Titanic (4 page)

‘They run the telephone exchange as well,' said Mr McElroy. ‘There are telephones for the first-class passengers, but no telephone line between the bridge and the Marconi Room. Seems daft to me but I'm only the Chief Purser, so what do I know? Off you go and introduce yourself to Mr Phillips.'

Billy went to the Marconi Room. He knocked on the door and went in, and was taken aback by how small the cabin was, and how crowded with dials and cables and equipment.

Two men were sitting at a desk, one of them tapping away at the Morse key. Billy was fascinated. The clicking noises it made were a message that was probably being sent to another ship or New York, hundreds of miles away.

The other man looked round at Billy and smiled.

‘Mr McElroy sent me,' said Billy. ‘I'm to take messages to the bridge.'

‘That's good of him,' said the smiling man. He had a light cockney accent, and Billy saw that he was young, in his early twenties. ‘You got a name?'

‘I'm Billy Fleming, sir. One of the bellboys.'

‘I guessed that. Your uniform was a dead giveaway.'

Billy blushed and smiled back at him.

‘I'm Junior Wireless Officer Bride, but you can call me Harold, not
sir
. His nibs here is Senior Wireless Officer Jack Phillips.'

‘And you can call me
Mr
Phillips, boy,' said the other man, frowning at Harold. He was older, although not much, and looked tired and harassed.

Harold rolled his eyes, making sure Mr Phillips didn't see him. Billy smiled.

‘Well, we've got plenty of work for you, Billy,' said Harold. ‘Where did you put the sea reports, Jack? We ought to send those up to the bridge
at least. Some of them came in hours ago and they've just been sitting on the desk.'

‘Is it any wonder?' snapped Mr Phillips. ‘I'm so busy sending messages for the first-class passengers I barely have time to think!' He rummaged crossly in a pile of papers, pulled several out and thrust them at Billy. ‘Here you are.'

Outside the Marconi Room Billy saw that most of the messages featured the word
iceberg
. He shivered, and hurried up the gangway to the bridge.

Billy had never been on the bridge before. It occupied the highest part of the ship's forward superstructure, in front of the leading funnel, and was little more than an enclosed space about twenty feet across with a line of windows that gave a view onto the bows and the sea ahead.

There were no doors on either side, and Billy stood at the starboard entrance looking in at the officers on watch.

‘Well, are you coming in or not, my lad?' said Mr Wilde, Chief Officer and Captain Smith's second-in-command. ‘You'll catch your death out there.'

‘Yes sir, sorry sir,' said Billy. ‘Mr Phillips gave me these messages for you.'

‘Ah, you must be Billy,' said Mr Wilde, with a smile. ‘Mr McElroy told me he was going to make you into our messenger boy. We certainly need one.'

Mr Wilde leafed through the messages. There were several other men present – the First Officer, Mr Murdoch, a junior officer Billy didn't recognise, a seaman on lookout duty. A ship's wheel stood in the middle of the bridge, and Billy was puzzled to see that no one was doing any steering. Then he realised the back wall of the bridge was mostly made up of more windows, and beyond those another seaman held a bigger wheel, the true ship's helm.

Billy also noticed several panels on a wall behind the helmsman. One was a diagram of the ship divided into numbered sections, each with a small electric light above it, the whole thing entitled
Watertight Door Indicator Panel
.

Mr Wilde looked up at last from the messages. ‘Mr Moody, would you ask the Captain to join us?' he said. ‘He should see these.'

The other officer nodded and left the bridge.

‘How is it looking, Wilson?' said Mr Wilde.

‘No change, sir,' said the lookout. ‘Still flat calm as before.'

The sea was smooth and glassy, like the surface of a pond in winter just before it freezes over, Billy thought. But ‘flat calm' didn't really describe how beautiful it all was. Titanic's bow pointed directly at the giant red ball of the sun setting on the horizon. The sky was half full of huge heaped clouds, their undersides lit crimson and pink and purple by the dying sun's rays.

Captain Smith arrived on the bridge, Mr Moody in his wake.

‘You'd better have a good reason for interrupting my dinner, Mr Wilde,' the captain said.

‘Sorry sir,' said Mr Wilde. ‘I thought you should see these warnings.'

