Deck Z - The Titanic (5 page)

TITANIC BRIDGE
.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL
10, 1912. 12:40
P.M
.

Taking a moment away from his crew on the bridge, Captain Edward J. Smith crossed callused hands over his broad chest and exhaled.
Titanic
wasn’t even an hour into her maiden voyage, and already she nearly had suffered a collision. He had hoped for a less dramatic onset to the journey.

It wasn’t that he believed everything always went according to plan. Quite the opposite. His experience facing the unexpected was what made him such an effective sea captain. Since
Titanic
’s maiden voyage would also be Smith’s last, he was even more on guard than usual.

All had looked well as
Titanic
prepared for launch. It glided out of the Southampton berth easy as you please and out toward sea. Cheering onlookers ran along the docks, chasing
Titanic.
Two additional ships moored in the harbor,
New York
and
Oceanic,
were full of passengers who had paid a fine price, not to sail, but for a deckside view of the world’s largest liner as it embarked for the first time.

The trouble began as
Titanic
passed the two smaller ships. Even at a slow launch speed,
Titanic
’s massive triple-screw propellers created a mighty churn. The wake created by its twenty-six-thousand-ton hull was so powerful that the sturdy ropes tethering
New York
and
Oceanic
to the docks strained tight. Then,
New York
’s ropes snapped loudly enough to be mistaken for shotguns firing, and the ship was slowly sucked toward the side of
Titanic.

Smith had experienced a similar calamitous scenario only seven months prior. That time, a small warship got caught in the wake of Smith’s
Olympic.
The smaller vessel was dragged into the liner, ripping a serious wound in the larger boat’s side. Smith wasn’t blamed—the docks and harbors simply couldn’t accommodate the new breed of giant liners. “Too big to handle!” proclaimed the naysayers.

Smith believed otherwise. With
New York
dangerously close to ramming
Titanic,
he stood tall in his ceremonial dress whites and calmly ordered
Titanic
’s port propeller into high gear. The ensuing wash pushed the smaller boat away, and
Titanic
came to a virtual halt, avoiding impact by a matter of feet.

There was a fair amount of whooping and back-slapping among the men in the wheelhouse, but Smith put a stop to it. “Back to your posts,” he commanded. “Celebrate on your leave. There’s still work to be done.”

In the Café Parisien, a luxury saloon for
Titanic
’s first-class passengers, chatter filled the air. To be sure, between the cheering crowds and the band’s merry playing, most of the travelers had no inkling there had been any danger. Yet several prominent passengers witnessed the near-miss, and J. Bruce Ismay, chairman and managing director of the White Star Line, felt his ears burn at the whispers:

Is she safe?

Off to a poor start, I’d say!

Bad omen!

Ismay knew it was a habit of the rich to find fault. His marriage to a society girl ensured he never forgot. Quibbling over the color of the cabin walls and the quality of the cutlery—all to be expected. But was it too much to ask that Smith get
Titanic
out of harbor without incident?

“All’s well, Bruce?”

George Dunton Widener, a solidly built man with rimless, nose-pinch spectacles and a waxed moustache, slapped a beefy hand on Ismay’s shoulder. Ismay was a taller man than most, but Widener, a board member of the Philadelphia bank that controlled White Star Line, could still make him feel like a boy.

“Quite well, as you can see,” replied Ismay. “Why, we’ll be in Cherbourg before you can whistle ‘Alexander’s Ragtime Band.’”

“Very good,” laughed Widener, lighting a cigar and blowing smoke into the lounge’s ornate fixtures. “We have seven and a half million reasons to wish for a successful voyage, you and me.”

Ismay managed a humorless smile. He knew full well the cost of building
Titanic
and how much White Star’s fleet was mortgaged to pay for her. He wasn’t about to give Widener the satisfaction of seeing him perspire.

“To celebrate our successful launch,” Ismay announced with a grand wave of his hand, “our best champagne for everyone!”

