Chapitre 2: Sea Trials [Ch. 2]
R.M.S Titanic | April 15, 1912 | 2:10 A.M
Atlantic Ocean
With ten minutes left to live, the Titanic's life was coming to an end. Her forward forecastle deck began to submerge. Water rushed over the bow and forecastle deck like a fast moving tsunami.
Captain Smith had all but disappeared amongst the raging crowds of panicking passengers. But he remains close to the beating heart of his dying ship; the Bridge.
As panic ensued, and passengers began running aft to the stern, inside the First Class Smoking Room, was Thomas Andrews. As he stood by the fireplace, which was burning, he stood alone and in silence.
Green chairs and tables began tumbling and falling over the higher the stern rose from the water. The table and couch behind Thomas, also green, began sliding forward, making high-pitched squeaking noises as they shuffled forward. The lights dimmed, the wooden support columns and wooden beams creaked and cracked under stress.
On port and starboard side walls were arched windows that had shadows cast on them by people running outside on deck. The screams of men, women, and children haunted him. Having what would be his last glass of bourbon before he met his end, he gazed upon the painting above the fireplace: Plymouth Harbor.
Under the painting, sitting on the mantle, was a small clock. It was arched at the top, with a glass casing that could be opened to adjust or sync the hour and minute hands.
Dressed in formal-wear, he wore black pants, tucked in white buttoned shirt, black shiny dressy shoes, and a red tie.
The stern continued rising, now at an eight degree angle. He's holding on to the mantle with his head down.
With his glass of bourbon almost gone, he glanced over to his left; fixing his sight over at the arched windows. He stared and watched as shadows rushed by outside.
He looks away, returning to glance back down at the floor. The superstructure was failing; Thomas knew that. With each creaking, squeaking, and groaning noise echoing throughout the ship, it was only a matter of time before the hull would fail. He sighs a heavy sigh.
"We failed," he mumbled to himself, "I've failed, many men, women, and children. Neglected to see through your flaws–" Thomas continued talking to himself.
Creak!
Squeak!
Crack!
As the screams began sounding further away, only a few shadows rushed past the Smoking Room windows. A man suddenly stumbled into the Smoking Room. After being pushed and shoved out of other passengers' way, he stopped himself from losing his stance.
"I have failed," he mumbled, "I failed to provide them with a safe ship. If only I'd built them a stronger ship, our fates could have been avoided." he continued.
As if the ship were a real person, he treated her as such. But really, honestly, he was talking to himself.
"Mr. Andrews?" The man said, "John Stewart, 1st Class Steward."
Thomas heard the man, looking back over his shoulder. Both of his hands were gripping the mantle. He didn't say anything to the Steward at first, but when he did he nodded his head slightly.
"Ah, Mr. Stewart," he spoke as Thomas turned around to look at John.
The lights inside and outside faded to almost all darkness. Her power is failing. Thereafter, they brightened once more; only this time wasn't as bright as it was a few minutes earlier. But then they returned to their full brightness. As creaking and groaning of the ship's structure continued, Thomas, preparing himself to go down with his ship, knew the end was near.
Glancing at the clock, he read the time: 2:16 A.M. A loud splash and creaking sound was heard again. Unbeknownst to Thomas, that was the sound of the second funnel collapsing and tumbling.
"Your life jacket," John said, "you're not wearing it?"
"I designed Titanic to be as safe as humanly possible," he began speaking to John, "I was there when her keel was laid. I was there when she went down the slipway. She was going to be the marvel of our time. Upsettingly, no ship is unsinkable. The bigger the ship, the easier it is to sink."
The time was now 2:17 A.M. The creaking, the groaning, and the squeaking became very loud; almost drowning out what Thomas was explaining.
"Save yourself, Mr. Stewart," he said.
008 Days Earlier…
R.M.S Titanic | April 02, 1912
Atlantic Ocean
A half hour into her sea trials, and Titanic was performing exceptionally well. Her engines shunted and moved up and down. The vibrations produced by them could be felt, although faint, from the Bridge.
Her sea trials consisted of: sailing at different speeds, steering tests, and how fast she was able to stop; all important tests for when and if an emergency were to occur while at sea.
If Mr. Carruthers deemed her fit for service (if she passed all her tests), he would grant the ship a certificate. Upon then, she will be eligible to enter transatlantic passenger service.
Present and proud were: Thomas Andrews and Edward Wilding [Harland & Wolff], and Harold A. Sanderson [International Mercantile Marine Company], and Captain Edward J. Smith [White Star Line].
"I happen to notice that Mr. Pierre and Mr. Ismay have not joined us this morning?" Mr. Carruthers asked as he glanced aside at Thomas.
"Mr. Pierre was ill, and Mr. Ismay had other obligations to tend to I believe," he responded with a faint smile. "I'm certain it is just the flu."
"I imagined they would be present for Titanic's sea trials," Mr. Carruthers said as he made brief eye contact with Thomas before looking down at his clipboard and checklist.
"Agreed, but she is a fascinating work of art, is she not?" Thomas said with a gleaming smile.