Captain Smith flicked through the sheaf of papers. ‘Nothing to worry about,' he said. ‘There are always icebergs at this latitude.'

‘But these reports are a few hours old, sir,' said Mr Wilde. ‘At our current rate of speed I'm not sure we'll have enough manoeuvrability…'

‘Nonsense – this is the Titanic,' said Captain Smith, as if that should settle any argument on the subject. ‘Was there anything else?'

Mr Wilde shook his head.

‘Excellent. Carry on, Mr Wilde – be sure to keep me informed. If you're still worried, I suggest we adjust our course a few points to the south.'

Captain Smith left the bridge, and Mr Wilde gave a small sigh. Then he turned to Billy. ‘Go back to Mr Phillips, Billy, and tell him not to hang on to any iceberg warnings. I want to see them as soon as they're received.'

But Mr Phillips wasn't interested in what Mr Wilde wanted. ‘It's all right for
him
, Mr High and Mighty Chief Officer Wilde,' he said. ‘I have to deal with all these messages for the first-class passengers. Look at this little lot!' Mr Phillips waved at a heap of scribbled messages in front of him.

‘Don't worry, Billy,' said Harold, shaking his head. ‘You and I can make sure anything important gets to the bridge. Go and have your dinner now, though.'

Billy went off to the crew dining hall, then called in at the Marconi Room after he'd finished. Harold said that Mr Phillips had got cross with a nearby ship that had kept trying to send him a message. But there were no more iceberg warnings, and it was time for Billy to go off duty.

He went down to check on Anya and her family, and they seemed happy. Some musicians had put together a band. They were all from different countries, but they seemed to get on well enough. The band played wild tunes, and the younger people were dancing in a space at one end of the promenade. Billy watched the fun, but it had been a long day and he soon left.

It was quiet in the bellboys' quarters. Most of the lads were lying on their bunks reading or asleep, a couple talking in hushed voices. Billy lay down on his own bunk and tried to ignore the smell that haunted the crowded areas of the ship, and which seemed to be growing worse the further they got from land – a combination of ocean tang, unwashed feet, and a faint hint of vomit.

George was stretched on his bunk, two over from Billy's. He had looked up when Billy came in, then turned away, ignoring him and concentrating on reading a newspaper Billy knew was four days old.

This is stupid
, Billy thought. He remembered Ma saying life was too short for arguing, and thought of his Da. Billy rolled off his bunk and went over to George.

‘How long are you going to keep this up, Anderson?' he said.

‘What are you talking about, Fleming?' said George, lowering the newspaper. There was a sudden silence in the cabin, the other boys listening.

‘You know fine well, and you know where it will end too, so you do.'

George scowled. ‘I know where it should end, with me putting you in your place,' he said. ‘But I can't lay a finger on the Chief Purser's favourite, can I now? He's bound to take your side.'

Billy sighed. ‘I'll fight you any time you like, but I don't see the point. We have to work and live together – so why can't we be friends?'

He held out his hand.

George looked down at it, then up at Billy's face once more. Then he grinned and slowly shook his head.

‘Once a coward, always a coward,' he said, and turned to his newspaper again.

Somebody sniggered, and Billy felt stupid standing there with his hand held out. He turned on his heel and got ready for bed, putting on his pyjamas and lying on his bunk beneath the rough blanket that was their only cover.

It was quite late now, after eleven, and soon he was drifting off to sleep, his mind full of images from home, of Ma and his sisters, of Da walking on that plank…

In the dream Billy called out a warning as he always did, but Da never heard him, and Billy had to watch as he tumbled down, although Billy usually woke up before Da hit the ground. But this time the dream ended with a bump that Billy felt in his whole body, and he realised he was awake, his eyes open. There was a loud scraping noise too, the whole cabin reverberating and shaking.

‘What the hell is that?' said someone. ‘Have we hit something?'

‘Don't be daft,' somebody else said. ‘What could we hit out here? We're in the middle of the Atlantic, for Heaven's sake, nothing but sea for miles.'

Billy thought of the warnings from the Marconi Room.
Icebergs
. He sat up, anxiety fluttering in his stomach. Some of the boys were out of their bunks and everyone listened, but the scraping ended as suddenly as it had begun.

