The Master's Tale--A Novel of the Titanic

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  With something of a grimace I pictured Haddock leaving Belfast on the boat for Liverpool – rushing to complete the opposite journey to me – in order to reach Olympic in time to sail her on the 3rd of April. It would have been simpler to have him take on the new ship. After all, he’d been standing by for the last few weeks, overseeing the thousand-and-one details I’d taken care of when Olympic was fitted out. But Bruce would not be persuaded.

  So it was up to me to see the new one through her paces, and – if all went well – to accept her on behalf of the company. My name on the ship’s register, mine the responsibility.

  ~~~

  It’s easy to fall in love at first sight, but it seems to me maiden voyages are like virgin marriages, requiring tender hands and much respect. On the whole it’s best to take the long view. Majestic was not mine from the beginning but we were together for nine years and I loved that ship, she was a wonderful old girl with lots of spirit. Baltic was my first maiden voyage, and even though she never had much go, I grew fond of her in the end. You do: the relationship is like a marriage: the awkward ones needing even more care than the willing. Adriatic, now, she was a pleasure from the start; you knew she’d never let you down, even in the worst of seas. After four years I really missed her when we parted.

  Somehow, although Olympic was a truly beautiful ship with sufficient power and all the attributes – and even though my time with her began with great fanfares – she and I were never really easy with each other. It wasn’t her size – I got used to that, barely noticed it after the first trip – and she handled well, I couldn’t complain there. She had a fair turn of speed too. Had it not been for the Hawke incident, perhaps we might have settled down, reached an accommodation. There again, maybe it was me, reaching the age where past achievements were preferable to the challenge of the new.

  In more ways than one, winter had taken its toll of us both. Olympic’s needs had pushed the other’s moment of glory back and back. I felt the two ships were like human sisters, so similar in looks it was hard to tell them apart, the elder demanding precedence, attention, executing a tantrum here and there, while the other, equally remarkable, stood in shadow. Ready to make her debut, wondering if anyone would notice.

  Was that her trouble? We sailors attribute human virtues and failings to what are, after all, inanimate objects – and yet they seem to have souls, these ships. And this one found a way, in the end, of outshining her elder sister, becoming a legend more evocative than any of the Greek myths.

  Approaching her berth at Queen’s Island, I was aware of apprehension. Nothing specific, it was just that our previous acquaintance had been slight, no more than a glance or two across the dock whilst my attention was absorbed elsewhere. And now here I was, getting ready to take this great ship to sea on the briefest of introductions.

  Seeing her across the dock in the early morning light, I felt my heart beat faster. With smoke streaming from her funnels, she was a beautiful sight. A great ship alive at last and ready for action. At once my doubts were whipped away. There was even a pulse of youthful excitement as I glimpsed her port of registry, Liverpool, across the sweep of that elegant stern, and the gilded letters of her name, TITANIC, shining in the rising sun.

  31

  Titanic’s sea trials, scheduled for the 1st of April, were postponed because of high winds. Frankly it was a relief, giving me chance to spend the day going over the ship with the deck officers who had been aboard for the past few weeks, and with Joe Bell and the Harland and Wolff engineers. But time, more than ever, was the issue. Next morning dawned fine and clear, but since we could not afford to waste another day, the sea-trials were not entirely complete by the end of it. Although we satisfied the Board of Trade officials as to her turning ability, stopping distance and all-round sea-worthiness, we never managed the full-speed test. We did 20 knots for a couple of hours, but that was enough. By 6:00 in the evening the bureaucrats were happy and signed her off.

  To maintain the schedule, we had to reach Southampton by the midnight tide on the 3rd of April, and we made it with little to spare. Desperate for sleep after another passage up the Channel, I disembarked around three in the morning and left for home. With so many last-minute details yet to attend to, those six days were hardly the relaxing time Ellie and I had promised ourselves. I’d missed Mel’s birthday by a couple of days, but she was home from school for Easter and so excited by my arrival it broke my heart to see each morning’s pleasure turn to disappointment as work intruded and the day wore on. Sadly, the little holiday we’d hoped for on the Isle of Wight had to be postponed.

  Mariners should know not to make promises. But in my mind I was already halfway home and dry. One more round trip, I declared, and then I’ll be home for good. The kind of promise I’d spent my life refusing to make. I should have known better.

