The Light In The Darkness
A Titanic Novel
Book One
Parts I-III
Other Novels By Carla Robinson
You Know You Want It
Dedication
for those who were my light in the darkness
PART I
“To my mind, the world of today awoke April 15th, 1912.”
- Jack Thayer
Prologue
TITANIC SINKS FOUR HOURS AFTER HITTING ICEBERG; 866 RESCUED BY CARPATHIA, PROBABLY 1250 PERISHED; ISMAY SAFE, MRS ASTOR MAYBE, NOTED NAMES MISSING
Biggest liner plunges to the bottom at 2.20 AM. RESCUERS THERE TOO LATE
WOMEN AND CHILDREN FIRST
The Californian stands by on chance of picking up other boats or rafts.
CAPE RACE, N.F., APRIL 15-The White Star Liner Olympic reports by wireless this evening that the Cunarder Carpathia reached, at daybreak this morning, the position from which wireless calls for help were sent out last night by the Titanic after her collision with an iceberg. The Carpathia found only the lifeboats and the wreckage of what had been the biggest steamship afloat.
The Titanic had foundered at about 2.20 AM, in latitude 41:46 north and longitude 50:14 west. This is about 30 minutes of latitude, or 34 miles, due south of the position at which she struck the iceberg. All her boats are accounted for and about 655 souls have been saved of the crew and passengers, most of the latter presumably women and children. There were about 1,200 persons on the Titanic.
The Titanic informed the Olympic that they were putting women off in boats and instructed the Olympic to have her boats ready to transfer the passengers.
The last signals of the Titanic were received at 2.27 AM.
- New York Times, April 15, 1912
Chapter One
Wednesday, 10th April, 1912
Barrett
Barrett choked and barked through his makeshift handkerchief mask – once an ivory colour, embellished with baby blue lace, with his initials – FWB – embroidered elegantly in the corner – had long turned a matted blackish-grey from coal and grease. Barrett’s wife, Mary, had once used to lovingly embroider his initials on all of his handkerchiefs, during their happier times, though he tried not to picture Mary’s beautiful face as he struggled against the gruelling black smoky haze the boiler room fire was currently emitting.
He and his men had begun their four-hour shift less than an hour ago, being on the eight-to-twelve shift, with a quick break every twenty-one minutes; the crew were rushing around, preparing to set sail. The boiler rooms were more extensive (not to mention enormous) than any he’d ever seen, with his previous appointment being on the SS New York, and though she’d been a grand ship, and Barrett had worked steadily as the lead fireman, he’d never, in all his life, laid eyes on a boiler room that was bigger than any mountain he’d seen. The Titanic was powered by two steam piston engines and a low-pressure turbine – all of which depended on Barrett and his men’s efficiency. Barrett was merely one of fifteen lead firemen in charge of their crew of firemen and trimmers.
’Twas to be expected, Barrett supposed; when he’d made the transfer from Inman to the White Star Line, he’d been hoping for greater voyages and intense labour; he had yearned for the distraction. He’d heard that the Titanic was allegedly the grandest ship ever to grace the ocean, even superior to her sister ship, the Olympic, and the large boiler rooms distinctly gave that impression. Captain Smith had once commented that even if the boilers fell through the bottom of the ship, the Titanic could still float. Barrett found himself doubting Smith’s confidence as he stared up at the enormous furnace into which he was currently shovelling coal.
A few days prior, the men had undergone a drill, in case the ship were to strike anything, and, as they watched the large watertight doors close – first slowly, then the last foot with a sudden, sharply unexpected drop – wearing their life jackets, before being dismissed. No one seriously thought that the Titanic could flounder; the year before, the Olympic hadn’t when it had collided with the Hawke. Plus, Captain Smith had been chosen for the maiden voyage for a reason. Despite last year’s mishap, he had an impeccable sailing record, and he was a star with all the millionaires. Barrett respected Smith well enough, but he’d never sat down and had a meal with the man, the way so many of the first-class passengers had.
