AWAY ALL BOATS!
Chapter Two

North Atlantic
April 14, 1912

Robert Drake walked aft on the Titanic’s boat deck, soaking in the beautiful morning air. In the open ocean, the gigantic liner was charging at near top speed towards New York. The sky overhead was a crystal clear blue, meeting the dark blue rolling North Atlantic waves on the distant horizon. Smoke billowed from the ship’s enormous funnels.

On the fourth day of the maiden voyage, things were going as smoothly as Robert had hoped, if not moreso. His shift had just ended, so he was taking a few minutes to enjoy himself before going below to get some tea. Standing watch this morning had been a joy, watching the sun come up through the bridge’s windows and not having much to do except check the Titanic’s course and keep his eyes peeled. It was almost enough to squelch the troubled feelings he’d had ever since Southampton.

But still, there was nowhere else Robert wanted to be than on the sea. It energized him--the smell of the salty air, the feeling of a deck beneath his feet, the endless rolling waves. Out here, his pulse ran faster and his nasal passages widened, making breathing easier. Food always seemed to taste better and the tea was sweeter. Out here, Robert truly felt whole.

Robert’s family had been sailors for generations. He could trace his line all the way back to Sir Frances Drake and the Spanish Armada battle. Another relative had captained a warship at Trafalgar with Lord Nelson. Even his own father and uncle had been sea captains, from little sloops and schooners to large liners. It was an old saying in his family that if you cut open a Drake, he would bleed seawater instead of blood.

One thing was for sure. The Titanic was an incredible ship, inside and out. Over the last four days, Robert had taken self-guided tours of the massive liner going from first class all they way down to steerage and the searing hot boiler rooms. She truly was a floating city.

A couple of days earlier, Robert had sneaked down to steerage after his shift and watched a raucous party among the passengers. Intending simply to watch, it wasn’t long before he was tapping his foot to an energetic dance tune and not long after that he found himself dancing with a lovely Irish girl. She didn’t even care when she found out he was an English officer. The party lasted most of the night.

There were a number of pretty young ladies on the ship and Robert caught himself admiring them from time to time. His heart, though, was firmly anchored in Elizabeth Parridine’s port. He’d met her back in Southampton and they courted for a year. She was a beautiful and very intelligent girl, well read in many subjects. What was better was that she claimed a love of the sea almost as strong as his. It took him a month to work up the courage to propose to her, and he nearly fell through the floor when she said yes. When the Titanic returned to Southampton, he was going to marry Elizabeth.

A sudden gust of wind over the bow made Robert put a hand over his service cap. It was time to see about tea. The young officer made his way aft to the officer’s mess. Even the crew quarters on the Titanic were worth quoting about. The tables were covered with crisp white linen and the lighting was warm and pleasant. The over soft carpet gave under his shoes.

Helping himself to a cup of hot tea, Robert saw Mr. Lightoller sitting with a man in a civilian suit. It could only be Thomas Andrews, the Titanic’s chief designer. He was often seen about the ship, notes and plans jammed in his pockets, obsessed with every detail of the new liner. He wanted everything just so.

"Mind if I join you, gentlemen?" Robert asked. Lightoller looked up and smiled.

"Certainly not, Robert. Please, sit down," the second officer replied and Robert sat down on a green upholstered chair. He could feel the ship’s engines vibrating through the wooden deck. It was a comforting sound. Lightoller made introductions.

"Mr. Andrews, this is Junior Fourth Officer Drake, a recent addition to our crew," Lightoller said. Robert stood and shook hands with Andrews. The man smiled warmly at him.

"Well, Mr. Drake, how are you finding this voyage?" Andrews asked, his voice tinged with an Irish accent. Robert sipped his tea, letting the hot liquid warm his veins.

"Fine, sir. She’s a beautiful lady," Robert said with a genuine smile. That was the truth. Everything on the Titanic was running as smoothly as you please and he had yet to hear a passenger make a single negative comment about the ship. Robert’s only real concern was the growing number of ice messages coming over the wireless, and the ship was not slowing down anytime soon.

"I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Drake." Andrews chuckled. "There are still some improvements I‘d like to make. But she is the queen of the Line." Lightoller smiled and took a sip of his tea.

"Sir, I’ve heard rumors we may arrive in New York on Tuesday if we maintain our current speed. I mean, this isn’t a race," Robert said as he let the teacup warm his hands. The temperature was getting steadily colder now that the Titanic had entered the Grand Banks. His father had once told him the ancient Vikings considered this area cursed. It was so cold and deep that ships would enter it and never be seen again. Sailors were a superstitious lot.

