TITANIC: A STORY TOLD
Chapter Fifty-One
Smith and Andrews came down the steps to the
Mail Sorting Room and found the clerks scrambling to pull mail from the racks.
They were furiously hauling wet sacks of mail up from the hold below.
Andrews climbed partway down the stairs to
the hold, which was almost full. Sacks of mail floated everywhere. The lights
were still on below the surface, casting an eerie glow. The Renault was visible
under the water, the brass glinting cheerfully. Andrews looked down as the
water covered his shoe, and scrambled back up the stairs.
*****
Andrews unrolled a big drawing of the ship
across the chartroom table. It was a side elevation, showing all the watertight
bulkheads. His hands were shaking. Murdoch and Ismay hovered behind Andrews and
the Captain.
"When can we get underway, do you
think?" Ismay asked impatiently.
Smith glared at him and turned his attention
to Andrews’ drawing. The builder pointed to it for emphasis as he talked.
"Water fourteen feet above the keel in
ten minutes...in the forepeak...in all three holds...and in boiler room
six."
"That’s right," Smith agreed.
"Five compartments. She can stay afloat
with the first four compartments breached. But not five. Not five. As she goes
down by the head the water will spill over the tops of the bulkheads...at E
deck...from one to the next...back and back. There’s no stopping it."
"The pumps--" Captain Smith was
grasping for any hope.
"The pumps buy you time...but minutes
only. From this moment, no matter what we do, Titanic will founder."
"But this ship can’t sink!" Ismay
was flabbergasted.
"She is made of iron, sir. I assure you,
she can. And she will. It is a mathematical certainty." Andrews already
knew the truth.
Smith looked like he had been gut punched.
"How much time?"
"An hour, two at most," Andrews
replied.
Ismay reeled as his dream turned into his
worst nightmare.
"And how many aboard, Mr. Murdoch?"
Smith asked.
"Two thousand, two hundred souls aboard,
sir."
There was a pause. Smith turned to face his
employer.
"I believe you may get your headlines,
Mr. Ismay."
*****
Andrews was striding along the boat deck, as
seamen and officers scurried to uncover the boats. Steam was venting from pipes
on the funnels overhead, and the din was horrendous. Speech was difficult,
adding to the crew’s level of disorganization. Andrews saw some men fumbling
with the mechanism of one of the Wellin davits and yelled to them over the roar
of steam.
"Turn to the right! Pull the falls taut
before you unchock. Have you never had a boat drill?"
"No, sir! Not with these new davits,
sir."
He looked around, disgusted, as the crew
fumbled with the davits, and the tackle for the falls...the ropes which were
used to lower the boats. A few passengers were coming out on deck, hesitantly
in the noise and bitter cold.