The stewards set corks flying into the air, and Ismay let the applause of
Titanic
’s wealthy wash away his distress. Perhaps the worst was over. That was the best way to look at it. Ismay wasn’t going to let anything tarnish the glory of his triumph.

DECK E. THIRD-CLASS CABIN
.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL
10, 1912. 1:15
P.M
.

Weiss found his way down
Titanic
’s winding stairs and narrow hallways. Brass railings gleamed, marred only by their first fingerprints. The cream-colored walls appeared still wet with fresh paint.

If anything, the ship seemed even bigger on the inside, and its confusing layout didn’t help matters. Once below, passengers couldn’t travel directly from the ship’s front to back—bulkheads bisected the decks at odd intervals, necessitating trips down flights of stairs, through corridors, and then back up again. He’d expected the passengers to be separated on different decks by class, but that wasn’t exactly the case. While first-class accommodations were generally on the upper levels, they sometimes neighbored second-class cabins, which were found on all seven passenger decks. Eventually, Weiss stopped trying to make sense of the layout, winding his way through the maze of second- and third-class cabins on Deck E until he found Cabin 156 toward the back of the ship.

His ticket demanded that he share the room and its two sets of polished wooden bunks with three other men. The cabin had space for little else. Weiss arrived first and claimed a bottom berth; a proper spring mattress and feather pillows to boot were more than he had expected. He was used to scratchy military-issue bedding that smelled as if it had been boiled in bleach.

Eventually, his cabin-mates appeared: two down-on-their-luck Bulgarian brothers and a moody Finn—not Weiss’s preferred company, but a suitable group to disappear in for a few days. He eyed them for signs of disease common to steerage folk: typhoid, typhus, cholera. They appeared healthy enough. Weiss grimaced when he realized there was only one shared bathing tub for all the third-class men. The room’s smell promised to ripen. He aimed to spend as little time in quarters as possible.

Weiss allowed himself a moment of relief and wondered: Had he truly escaped? Except for the fare-thee-well commotion and celebration, boarding the
Titanic
had been uneventful, more than he’d dared hope. He was proud of his deception with the girl, Louise, but perhaps now that he was safely aboard, more subterfuge wouldn’t be necessary. He could begin planning his next step. The crossing gave him five nights to consider his future in America.

But such thoughts could wait. What he needed now was a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea. His only luggage was his valise, and for a brief second he considered leaving it locked in the room when he ventured out. Then he immediately cursed himself for a fool. Perhaps he’d escaped his pursuers, but did he think
Titanic
lacked garden-variety thieves? The bag’s contents were too important to leave unattended, and his cabin-mates looked just the types to rummage a man’s things if given the chance. His cane would also need to be a constant companion. In fact, it would not be a bad idea to sleep with it at his side.

Weiss wandered into the third-class general room in search of refreshment and found that seemingly every other passenger in steerage had the same idea. The pine-paneled common area, trimmed in gleaming white enamel, teemed with passengers thrilled to be at sea.

Weiss settled himself into an empty spot on a smooth teak bench, secured his valise between his shoes, and took in the frenzied surroundings. Men filled their pipes and spun tales. Children chased one another; clucking mothers ran after them. A bagpipe player sat in the
corner, playing woeful tunes. The bleating music competed with the sound of boisterous conversation.

“Mr. Nosworthy?”

Weiss didn’t respond, lost in all the activity and noise.

“Mr. Nosworthy? Anyone sitting here?”

Weiss looked up to find a girl fidgeting in a dark wool skirt and ruffled shirt, threadbare in places but clean.
Of course, Lou, the child from the dock.
Apparently, her mother had won the wardrobe argument, and the girl didn’t look to like it one bit. Her copper hair fought against the bow her mother had tied, and mad curls struggled to break free as Lou impatiently shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Something about the girl’s piercing gaze reminded Weiss very much of his sister, Sabine, and he felt a shock of recognition. It was a look he hadn’t seen in twenty years.