Despite the boilers being at least twenty feet in length, and a man falling from the engineer’s promenade deck would end in certain death, a calming peace befell him as his mind focused on the work before him.
Barrett glanced at the warping steel hull of Boiler Room Six – as the lead fireman, he was in charge, not only of the production (ensuring that the trimmers made sure the coal remained cut properly, loaded in the chute for the firemen to access easily) but the safety of his men, something that Barrett – who was eyeing the damage intently – was mildly concerned about. It wasn’t so much that he believed that the coal fire that had broken out a few days, perhaps weeks, before would cause the ship to flounder; he’d been on more than one ship who’d travelled unharmed as a fire waged through the boiler rooms, but rather his concerns lay with the conditions he and his men were forced to bear. Inside, the temperatures had already reached beyond boiling, and thick beads of sweat fell from his coal-matted forehead as he continued to shovel the already-burning coal into the engine; plumes of arid smoke had forced most of the workers to create some form of makeshift mask across their mouths so that they could breathe for the next four hours of their shift.
As lead fireman, Barrett was fortunate enough to be granted permission to use the Engineer’s Promenade – provided he was willing to climb the 70ft spiral steel staircase to the open deck.
Barrett’s crew didn’t have that privilege, nor the luxury, of such a private retreat, and – as Barrett’s coughing resumed under the smothering dark plumes that swirled around the enormous boiler room, even rising to the engineer’s promenade, he thought bitterly about how the senior officers would not foresee the problematic task the men would face – in 100°f temperatures.
The boiler room was a twisted steel maze; hidden between the smoke and the double-end Scotch boilers, were ladders and steel walkways, granting easy access for the firemen and clippers to move around. Valves and gauges, twice the size of the New York’s, lined the interior of the boiler room; and despite being brand new, everything below the engineer’s deck was stained black with coal and grease, black handprints left on different ladders, coal lining the floor. The firemen, cutters and trimmers were in varying shades of grey cotton outfits and small grey hats; the engineers, looking from above and directing the fireman with their orders were dressed to the nines in their formal service uniforms, with even their shoes and gold buttons somehow remaining spotless.
Despite his youth – he was only twenty-nine, which further illustrated his accomplishment of being the lead fireman of Boiler Room Six on Titanic’s maiden voyage, a decidedly coveted position – he was well-accustomed with the complexities of the damages and destruction uncontrolled boiler room fires could inflict on the hulls of even the most durable ships. Some coal fires, wetted by the humidity, could smoulder for entire journeys without the crew being aware. Barrett had not been a White Star Line employee for long, transferring from Inman, but it wasn’t the first coal fire he’d been forced to contend with, nor did he doubt it would be his last. He’d heard some of the engineers chalk it up to the coal strike, and it was accurate – the coal was rusted, cheap and old – and while Barrett knew that would undoubtedly be the cause, it wasn’t the only one. Coal fires were more frequent than passenger lines chose to disclose; the humid, damp conditions presented in each coal bunker were t
he perfect breeding grounds for spontaneous combustion.
Regardless of what Barrett assumed was the cause for the outbreak, and even though the burning coal would produce water which would further strengthen the fire, Barrett and his men would have to endure the conditions, however tricky, until the fire was extinguished.
Barrett’s eyes watered, and he repeatedly blinked, trying to regain his focus as he shovelled the coal into the large, open furnace, heat searing the hair on his arms. He glanced at his third-generation gold pocket watch; it had suitable wear and tear, the gold faded, and a large scratch lined the back, but it was his most prized and sacred possession – it was 10.30, and Barrett knew that most of the third- and second-class passengers would have boarded the ship by now, which meant that the boarding of first-class passengers would have commenced. As Chief Engineer Joseph Bell had informed the captain there was no reason to delay – an assessment Barrett reluctantly agreed with – he knew that they only had an hour and a half before they were scheduled to depart Southampton for Cherbourg.