  ~~~

  Our fifth day and the weather continued to be good. Mr Wilde was Officer of the Watch when we changed course at 5:45 pm on Sunday, the 14th of April. Previously, the sun had been on the starboard hand; but as we steadied on our new course we were sailing almost directly along its golden path. The sky was streaked with high, fine-weather cloud. The sunset would be spectacular.

  At 6:00, Lightoller took over the watch and Wilde went off on his rounds. As the sun dipped towards the horizon it became noticeably cold. With a shiver I returned to my quarters to change for the evening. Thinking of Lucinda, I wished I could have turned the Wideners’ party invitation down and spent the time with her instead. But even had that been possible, those ice reports meant cutting the evening short.

  I was in the bathroom when I remembered the lunchtime message from Baltic. It should have been pinned on the board in the chart room. I should have told them about it.

  ‘Blast it!’ I began a brisk towelling. Even so, it was almost 6:45 by the time Paintin had me buttoned into my mess uniform. I headed down to the Smoke Room.

  Bruce and George Widener were together. Again or still? I wasn’t sure. Apologising for my sudden departure at lunchtime, I said smoothly that I’d been trying to catch up with someone all morning, ‘… and suddenly, I spotted her…’

  Bruce gave me a keen look, but the banker seemed not to have considered it amiss. He waved my apologies aside, called to the steward, and asked what I’d have to drink.

  ‘I won’t, at the moment, thank you, sir. In fact,’ I turned to Bruce, ‘I need to return to the bridge. Do you happen to have the telegram I showed you earlier, Mr Ismay?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ He put a hand in his trouser pocket and brought out the paper. ‘Wondered where you’d got to, EJ.’

  I nodded my thanks and made my way back up top. The junior officers were waiting with their sextants to take stars as I went into the chart room to pin Baltic’s message to the board. The lamp trimmer followed me up, reporting all the navigation lights lit. To my surprise, I heard Murdoch’s voice telling him to go and close the fo’c’sle hatch properly – a light was showing.

  ‘Where’s Mr Lightoller?’ I asked Murdoch. ‘Surely he should have been back by now?’

  He murmured something about the 2nd Officer being late having his meal. His tone left me suspecting some abrasion between the two men. I made a mental note to have a word about it later. The bridge was no place for animosity.

  I tapped the message I’d attached to the board. ‘Make sure everyone sees that – particularly Mr Lightoller when he returns. If he’s in any doubt at all about visibility, tell him to call me. I’ll be in the restaurant for the next hour or so.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Outside, it was dead cold, no wind across the ocean. The only disturbance was caused by our movement through the elements. The first stars were appearing above a horizon streaked with red and gold; reflecting the last of the light, the sea was like milky glass. That nightly show had drawn a small crowd of admirers, but I did not see Lucinda.

  Returning to the Smoke Room, I was just in time to join the Wideners’ party going down to
the restaurant on B Deck. Mrs Ida Straus – a charming lady – said she and her husband had sent a wireless greeting to their son and daughter-in-law, heading for Europe on the Amerika. They’d had a message back, and Mrs Straus was quite thrilled about what she called this modern magic. Warmed by her enthusiasm, I found myself wanting to tell her my bit of magic: that I’d just found a daughter I didn’t know I had.

  Earlier, Lucinda and I had talked about our families. Richard Carver would be delighted to know she’d solved one of the biggest questions in her life, but, we both agreed, my dear Eleanor was not likely to share that happiness. It was bound to be difficult for her. As for Mel… I didn’t say so, but I had a feeling she would be jealous. And yet Lucinda, in her excitement at having found me, was eager for us all to meet. She couldn’t wait to welcome me to New Haven…

  Fired by her enthusiasm, I wanted to say yes. I wanted to meet Richard and little Daisy. My grand-daughter – how extraordinary! I wanted to revisit New Haven – I hadn’t been there for years – see Lucinda’s home, absorb something of her life. But reality calmed those desires.