"No, it’s not, Robert. The Titanic isn’t built for speed, as you know. I think we’re trying to beat the Olympic’s arrival time, if anything," Lightoller replied with a shrug. That made sense, even if their sister ship was identical in engine performance. Robert swallowed his reply with a sip of tea. He didn’t want to mention his bad feeling in front of his superior.

Finishing his tea, Robert excused himself and left the mess, heading back up to his quarters for some rest. He would stand the evening watch at ten PM under First Officer Murdoch.

He hadn’t seen much of Gregory during the voyage, as he was kept busy in first class. The steward was as enamored of the Titanic as the rest of the crew, pointing out some of the more distinguished passengers to Robert as they walked on the boat deck. From Benjamin Guggenheim and Mr. and Mrs. Isidor Strauss to John Jacob Astor and his new bride, Madeline--even Mr. Thayer and his family. Lord and Lady Cosmo Duff-Gordon and Henry Sleeper Harper rounded out the cream of high society. The Titanic carried several hundred million dollars in important passengers.

Robert wasn’t really caught up in who was who. The Drake family had never been super rich, but they were comfortable. His father had always said that work was what made a man. He couldn’t agree more. So, it was a sailor’s life for him.

Later that evening, Robert checked his uniform in the mirror. He placed his cap on his head and nodded. He looked every bit an officer. One day, he might even make captain and command his own ship, perhaps even a ship bigger than the Titanic. But this was probably as big as ships would ever get, and considering the near-accident in Southampton, that was for the best.

He pulled on his heavy greatcoat and stepped into the corridor. It was about a quarter to ten, so Robert had enough time to drop by the wireless room to pester Bride and Phillips before going on duty. All three men were close in age, so they had become friends over the course of the voyage.

"What now?" Harold Bride shouted as soon as he opened the door. He saw Robert and looked relieved. "Oh, sorry, Robert. I thought you were that blooming purser again with more messages. They just keep coming," Bride apologized and let the young officer inside. The small room was dominated by the huge wireless apparatus occupying almost every spare surface. A distinct humming sound filled the room.

Jack Phillips sat working the key, his back to the door, and he turned and waved at his guest, too busy to get up. Next to him was a large stack of passenger messages that had to be sent. Robert could barely hear the clicking of the Morse code.

He had to admit that he was fascinated by wireless and had listened in on the network a few days ago. But it was so much gibberish as far as Robert was concerned, clicking and sparking that was supposed to be words broken down into code. It gave him a headache after a few minutes.

"Keeping busy, gents?" Robert asked with a smile. Bride laughed mirthlessly.

"Listen to this, Robert. Some big shot wants his private train to meet him in new York. Now, isn’t that nice? We’ll be up all bloody night on this lot," the junior wireless officer said, shaking his head.

"You mean you’ll be up all bloody night," Phillips quipped, finally looking up from his work.

"Very funny," Bride said. Robert chuckled and glanced at his pocket watch. He still had a few minutes before he had go stand on the cold bridge all night. But at least he could sleep in the next morning and let Fifth Officer Lowe have the early watch.

"Have you picked up anymore ice messages?" Robert asked.

"A few, but we’ve been too damned busy to send them all to the bridge. Don’t worry, though; we can’t sink even if we hit one," Harold replied. Robert wasn’t so sure. That feeling of dread was coming back and he pushed it down. No ship was unsinkable.

"Bloody hell!" Phillips shouted, pulling the headset away from his ears. The clicking of Morse code was audible across the room.

"What’s wrong?" Robert asked. Phillips shook his head.

"It’s that idiot on the Californian. She must be right on top of us!" Phillips snapped.

"Tell him to sod off," Bride suggested.

"I’ll do more than that," Phillips replied, working the key for a few seconds. "That should do it," the radioman said after a moment.

"Well, I’d love to confer with you lads all night, but I have to go freeze my ass off on the bridge. Have a good night," Robert said and let himself out.

The cold air was like a slap in the face as Robert stepped out on the boat deck. It was about thirty degrees out here. The forward motion of the ship made it seem even colder. Last time he checked, the Titanic was making twenty-two knots, almost her top speed. Looking over the side, he was concerned to see chunks of ice floating by in the black water.

Pulling his greatcoat tighter around himself, the young officer made his way to the bridge. First Officer William Murdoch was just taking over from Mr. Lightoller when he arrived. Quartermaster Hitchens was manning the wheel. The only light on the bridge came from the navigation instruments.

"Have you found the extra binoculars for the lookouts?" Murdoch asked, but Lightoller shook his head.

"We haven’t seen them since Southampton," the second officer replied. "Well, I’m off on my rounds. Good night," he said and left the bridge, nodding at Robert as he passed.

