Neither of those would happen, of course. Even if Tom sent a telegram, it would not be delivered until morning, and phone calls were impossible. If she wished hard enough, could she put herself on Titanic and see what he saw? Could she be there to help?
She slowly rocked herself, back and forth, face resting on her bent knees. His name filled her mind, her body tense with the desire to have him safe. The minutes ticked by.
Titanic—10:30 p.m.
Wrapped up tight against the cold, Tom moved out to the Boat Deck and over to port. The night was still pitch black, the sea still calm. The only breeze came from the movement of the ship as she raced through the water, her engines thrumming evenly. Looking over the rail, he could hardly hear the water splashing against the hull, far below.
He hailed the lookouts. One waved, the other was looking through the ‘nocs as the ship moved ahead. He turned to stare at the lifeboats, his mind rehearsing the steps to follow to most efficiently release them.
He realized what he was doing and closed his eyes. Dear Lord, I’m acting as if it’s actually going to happen. I’ve got to stop it from happening, not just give up!
After a minute, he walked to the bridge.
First Officer Murdoch and Sixth Officer Moody were discussing their position when Tom entered. Both were surprised to see him, but greeted him cordially enough. “You’re wandering around late, sir,” was Murdoch’s casual inquiry.
“Aye,” Tom said, “just checking on a few things.” He looked curiously at the map. “Looks like you’ve found some ice?” he asked them, noting himself that the pin marking the ship was indeed surrounded by areas marked as icebergs.
They nodded and Murdoch answered. “At least according to the messages. Some of those are a couple of days old, of course. We’ve no accurate measurements.”
Tom shook his head in dismay, but tried to keep his voice light and easy. “You know, I’ve built you a good ship, gentlemen. But she will no’ appreciate a rubbing from a berg.”
They agreed, laughing a little. Then, as Tom continued to stare at them, Murdoch cleared his throat. “Cap’n said to let him know if we had any doubts. Hate to wake him, but he’ll be interested in our position.”
Tom nodded, not taking his eyes from Murdoch. It took all his willpower to not demand he get the captain immediately. Murdoch exchanged an uncomfortable look with Moody as he went to rouse the captain. Tom checked the time. 10:40 p.m. One hour to go. One hour!
Knowing he had no real right to be on the bridge, Tom moved outside and over to the railing. Give Smith time to check things. He can’t miss those bergs marked on the map!
At nearly 11:00, he felt a presence beside him and looked up into Captain Smith’s frown. “Jitters, Tommy?” Smith asked quietly.
“Sir?”
Captain Smith looked away, out into the darkness, and considered his words. “You know sailing, Tom. I know you understand the risks we take, the fine line between caution and cowardice.” He looked back at Tom. “It’s a good crew we have, in the bridge and in the nest. They know their jobs. I’ve been at sea a long time, you know. Long before these wireless messages came along to add confusion to what should be straightforward decisions. I’ll tell you, I don’t entirely trust them. You and I both know the bergs move with the currents and we can’t pinpoint their exact locations. I’ve often run at night and I’ve never hit a berg.”
Tom nodded, heart pounding as Smith continued. “Bruce Ismay has made a few suggestions regarding course and speed. You are pestering my crew. Now I know Bruce owns the ship and you know the ship. But Thomas, I’m the captain of the ship. You and Bruce need to back off and let me do my job.”
Tom struggled to swallow past the dread filling his throat. Smith’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Tom. “Do you have a premonition, lad? I’ll tell you, in forty years of being on the sea, I’ve never had a real problem, but I’ve seen enough and heard enough to not ignore an experienced seaman’s nerves. Are you that worried about the ice?”
Tom’s breath returned. “Yes, Captain. I’m not a superstitious man, but sir, we need to slow down. I know that as well as I know my name.” He turned to stare at the night. “There’s a berg out there with our name on it. I’m sure of it.”
He glanced back and saw Captain Smith’s blink of surprise. “It could be,” Smith said reasonably, “that slowing down will put us right in its path. If our name’s on it, it’s possible that any action we take will bring us right to it.”
Tom nodded at this, looking at Smith earnestly. “Aye, it might. But if we’re moving slower, or better yet, stopped, the damage will be less. We need to do what we can.”
Smith stared out at the water a moment, before nodding slightly. “I’ll take it under consideration, Tom.” He turned, his expression unreadable. “That’s all I can do on the strength of a premonition. I’ll not run my ship based on superstition, but I’ll re-examine the ice reports and our heading. In the meantime, I’ll request that you return to your stateroom and cease bothering my crew. Can I count on that?”
“Aye, Captain. Thank you, sir,” Tom said, and he moved to follow his orders.
Dunallon—3:30 a.m.
Sam wearily looked up from his journal as Casey limped into the library, arms around her stomach. She looked ill and old, pain etching her pale face, her eyes hollow and lined with dark circles. His breath caught in his throat and he stood to put his arms around her and hold her.
Neither one of them found anything to say.
Titanic—11:30 p.m.
Tom’s breathing was unsteady and his heart was pounding. He stood in his cabin, staring at the door, waiting. Another heartbeat went by and he knew he couldn’t take any more. The captain’s implied order had been for Tom to remain in his room, but as long as he didn’t bother the crew, Tom felt he could be outside. He couldn’t stay in place another minute. He walked quickly out to the forward boat deck and stood out of the way, watching ahead with complete intensity. He saw nothing.
The boats creaked against the ropes, the ship continued to sail at a fast clip; Captain Smith had not reduced speed. A powerful ship, clean and strong, but not indestructible. His spine straightened with rage. He had built her for a full life. Careless fools would deny her that.
11:40 p.m. He saw it at the same moment he heard the shout from the lookout.
“Iceberg, right ahead!”
God almighty! A black mountain was suddenly there in the darkness, blocking the stars. So close.
Too close.
He couldn’t move. For a wild, dizzy moment, he was filled with thoughts of home, feeling the softness of Casey as she moved beneath him, his nostrils filled with the smell of her skin, hearing her moans. If longing could move time and space, he could have reached out and twisted open a portal to take him home instantly.
The moment was gone in the same instant the ship shuddered around him. Screeching metal filled his ears as the ship scraped the berg, a stretch of time that seemed to last forever. Shouts from the crew rang out, orders were given and repeated.
With a vision of Sam’s description of the damage in his head, he raced for the crew stairway in the bow. He heard shouts from below. As he neared the Orlop Deck, he encountered frantic stokers racing up the stairs, and heard the watertight doors clanging as they closed. The saline smell of seawater reached him as he struggled past the men, pausing when he came to water, flowing along the deck. He saw no damage. The excited stokers milling about told him they’d barely escaped before the doors came down. A few mentioned names of those behind them; they had not seen them get out, although they still had access to the escape ladders.