  ‘Dear girl,’ I’d said as we parted, ‘nothing would please me more. But it’s not going to be possible just yet. We won’t be in New York long enough…’ Before she left I’d hugged her again, thanking her for the invitation and for her faith in me. Despite the calm seas, it had been a rocky few days.

  I made an effort to put personal matters aside. Champagne was being served. Needing to keep a clear head, I asked for a glass of my usual – ginger ale looked sufficiently alcoholic to fool most people. The Maitre d’ nodded, and I knew he would make sure my glass was topped up with the right beverage.

  The party was in aid of the maiden voyage, and everyone I talked to seemed to be bubbling with enthusiasm about the ship – smooth running, most sleeping like dormice, all enjoying the excellent food. Mrs Straus’s news sparked a plethora of family stories, what everyone was going to do when they got to New York, where they were going for the summer… Now the ship was in touch with the Cape Race wireless station it seemed they were all keen to send messages home. The Marconi men would be busy tonight.

  People circulated for a while, and a little later were seated. After so many years, these occasions tend to blur into one, so I do not recall what we ate, only that everyone commented on how cold it had become. The change in temperature was no surprise to me, but whereas my passengers were complaining about the chill, I was thankful that the skies were presently clear. Year round we faced the hazard of fog: June was the worst month, while April to August could be tricky for ice. In April and May though, you had a 50 percent chance of fog into the bargain.

  With the unsettling Mr Stead on my mind I looked around me. No sign of him here, for which I was thankful.

  Mrs Widener said the heating in their stateroom was not working very well – so I called Tommy Andrews over, asked him if the problem could be solved before Mrs Widener went to bed.

  While he went off to telephone one of his staff, young Harry Widener, a collector of antiquarian books, buttonholed me, wanting to tell me about his latest purchases in Europe. He’d managed to acquire a rare edition of Sir Francis Bacon’s Essaies at auction, and was cock-a-hoop about it. But then Mr Guggenheim managed to put a spoke in his enthusiasm by asking young Widener if he knew who’d bought Eliku Vedder’s illustrated edition of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

  ‘I hear it went for a record price,’ Guggenheim said with a sly smile. ‘Of course the binding was particularly fine.’

  ‘Yes, I heard,’ Harry Widener said, trying to be dismissive. ‘With solid gold and fifteen hundred precious stones it’s not surprising. I go for content, myself.’

  ‘I guess,’ the older man said laconically with another sly glance at me. ‘Someone said it’s aboard this ship?’

  It was indeed. In the ship’s safe, together with innumerable jewel cases and Mrs Cardeza’s treasure chest of emeralds, rubies and priceless pearls. But I was not at liberty to divulge such information. Anyway, I did not like smooth, bland Mr Guggenheim – he reminded me of Curtis – so I smiled and said it was possible, but as I had no knowledge of individual items I really couldn’t say.

  With my eye on the time, a little before 9:00 I made my excuses, expressed my thanks for an enjoyable evening, and bade my hosts goodnight. I didn’t imagine the party would go on too much longer. Several 25-hour days were beginning to take their toll.

  The Labrador Current was also making itself felt. I looked at the bridge thermometer: it had dropped by 10° Fahrenheit in the last couple of hours. Lightoller said he’d already spoken to the engineers about the water tanks and drinking water supply. Some of the pipes were vulnerable and would need draining down.

  We stood for a few minutes looking out, commenting on the extraordinary stillness of the ocean, the lack of wind, the intense brightness of the stars in the firmament. ‘But we mustn’t forget that ice field, Mr Lightoller. The next hour or so, we could be seeing something.’

  ‘A pity there’s no breeze, sir.’

  ‘Indeed it is.’ There was barely a ruffle on the surface of the sea. It was as though the Almighty had exhausted his energies this winter.

  ‘You see, Mr Moody,’ I said, raising my voice to address the young man at the far end of the wheelhouse, ‘even on a moonless night like this, breaking waves will catch whatever light there is. A small disturbance against the base of a berg will make it visible in the darkness. Isn’t that right, Mr Boxhall?’

  The 4th Officer emerged from the chartroom behind me, his smile just visible. ‘To be honest, sir, I’ve never seen an iceberg.’

  ‘And how long did you say you’d been at sea?’ I asked with mock severity.

