor. Her beautiful, wonderful, creative big brother, and right smart too, was going to be on board. She wouldn’t be alone after all. She wouldn’t tell or let him see her until they had set sail and were well out of the harbor, when it was too late to call the authorities or do what they did with stowaways, or whatever she was. It wouldn’t stop him from putting her off on one of the two ports they were sailing into, but he wouldn’t leave her in a strange country without him being there to protect her.
She would write a note and leave it on her bed when she left on Wednesday morning. A note to say goodbye, a fond farewell to all she left. Once they discovered it and learned that she had gone off with Colin, it would be too late to call the port authorities and report it. They would more than likely be far out to sea, on their way to Cherbourg, France, six to ten hours from port. Yes, it was a fine way to tell the family that she had gone on holiday, of sorts.
Now she only had three days left to get things done. Megan sat on her stool working on her papers at her desk where she could still see if anyone came into the ticket counter. Upon hearing the bells above the door, she threw a newspaper over her desk and practically ran up to greet the customer.
“Good day, sir,” Megan said.
The man made a gargling sound before he spoke. He stood with a hand in his vest pocket, like a general in the army. He had a stout build, with a long handlebar moustache. He had removed the bowler hat and held it in his other hand. He was proud and rich, Megan was sure of it. It all but oozed out of him.
“May I help you?” asked Megan.
“Yes, hrmmph, my name is Fletcher Cheswick and I would like to inquire as to passage on the ship Titanic that sails this Wednesday, for my family. To New York City,” he said with authority, as if she might be confused as to where that particular ship was headed. “I need a couple of suites or something of the sort to suit our needs. Is that still possible at this late date?”
“Yes, sir.” Megan pulled out the map of the ship and pointed to what she had still available. “Okay, let’s see here. I have on the starboard side of the ship, one suite left that has a great room with a fireplace, tables, linens and accessories included, with a large bedroom that has a double bed, and there’s a small bed suitable for a child or a single person on the other side of the room. A curtain surrounds the beds for a little more privacy. A small water closet is discreetly hidden in the back of the great room. All with locking doors to ensure privacy. It is a ship, after all.”
“Oh, hrmmph,” he grunted. “That sounds nice and adequate for my wife and daughter. I have another? A lady friend of my wife and daughter, my goddaughter? A companion of sorts. No need for First Class. Do you have anything suitable for her? Somewhat close by?”
“Yes sir, right down this corridor and down the stairs, take another right, and I can place her in this berth of four. She will be comfortable and still within your direction.” Megan circled the location that she was speaking of with her finger. “It is on the Second Class level, which has its own dining room, all the luxurious surroundings and comforts of First Class, just toned down a bit. If you get what I mean.” Megan leaned in and tried to put a conspiring tone in her voice.
“Those will do nicely.”
“Excellent. Then I would need a total of eight hundred ninety pounds for the First Class berths with an extra twelve pounds for the other berth. You will have twenty-four hours in which to revoke services or to pay in whole as to the services rendered. Your paperwork for the voyage will be ready to be picked up tomorrow after noon. I usually mail these out but we seem to be in a bit of a bind here for the post, so I shall hold them here at the office. Either you or a representative of the family can pick them up. Titanic will be opened for boarding on the tenth of April at 9:30 a.m., leaving promptly at noon. If you are not on board by noon, I’m sorry to say, Titanic will set sail without you. Thank you for your patronage from all of us at the White Star Line,” Megan said, trying not to sound like she hadn’t said that before, or even fifty times or more in the last few days.
The ship sailed in three days. She had so much left to do. Megan smiled brilliantly.
The man handed over the money and left.
From behind her she heard, “Well done, Megan.” Cecil sounded proud. “Someday you’ll make a fine clerk. Let me take that money from you. And don’t forget to mark the sale on the master sheets and mark out the rooms too.”
Chapter Five
08 April 1912 — Southampton / France
LUCAS AND JACOB sat in their favorite booth at Donovan’s, as they had every night since the landing in Southampton. Only two days left in this hellhole, thought Lucas. He was ready to leave now. What’s with all the new mail getting transported? He knew he had signed on for that and all, but it was supposed to be easy. When was that part coming? Thank God, only a few days ’til sailing. He was so ready to set sail and be gone. Sure he missed his girlfriend and all, but she was the one who told him he should get on this ship.
“Never been to France,” said Lucas enthusiastically, and then he noticed Jacob staring into his pint. “What’s the matter, ol’ man?”
“I’ve been trying to figure something out, can’t you see, mon,” Jacob replied.
Lucas looked at Jacob, who had gotten lower i
n his chair and slumped even more. “What ails you, my friend? What has you so down this fine evening?”
Jacob leaned over his pint, as if he’d made a sudden decision, and said, “Can I trust you, boy?”
Lucas nodded. “’Course you can.”
“If I tells you what’s been brewing in my head, you can’t be going spouting off about like you do. No going to your superiors or anything of the sort. You need to give me your word.” Jacob stuck out his right hand. “If you shake my hand then I have your solemn oath that not a word gets spilled about my plans, that what I say is secret.”
Lucas thrust out his right hand and grabbed Jacob’s. “You have my word. Word!” Lucas laughed at himself, slapping his thigh. “Well?” Lucas quieted his laughter. “What is it?”
Jacob sipped quietly as if gathering his thoughts. He swallowed loudly and said, “I have a daughter. I’ve never met her. She is probably eighteen by now and I have sent off a telegram asking her to join me on board Titanic and sail to the Americas and start a new life. Her mother is dying. She could be dead by now, for all I know. I haven’t heard back from her. I’m not sure what to do at this time, or even, if she says yes, how to get her on board? I cannot purchase a ticket for her. They cost too much. Her name is Alexandria and I have only found out about this a bit ago and have been trying to figure it out this whole time. I haven’t come up with much, and the days are passing by much too quickly as it is.”