Barrett listened to the crackling of the coal, the unmistakable hiss emitted from the state-of-the-art Swiss valves, the loud ferocity of the spinning turbines, the shouts of the engineers above, including Chief Engineer Bell, the dings as different orders came through, all the while silently cursing the stupidity of men that knew little of coal, but felt fit to make decisions regarding it. As coal fires were notorious for burning uncontrollably, for an indefinite amount of time, under these working conditions he and the other firemen, clippers and trimmers were already in a living hell, and, with a target of eight hundred tons of coal a day, it would be significantly worse once the Titanic left port. That said, leaving port was the only real chance Barrett had to regain control of the boiler room fire. Once the ship picked up speed, more coal would be required, enabling Barrett to move the smouldering coal into the furnace.
He watched as several beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, falling to the boiler room floor, creating an invisible hissing sound with each beat, covered by the large grunts and bangs from the different bunkers and engines; yet none of that stopped his irises burning from the salt.
Barrett listened as his fellow stokers coughed – each cough becoming more reminiscent of a victim in the end stages of consumption – laughed, joshed and taunted each other. Working in a boiler room was a gruelling, laborious – and frequently rewardless – occupation, even on the best of days and under the best of conditions – but every man – from apprentice to lead fireman – was there because they loved the sea.
The stokers surrounding Barrett were predominately younger than his twenty-nine years, being in lesser positions, especially the young apprentice clippers – many of which were celebrating earning a coveted place on the ship’s maiden voyage. Barrett, too, shared their enthusiasm – though he doubted they were for the same reasons. He couldn’t deny that the ship was majestic and her boiler rooms were more impressive than Barrett could ever have fathomed – and he couldn’t deny that the extra pay as lead fireman didn’t hurt, but he’d have taken up any posting on any ship to escape Britain, to escape his Mary, his burden.
But that, therein, lay the difference between Barret – whose solemn silence had already earned him an unpleasant (though, admittedly, not altogether undeserved) reputation among the men – both below and above him. Their chipper moods, prepping to set sail, were reminiscent of him as a young boy, looking forward to the salt air whipping his dry, sunburnt face, not as the sullen man he’d become. Regardless, the sea was where he felt most at home, except for the downtime months he once spent by his wife’s side; these men were on this ship, chasing their wildest dreams, enamoured with the possibilities and the prestige serving under an RMS passenger liner, during her maiden voyage, would earn them. Barrett, on the other hand, was fleeing and searching for possibilities that led him from Southampton’s distant shores and Mary’s waiting presence.
While the Titanic hadn’t earnt the same fanfare as her sister ship, Olympic, had during its launch, there was an undeniable fuss made among Britain’s elite that she was the grandest ship ever to sail, and the men working with him exuded the same fanfare the newspapers had been inciting. Harvey, one of the junior officers who was to be working the same shifts as Barrett, had told him earlier that the Olympic had received more fanfare. Not as many people had come to the docks to see their loved ones off – or even to see the Titanic’s maiden voyage. It was exciting, to be sure, but they’d seen it all the year before. Still, even Harvey had said that Andrews had made vast improvements on the sister ship.
They always said that, though, Barrett thought, at least until the next ship came along. The next in the line was still that little more prominent, that little more luxurious. Barrett wondered if Mary shared that in common with them.
Like Barrett, these men were all built for the grand, open sea. They didn’t just sign up for Titanic’s maiden voyage; these men were enlisted – and could be changed at a moment’s notice – to any of the White Star Line ships, and therefore any of White Star Line’s shipping lines. For the most part, the Black Gang didn’t mind where they served, as they were always confined to the front of the ship, separated from the passengers so they wouldn’t see the harsh realities that afforded them such smooth sailing. Injuries in the coal and bunker rooms were frequent and abounded, even if they were mostly minor burns and scrapes, but it was the representation of what the crew would resemble that enforced the rule.