  ‘Thirteen years, sir. Five with White Star.’

  ‘Well, Mr Boxhall, let’s hope there are none to be seen tonight. Keep your eyes peeled. And remember,’ I stressed, ‘old bergs, growlers that have capsized or absorbed vast quantities of salt, can be a dull grey and hard to spot. Ice isn’t always the blue-white you imagine.’

  Crossing the bridge, I picked up the binoculars. ‘Well, at least the stars are bright. If we come across that ice field there’ll be a certain amount of reflection. Tell the lookouts to look for a shimmer, Mr Lightoller – nights like this, it’s generally a giveaway.’ I tried scanning the horizon but, with nothing to focus on other than stars, the binoculars were not much help.

  I stood a few moments longer, assuring myself that the atmosphere really was as clear as I’d ever seen it. ‘We should get ample warning – but if there’s the slightest haze, we’ll have to reduce speed. Any doubt at all, Mr Lightoller, call me. I’m just inside.’

  With that I went to my quarters. With Paintin’s help I changed out of my mess kit into serge uniform trousers and a heavy woollen jersey. If I was to be in and out of the bridge all night, it was as well to be warmly clad.

  Having written up the log book for the day, I found I couldn’t settle. After a cup of coffee and a small cigar I donned my cap and shrugged into my jacket to do the rounds of bridge, wheelhouse and chartroom. We had two quartermasters on duty, one on the wheel, the other acting as lookout. There were two other lookouts up the mast in the crow’s nest. Young Moody was also using his eyes as he paced the bridge, while Boxhall was in the chartroom, working out the 7:30 star sights.

  I was in and out like a weatherman. Just before 10:00, I checked Boxhall’s results and entered the position on the chart. He was doing all right, I thought – a steady young fellow, reliable. Then, as Murdoch came back on duty, Lightoller handed over the watch and went off to do his rounds of the ship before bed.

  The 1st Officer and I discussed the sea conditions. With our joint focus on the reported ice field, I repeated my comment about the likelihood of star shimmer on the horizon, asking him to pass that to the new men on lookout duty. There was little else to say. I knew Murdoch had experience in ice, so went back to my jug of coffee, now cold. I smoked another small cigar and thought m
aybe I should grab some rest. At 11:00, with still no sign of ice, I told Murdoch I was going to stretch out on the office day-bed for an hour, but to call me at midnight.

  I took off my shoes, switched off the light and pulled a blanket over me. It was bliss to lie down, to stretch out my limbs. Physically, I was dog-tired, but my mind was buzzing with awareness. In the darkness I could feel the movement of the ship beneath me. Not the engines as such but the quivering they transmitted, like the pulse of a human heart.

  ~~~

  The dream was vivid, reality distorted by the terrors of nightmare. Paralysed by foreknowledge, I was back on Olympic’s bridge, waiting for the worst to happen.

  The cruiser closed on us with horrifying inevitability, the dreaded collision made worse by slow motion. Thank God, Wilde exclaimed as Hawke dropped back to slip past our stern. We all took breath. Then came the impact. Woken by my own cry of alarm, for one gasping, palpitating moment I was convinced it was real, that there’d been a collision. Another nightmare. Reaching out for reality, I switched on the light. We stayed afloat, I reminded myself. Listing, but afloat. The watertight compartments held.

  No, not a dream – we were turning. A prolonged shudder went through the room. The light dimmed. Something had happened, was happening. It was real.

  I shoved my feet into shoes, grabbed my jacket and hastened through to the bridge. To my horror, I saw Murdoch pulling the emergency lever to close the watertight doors.

  ‘What’s happening? What have we struck?’

  ‘An iceberg, sir.’

  I repeated the word as though I’d never heard of such a thing. ‘An iceberg?’ I strode outside. ‘Where?’

  Dear God. Murdoch and I peered aft, straining to see the thing; we smelled its dank breath but saw nothing to starboard, only blackness. Above and to port, the stars were glittering. What was it? Where was it?

  And then something ghostly, like a frozen plume of smoke, appeared on the starboard quarter, slowly growing as we cleared the vicinity. The great berg showed its profile then, a pale shape in the night floating silently astern.