"Right on time, Mr. Drake," Murdoch said and shook the younger man’s hand. Robert respected Murdoch the most out of all the ship’s officers. He was supposed to have been chief officer, but the list had been shuffled before sailing, so Murdoch was bumped down to first. But the demotion hardly interfered with his duties.

"Any special orders, sir?" Robert inquired.

"Keep your eyes peeled for ice tonight. We’re nearing Newfoundland and the ice flows. I wish we could find those bloody glasses, but we can’t. So, keep those young eyes sharp," Murdoch instructed, his voice carrying a Scottish brogue as he was born in Dalbeattie, Scotland.

"Aye, sir," Robert said and took his station on the port bridge wing. Hopefully, it would be a quiet night and he could go below in a couple of hours. Staring out into the blackness of a moonless night, he felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. Something was out there, waiting for them. If only he knew what.

By 11:30, the watch was on its final leg. Rubbing his gloved hands, Robert looked forward to a steaming cup of tea after he went back to his cabin. He wanted to finish his letter to Elizabeth that he’d started last night. Imagining her warm embrace, Robert smiled to himself. She was what he really needed tonight.

The bridge was pretty quiet. The men on duty talked very little, devoting themselves to keeping a steady watch ahead of the ship. Robert felt sorry for the two lookouts riding high in the crow’s nest without any protection from the cold wind. It was good to be an officer.

Glancing down at the well deck below him, Robert saw a hatch open and a young couple emerge, laughing excitedly. How they got down there was a mystery to him, as that area was crew only. But it wasn’t his problem. Watching as they embraced passionately, he thought he recognized the young man as the steerage passenger he’d allowed on at the last minute back in Southampton. The young lady was certainly first class, an unlikely pair that could only lead to trouble.

Robert smiled and wished them luck in their clandestine tryst. He thought of Elizabeth and felt warmth in his belly. She was a wonderful girl; he couldn’t wait to see her again.

Suddenly, three loud reports from the crow’s nest bell shattered the still night. Robert jerked out of his thoughts. It was the danger code. At the same time, the phone began to ring on the bridge. Sixth Officer Moody rushed to answer it.

"Yes? What do you see?" Moody demanded, listening for a moment. "Thank you," he said and hung up. Robert peered intently into the black night. What was it?

"Oh, my God!" Robert exclaimed. An enormous iceberg floated directly in the Titanic’s path. It was huge and blacker than the night around it. How could we have missed something that big? By now, Murdoch had seen the danger and sprung into action.

"Hard a’starboard!" Murdoch shouted to Hitchens. The young sailor flung the ship’s large wheel over as fast as he could. Not wasting a moment, the first officer bolted inside, knocking Moody’s tea out of his hands. He slammed the engine room telegraphs to Stop and Full Astern.

Robert gripped the wooden rail, willing the Titanic to stop. She continued to barrel ahead, straight into disaster. Why doesn’t she turn? Robert thought desperately. Turn, damn it! Murdoch stood on the opposite wing and Robert could see sweat glistening on the first officer’s face.

"Is the wheel hard over?" Murdoch shouted.

"Yes, sir! It’s hard over!" Moody yelled back. All they could do was pray. Robert felt the deck shiver under his feet as the engines were slammed into reverse. He could only imagine what the engine crews were thinking way down there. This wasn’t good.

After what seemed an eternity, the mammoth prow of the Titanic began to turn ever so slowly. Robert silently willed it to move faster. Turn! Turn! Only a few more feet! Finally, the bow seemed to turn right past the iceberg. Had they made it?

No. A long, loud grinding noise reverberated through the night as the gigantic berg scraped along the port side. Robert winced as he imagined the damage that would cause. The ice was like solid rock and would slice the ship wide open. How bad, he didn’t know.

"Hard to port!" Murdoch ordered, intending to swing the Titanic’s stern out of the iceberg’s path. Chunks of ice crumbled onto the well deck as the berg passed. There was no doubt the ship had been damaged, but how bad? Robert’s stomach was doing an agonizing somersault. This is what he’d feared all along. Now it had just happened.

"Mr. Murdoch, what was that?" Captain Smith rushed onto the bridge, out of uniform. He had been fast asleep moments before, only to be roused by the collision.

"An iceberg, sir. I put a hard starboard on the engines, full astern, but it was too close. I tried to port round it, but she hit," Murdoch explained in a stunned voice. The man looked ready to pass out. Robert felt a hot rock in his stomach. I knew this would happen!

"Close the watertight doors!" Smith ordered, but Murdoch was a step ahead of him.

"The doors are closed, sir," the first officer replied. Smith marched out to the starboard bridge wing and looked over the side. The offending iceberg was now long gone and the night looked calm and still. After a moment, Captain Smith turned back inside.