The Black Gang – named for the fact that just an hour’s work, a man was all but invisible if it weren’t for the beady whites of his eyes – were built for harsh, desolate conditions that most humans would deem uninhabitable, but the callouses grown under each man’s blackened hands from their hard labour was something every working man on board the ship relished, as if each one represented a remuneration.
Ignoring the idle chatter around him, Barrett continued to stoke the coal fire, working slowly in a desperate attempt to suffocate it – pointless, really, in Barrett’s opinion; the only way the coal fire would be extinguished was to throw it as fast as possible into the open boilers, which were already emitting a mesmerising titian glow. As a result, he doubted it would be doused by the time they reached New York on Wednesday week; though as long as Titanic was deemed sea-worthy, White Star Line wouldn’t delay her voyage – they had too much to lose against Cunard, and this was the ship’s maiden voyage, and Barrett had heard the liner was barely half full, much to the captain’s dismay.
In some ways, Barrett desperately hoped his prediction about the coal room’s fire would come to fruition. Despite his incessant complaining, he relished the idea of focusing on anything that didn’t involve the turmoil and destruction of his personal life – and his futile attempts at extinguishing the fire would ensure he was suitably distracted for the entire voyage.
Chapter Two
Wednesday, 10th April, 1912
Eliana
Lady Eliana was already weary from the long journey she’d already taken on the White Star Line’s boat train, which had departed from platform twelve at Waterloo’s train station at a brisk nine-forty-five. She stood, making her way towards the first-class open entrance on B deck. It was an uncommonly cold morning, and Lady Eliana made it a necessity that she wasn’t to be woken before nine, and her breakfast (usually a plate of freshly cut fruit, marmalade toast and poached eggs, accompanied with English Breakfast tea) was always served in her bedroom. While Eliana certainly had her breakfast in bed before they’d left the hotel for the boat train, it was not the same as sleeping comfortably in, lounging around with nothing but the desire to take as long as she’d like before readying herself for the day. Her husband, on the other hand, preferred rising early and taking their beloved golden retriever, Zoey, for a walk around the estate, before setting down in the breakfast room to eat his breakfast – his was always bigger, sporting mutton or sausages, with toast, fried tomato and poached eggs. Unlike Eliana, he preferred a strong cof
fee or two with his breakfast, something that Eliana found decidedly American.
Eliana was dressed exquisitely, in Europe’s latest La Mode fashions, wearing a magenta-coloured custom-made outfit she’d collected from the exclusive boutiques on 5 Rue de Pyramides, as well as the Lucille Mason fashion on Oxford Street. Her travelling outfit was giving her a distinct regal impression, one that she was determined to impress on the countless Americans that would also be travelling onboard with them. Eliana’s husband, George, had already abandoned her, their children, and Eliana’s youngest sister, Lady Cecilia, after he found himself reacquainted with some prominent American. Eliana hadn’t quite caught the name, but it apparently had something to do with the growing railroad industry – an industry her youngest sister was destined to marry into, and the very reason the entire Gresham family were making the voyage to America.
Eliana, the oldest of her family, had married George, the heir-apparent to the Earl of Wickshire, soon after she was seventeen, at the insistence of her parents, the Earl and Countess of Gresham, to ensure the survival of the Gresham estate, as well as bringing much-needed prestige to both her family’s estate and George’s. George’s father was one of many men who had made poorly advised investments in the ’50s, and his family had been relying on a betrothal that was to secure their estate and unburden the family debts. While Eliana had entered into her marriage with George with the understanding that it was a beneficial arrangement on both sides – George, too, was the son of an Earl, and an only child, thus inheriting – and responsible for – his family’s entire estate, the two had quickly fallen in love shortly after the birth of their first daughter, Lady Primrose, who had recently turned five. Eliana often wondered if it was due to their daughter’s birth they’d fallen in love, as there had been nothing more blessed than the birth of a most-desired child.
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