The bench was full of passengers, but Weiss shifted to create a space beside him. “By all means.”

Lou squeezed herself in, all elbows and knees, defiantly unladylike. “Where’s your family?” she asked bluntly. “Don’t you have a wife?”

“I don’t, actually.” Weiss coughed and adjusted his collar. He was uncomfortable with personal questions, even when he wasn’t traveling incognito. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“That’s too bad,” Lou said, raising her eyebrows and swinging her legs beneath the bench. “My mum ain’t married neither, not since Papa died. That’s why we’re headed to Iowa City.”

Weiss cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

“Wasn’t around much anyways,” said Lou. “He liked ramblin’.”

Weiss nodded. Still swinging her legs, Lou continued, “Mum’s brother George is a professor at a school in Iowa City. I’m going to study frogs. Once we save some money.”

“A scientist, eh?” Weiss said with approval. “They allow girls to be scientists in Iowa?”

Lou’s eyes narrowed. “The best scientists in Iowa are women.”

“I’m sure they are,” Weiss chuckled. He shifted the valise between his shoes. “What happened to your nose?”

“Ugly pug two blocks over tried to sell papers on my corner,” said Lou. She held up a fist. “Had to set the bum straight.”

Weiss shifted. “I see. Does your mother approve of the way you settled that dispute, Lou?”

The girl grinned broadly, wrinkling her nose. “Nope, but I did tell him to scram first. He said no and started calling me names. I cussed him right back—I can cuss and swear with the best of ‘em!—but I could see it was no use.” She shrugged proudly. “This little scrape ain’t nothing compared to what I gave …”

“Louise!”

The girl’s mother stormed toward them, her auburn hair now free of her frilly hat. The other passengers on the bench leaned away, wanting no part of her anger. “You promised—no more talking to strangers!” she cried. She flushed as she turned to Weiss. “Begging your pardon again, sir.”

“Mr. Nosworthy isn’t a stranger,” protested Lou. “We’ve been properly introduced.”

Weiss held up his palms.

Lou said to her mother, “Don’t you think you should invite him to eat with us? That’s good manners, ain’t it?”

Weiss turned red and stammered. He didn’t want Mrs. Goodwin to think he had any ulterior motives. “Really, I … I …”

“I’m sure the gentleman has other plans,” said Mrs. Goodwin, taking Lou by the arm and pulling her forcefully off the bench. “She won’t be bothering you again, you have my word.”

“It’s no bother,” he said, but mother and daughter were already moving away and didn’t hear.

“He has to eat,” Lou grumbled as her mother pulled her away.

DECK D. CAPTAIN’S TABLE
.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL
10, 1912. 8
P.M
.

“Let us drink to the mighty
Titanic
!”

Passengers in the world’s largest floating room erupted in cheers of approval, and many stood to raise their glasses. With a sweep of his arm, Dr. William O’Loughlin hoisted his tumbler to the assembled and enjoyed a healthy swig of rye before retaking his seat at the captain’s table. His cheeks flushed warm, both from the applause and the drink.

In a corner of the room, Wallace Hartley launched the
Titanic
band into a lilting waltz, the violins’ melody line lifting above the applause. Leading this group marked the pinnacle of Hartley’s career, and his pride showed in the flourish of his bow. He smiled and winked at O’Loughlin as the man took his seat.

O’Loughlin sat, as usual, with his good friend, the architect Thomas Andrews. Boyish and thrilled to finally be at sea on
Titanic
after years spent dreaming her into existence, Andrews slapped the doctor on the back good-naturedly. “Perhaps you should skip the toasts and stick to curing the sick,” Andrews laughed.

The captain’s table was small, seating only six, but it was still the most prominent table in the first-class dining saloon, positioned forward and center of the rest. O’Loughlin and Andrews were joined by
Lady Cardeza and her companion for the evening, businessman Emil Kaufmann, J. Bruce Ismay, and, of course, Captain Smith himself. A succulent smell of roast duckling filled the room. Now that
Titanic
was well out to sea, good spirits abounded.