‘The engines have stopped,' said George, and the boys looked at each other, even more puzzled. They had grown used to the constant throbbing in every part of the ship. To Billy it had felt like the pulse of a living thing, and now the ship was strangely inert, the bunks and decks and bulkheads suddenly stilled.

He jumped up, pulled off his pyjamas and started putting on his uniform. ‘Well, I don't know about anyone else,' he said. ‘But I'm off to find out what's going on.' Soon he was on his way to the boat deck, the rest following.

They found themselves in the middle of a strange scene. Big chunks of ice were scattered over the boat deck. A few deckhands were kicking them around like footballs, their laughter cutting through the cold night air. Billy looked beyond them, and what he saw chilled his blood in more ways than one.

A colossal iceberg loomed over the ship, almost close enough to touch.

Billy and the other bellboys went to the handrail and looked out over the sea, the blaze of light from Titanic's portholes and deck lamps casting a glow for hundreds of feet around the ship. The iceberg was enormous, a craggy white mountain that glittered beneath the stars of a moonless sky. Even so, most of it was below the surface, a massive, ghostly presence in the water. Ship and iceberg drifted apart, the sea quietening in the growing gap between them.

‘Will you look at the size of that!' said somebody, awe-struck.

‘What kind of damage would hitting an iceberg do to the ship?' said another voice.

Billy turned round and saw it was a worried-looking George.

‘They're trying to find out,' said the boy who had spoken first. He nodded in the direction of a group of men at the handrail closer to the bows.

Billy was very glad to see Mr Andrews there with them. They were lucky to have him aboard. He had designed the ship, so he should know how to deal with any damage caused by colliding with an iceberg.

But as Billy watched, the fluttering of anxiety in his stomach grew worse. Mr Andrews's face grew grim as he peered over the handrail, and he soon hurried away below deck.

Some passengers had come out to point at the iceberg and the chunks of ice on the deck. They were in high spirits, as if what had happened was some kind of entertainment laid on just for them by the White Star Line.

After a while Mr McElroy appeared. ‘Glad to see you boys up and ready,' he said. He was smiling and seemed as calm as ever. ‘Best if you wait at the bellboy station in case you're needed
for anything. Billy, I want you to come with me to the bridge.'

It was quite crowded on the bridge. Most of the ship's officers were there, a dozen serious-looking men, a couple still hurriedly doing up the buttons of their uniform jackets.

Captain Smith stood slightly apart with Mr Ismay.

‘This is a poor show, Captain Smith,' Mr Ismay said, like a parent telling off a child. But then Mr Ismay was Captain Smith's employer, Billy thought, so perhaps he was entitled to speak to him that way. ‘I fail to understand how you managed to hit an iceberg in the middle of the Atlantic. Aren't you supposed to have lookouts for this sort of thing? Surely you should have seen it.'

‘Of course we have lookouts, Mr Ismay,' the Captain said stiffly. ‘They spotted the iceberg, but it was too late. Isn't that so, Mr Wilde?'

‘That's right, sir,' said Mr Wilde. ‘We might have hit it head on if we hadn't taken any evasive action. But our speed made things rather difficult.'

‘Don't try to blame me for this,' snapped Mr Ismay. ‘I might have suggested that a swift crossing wouldn't be a bad thing, but you're the people we actually employ to sail the ship. Weren't there any warnings? Isn't that what the Marconi Room is for? All that equipment certainly cost a pretty penny.'

Billy saw Mr Wilde glance at the Captain. ‘Yes, there were some warnings,' said Mr Wilde. ‘Our new messenger brought them up earlier.' He nodded in Billy's direction and everyone turned to stare at him. ‘For some reason they'd been held back, and I thought the Captain ought to see them.'

‘Is that correct, Captain?' said Mr Ismay. ‘You saw the warnings?'

‘I did, Mr Ismay,' the Captain said even more stiffly. ‘In my judgement there was nothing to worry about, although I did order a course correction.'

‘Your judgement was wrong,' said Mr Ismay. He moved to the windows and looked out. Silence fell on the bridge, and Billy could feel the embarrassment in the room. Beside him
Mr McElroy was frowning, his mouth a tight line.