"Find the carpenter; get him to sound the ship," he ordered. Murdoch turned and hurried to carry it out. The Titanic’s engines slowly ground to a stop in the middle of the North Atlantic. All they could hope for was that the vaunted watertight compartments would hold the water that was no doubt rushing in below decks. But deep inside, Robert knew the Titanic was doomed. It was what he’d feared the moment he had come aboard.

"Mr. Drake? Bring Mr. Andrews to the bridge at once," Captain Smith was saying. Robert snapped out of his thoughts. If anyone aboard could give a clear picture of what had happened, it was Andrews.

"Yes, sir." Robert saluted and hurried off the bridge. Walking down the grand staircase, he made his way down to C-Deck. Very few passengers were about at this late hour, so the corridors were deserted save for a handful of stewards. As he walked, the young officer noted the lack of background vibration from the engines, that comforting noise that was so much a part of life at sea. Now it was gone.

A stateroom door opened and a tall, dark-haired man in his forties stepped out. He looked around and caught Robert’s eye as he passed. He recognized the man as John Jacob Astor from Gregory’s orientation earlier. Astor was the richest man aboard.

"Excuse me, young man. Why have we stopped?" Astor inquired. Robert was aware of just how powerful this man was and he fumbled for an answer. He didn’t want to lie to a passenger, but it wouldn’t do to incite panic, either. So, he chose a third option.

"We’ve stopped on account of ice, sir. There’s nothing to worry about," the junior officer replied, which wasn’t far from the truth. Until they knew more, it was best for the passengers to remain in their cabins. Astor nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

"Really? But my wife felt a shudder," Astor insisted.

"That was most likely the engines stopping, sir. I assure you there’s nothing to be concerned about," Robert said with a calm smile. Astor thanked him and disappeared into his stateroom. The officer sighed in relief. That was close.

Arriving outside Thomas Andrews’ stateroom, he knocked politely. "Come in!" was the muffled response from the other side. Robert opened the door and walked in to see Mr. Andrews seated at his desk with blueprints spread everywhere. Did the man ever sleep? Listening for a moment, he realized the engines had stopped.

"What’s happened? Did we hit something?" Andrews demanded, already on his feet. Robert felt a little more at ease with this man than Mr. Astor. He needed to be told the truth, and fast.

"I’m afraid we hit an iceberg, sir. The captain requests your presence on the bridge," Robert said. Andrews grabbed a heavy jacket off the hook and was heading out the door before Robert was finished talking. No doubt he already feared the worst.

Back on the bridge, Andrews laid out the results of the iceberg crash. He had taken a brief tour below decks and saw the extent of the damage. The look on his face told Robert everything he needed to know. The Titanic was doomed.

"She can remain afloat with her first four compartments flooded. But not five. Not five! As she sinks, the water will pull her down by the head and pour over the tops of the bulkheads. Back and back, there’s no stopping it," Andrews explained to a shocked Captain Smith. Behind him, Robert and the assembled officers exchanged stunned looks. This cannot be happening. But it was.

"What about the pumps?" Smith pointed out, but Andrews shook his head.

"The pumps buy you time, but minutes only. From this point on, no matter what we do, Titanic will founder," the designer said. Captain Smith looked utterly horrified. This was his last voyage before retirement aboard the grandest ship ever built. A serious disaster was unthinkable. Modern shipbuilding was supposed to have gone beyond that.

"But this ship can’t sink!" exclaimed Mr. Bruce Ismay, the White Star Line’s managing director; he, too, looked unable to comprehend what was going on. Andrews shot him a desperate look.

"She’s made of iron, sir! I assure you, she can, and she will. It’s a mathematical certainty," Andrews said plainly. Mr. Murdoch’s face was wracked with guilt, while Lightoller looked shocked. Robert was simply filled with a cold fear; he’d known all along something bad would happen.

"How long do we have?" Smith asked after a long moment. Andrews did some mental calculations.

"An hour. Two at most," he said. Smith turned to his waiting officers.

"And how many aboard Mr. Murdoch?" the captain asked his first officer. The man swallowed hard.

"Two thousand, two hundred souls aboard sir." Murdoch’s voice was almost a whisper. Robert would remember the look on Captain Smith’s face for the rest of his life, the look of total defeat.

"Well, it looks like you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay," was Captain Smith’s only reply. "Gentlemen, we must prepare to abandon ship. Assemble the passengers and prepare the lifeboats for launch. This must be done quickly and calmly. We can’t afford a panic. Dismissed," Captain Smith ordered.

As he followed the officers away from the bridge, a sudden thought made Robert sick to the very pit of his stomach, something he had noticed all the way back in Southampton. The lifeboats! We don’t have enough! Not enough by half!

What are we going to do?

Chapter Three
Stories