“You’ll forgive me,” said Ismay to the Lady Cardeza, “if I celebrate too much this evening? Many years of hard work bear fruit tonight!”

“You’ll only be forgiven,” smiled the Lady Cardeza, motioning languidly for a steward carrying a bottle of red wine, “if you allow us to join the celebration.” Mr. Kaufmann bent his brow to the steward—a gesture meant to communicate, “She’s had enough, thank you.”

Ismay took in the room yet again, with its leaded windows and Jacobean-style alcoves. There had to be ten millionaires—millionaires!—in this saloon alone. “My God,” he said. “
Titanic
puts
Lusitania
to shame. Larger by half. And grander beyond measure.”

Mr. Kaufmann stifled a laugh into his napkin. Lady Cardeza joined in the laughter as well, but at what she would have been hard pressed to say.

“Do you find something funny, sir?” Ismay asked.

“Not at all,” replied Kaufmann dryly. “She’s a beautiful ship.
Grand
is just the word.”

“I haven’t told you nearly enough about my new friend, Mr. Kaufmann,” said Lady Cardeza. “He claims to be unattached, which I find hard to believe. And did I mention Emil is also in the shipping business? You two have so much in common!”

“You didn’t mention,” said Ismay. “What line, if I may ask?”

“Hamburg Amerika,” said Kaufmann.

Ismay bristled—no doubt Kaufmann was aboard on a fact-finding mission. The German line’s
Deutschland
had won the Blue Riband for fastest passenger liner to cross the Atlantic.
Titanic
would certainly pose a threat to that. “Funny,” said Ismay. “I thought I knew every man of consequence at Hamburg Amerika.”

“I’m new,” Kaufmann replied without elaboration.

There was an uncomfortable silence at the table as Ismay sized up the German, a big man with nondescript features. Ismay disliked Kaufmann immediately. Lady Cardeza, feeling silences were meant to be broken, raised her refilled glass for another toast.

“To
Titanic
!” she said. “May she sail a thousand voyages!”

“I designed her to sail
ten thousand,
” Ismay said pointedly, “come hell or high water.”

Andrews shifted in his seat and grinned, while Kaufmann let loose with a hearty “Hear, hear!” Andrews was happy to let Mr. Ismay have the spotlight. For Andrews,
Titanic
’s successful launch was reward enough. Not that work on the ship was finished. He kept a small notebook with him at all times to jot down any imperfections he observed or ideas for improvement. For example, he already wished he’d fought harder for the glass dome that would have served as this room’s ceiling.

“Let’s not tempt the fates,” said Captain Smith. “I’d prefer to leave the devil out of this.”

Ismay grimaced. Smith’s relentless sobriety was spoiling both Ismay’s mood and his moment of triumph. “You know how special this ship is, Captain,” Ismay said. “But perhaps Mr. Andrews can explain to our guests why
Titanic
is unique and unrivaled?” Asking Andrews to speak about
Titanic
was like asking a mother about her child. Andrews’s enthusiasm for his prodigy carried them right through to the end of their meal.

“Fifteen bulkheads rise from the bottom of the ship—some as far up as Deck E!—essentially creating sixteen individual compartments. Each compartment is watertight, or at least it is once we close the special doors.”

Kaufmann sniffed. “Yes, but it would be difficult to do by hand in an emergency—”

“Exactly!” Andrews interrupted. “That’s why we designed a new type of system. If, God forbid, the ship took on water from any sort of collision, we can close all the doors from the bridge via electronic switch.”

“Electronics!” exclaimed Lady Cardeza.

“Electronics that trigger hydraulically operated, vertically sliding doors, a design exclusive to Harland and Wolff,” Andrews explained with pride. “Why, even if
Titanic
took on water in
four
of those compartments, she would still stay afloat and sail on to her destination!”

“Unsinkable!” Ismay pounded the table and leaned at Kaufmann. “
Shipbuilder
magazine itself said so!”

“You don’t seem so sure, E. J.,” Lady Cardeza cooed to the captain, casually adjusting her hair. “I don’t know how to swim. Is
Titanic
truly unsinkable?”

“I cannot imagine any condition,” said Smith, “that would cause this good ship to founder. Thanks to men like Mr. Andrews, modern shipbuilding has gone beyond that.”

Andrews’s ears went red from the compliment. He grinned and pushed food around his plate.

“Then you agree with my assessment,” said Ismay, satisfied that he’d bested Kaufmann. “
Titanic
represents man’s triumph over the sea!”

Lady Cardeza took another swig of wine and leaned into the table. “But is it true what they say,” she said in a loud stage whisper, “about the ghost?”

Ismay coughed into his fist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“One of the porters whispered it to me earlier,” said Lady Cardeza. “He said
Titanic
is haunted by a man who was trapped inside the walls of the ship itself! Is it true? I can’t imagine anything so
horrible.
”

Captain Smith clipped a long cigar and fired its end. A cerulean trail of smoke drifted toward the ceiling. “Go on. Tell her about our ghost, Mr. Andrews.”

“Yes, please do, Thomas,” said O’Loughlin.

“Fairy tales,” Ismay scoffed.

“Oh please,” urged Lady Cardeza, “you can tell me. I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“If it’s all right, Mr. Ismay,” said Andrews, “I’ll tell the tale. Sensible people will recognize the story for what it is.”

Lady Cardeza clapped her hands in delight. Kaufmann grinned as well. Mr. Ismay did not raise further protest.

“The gossip began,” Andrews said, “when a shipyard worker supposedly slipped and fell unnoticed into the steel hull. Some say his name was Wassell. Others say Sclater.”

“Yes, but what
was
his name?” asked Lady Cardeza.

“He doesn’t have a name because he doesn’t exist. But as the story goes, our mystery man was knocked unconscious, and his coworkers, unaware of his presence inside the hull, entombed the man inside. At night—” Here Andrews paused for dramatic effect. “—the shipyard men say that you can still hear the poor sod pounding the walls of his prison, trying to alert the world to his horrific fate.”

“I heard knocking this very evening,” exclaimed Lady Cardeza, eyes wide.

“No doubt the steward with his corkscrew,” said O’Loughlin with a chuckle. Lady Cardeza harrumphed.

“There are a hundred such stories for every ship that’s built,” said Andrews. “I thought I could dispel this one by conducting a full investigation. Nothing and no one was ever found. But by refusing to ignore the gossip, I seem to have only given it stronger legs.”

“Rumor and innuendo have torn down far more than they have ever built,” said Ismay, shaking his head.

“I did turn the tale to my advantage, however,” said Andrews with a wry grin. “I took to calling the hull ‘the Tomb’ as a way to remind
the men their work was dangerous. And that did it, by God. Injuries went down more than 15 percent.”

“Well played,” said Kaufmann, as if conceding a point.

“And there you are,” Ismay said. “Another example of modern man overcoming superstition. We have entered an age in which men of science and industry can bend the world to their will.”

“So it would seem, Mr. Ismay,” said Captain Smith. “Still, I believe it’s wise to maintain a healthy respect of the unknown.”

“Oh, please, Captain. Don’t tell me
you
have more horror stories to share!” chided Ismay.

“Some stories,” replied Smith, “are not meant for the dinner table.”

Ismay regarded the captain. “That reminds me of some fine advice from Robert Louis Stevenson:
Keep your fears to yourself and share your courage with others.
”

“Wise words,” agreed Smith. “Reminds me of another saying I picked up during my time in Arabia, though I don’t know who said it first.”

“What is it?” implored the Lady Cardeza. The others leaned in as well.

“
Arrogance,
” said Smith, “
diminishes wisdom.
”