"If she passes, she will be a marvel of our time," Francis Carruthers said as he checked another box. Looking up, he approached the helmsman: Robert Hichins.
"Alright gentlemen," Mr. Carruthers said as he stood alongside Mr. Hichens. "We are now going to perform a steering maneuver: hard a starboard please. Engines will remain at full, while Mr. Hichens begins the maneuver," Mr. Carruthers said as he smiled and nodded at Helmsman Hichens.
"Whoever you are ready, you may begin."
"Mr. Hichens," Captain Smith said, "hard to Starboard please."
Reaching into his inner coat pocket, Mr. Carruthers took out a small pocket watch. He held it firmly in his hands, staring down at it.
"You may begin," he announced.
"Hard a Starboard," Hichens repeated as he began turning the helm to the left; or to starboard.
Mr. Carruthers glanced up every so often to check on the actions of the Bridge crew. Standing alongside each other, Captain Smith and Mr. Carruthers monitored the order requested.
After turning it entirely to the left, it stopped and jolted.
"Hard over, sir," Hichens announced as he held the wheel in position.
Captain Smith held his hands behind his back, with his head raised high to appear proper and professional. Thomas held his hands behind his back too. He was anxious and a little nervous.
"Everything well, Mr. Andrews?" Captain Smith asked as he briefly glanced over to his left at Thomas.
Looking over to the right, they made brief eye contact.
"Fine, yes."
Being a tall gentlemen, Smith stood 5' 8". With a proud smile, he had a gut feeling that Mr. Andrews was worried. But what for?
"You know, Mr. Andrews," he began saying, "I was once where you are. A young gentleman, I began my seafaring journey in 1871."
"A year after the S.S Atlantic foundered," Thomas said.
"If the Atlantic hadn't went down, I don't think I would be where I am–"
"One minute, thirteen seconds," Mr. Carruther announced aloud.
Captain Smith and Thomas stopped conversing, refocusing their attention back on the ongoing trials.
"Exceptional! Well done," Mr. Carruthers replied enthusiastically. He
"Straighten her out, Mr. Hichens," Captain Smith ordered.
"Yes, sir," he repeated as he started turning the wheel back to the right. After a couple of spins, he stopped the helm from turning anymore. A dial, located behind the wheel mount let him know when to stop turning. Once the arrow pointed straight up, that meant the rudder was executing the steering input.
After being delayed because of poor weather, today was different; much different. The skies were clear, the sun shined bright, and a gentle breeze rushed through to Bridge.
Thomas had departed the Bridge unnoticed. Outside on the Portside boat deck, he inhaled heavily.
The smell of soot could be smelt from where he was at. Looking back over his shoulder, he took one glance back at everyone before leaving to take an unaccompanied stroll. What better day to do it. The weather, to him, could have been much different. But it wasn't. Thomas took this as a good sign. But what, he couldn't figure out. He was buried deep in excitement for the Maiden Voyage.
"Moving on," Mr. Carruthers said, briefly glancing down at his clipboard and pencil. "Next we will perform an "all stop" test. This will be a timed exercise. Mr. Smith, whenever you are ready."
Thomas smiled and nodded his head as he walked down the Portside boat deck. His hands behind his back, he glanced down at the wood deck, the white painted exterior walls of the officers quarters, and the lifeboats to his right, resting on their deck mounts, their ropes intertwined with winches and the davits.
The White Star logo was visible, along with the ship's name; S.S Titanic. He stopped and gazed upon lifeboats 004 and 006 and 008. Lifeboat 002 was swung out over the side, its view obstructed by the wall in front of it and one of four collapsible boats.
Ring!
The sound of the engine telegraphs caught his attention. Hearing those ringing sounds never got old. Only more fascinating as he sails on newer ships. He never got tired of hearing those sounds.
"All stop," an officer called out.
As much as he wanted to be present on the Bridge, he'd already been through that phase when he'd sailed on the Olympic last year.
"Mr. Morgan will be pleased, I'm certain," Mr. Sanderson, a representative from I.M.M, White Star Line's parent company.
"If I may ask," Captain Smith said as he glanced over at Harold Sanderson. "Mr. Morgan. Will he be traveling with us on Titanic's Maiden Voyage?"
"I believe so," he replied with a smile. "His passage has been booked. First Class. His private train arrives on the morning of Titanic's departure."
"Ah," Captain Smith said as he nodded his head. He looked away, but kept a smile on his face. "Please relay to Mr. Morgan, I look forward to making his acquaintance."
"I shall send a telegraph upon our return to Belfast," Mr. Sanderson said.
"Good man," Captain Smith smiled and chuckled.
Strolling along the boat deck, alone, Thomas had taken his top hat off. He held it in his arm so it wouldn't blow away. As he strolled past lifeboat 008, he held his hand out. He slid his hand down the length of the boat, which was freshly-painted white.
The cool ocean breeze blew through his neatly-combed hair. He inhaled and exhaled. As he walked past the second funnel, he grabbed and clenched onto one of the funnel's support cables.
"A marvel of our time," he mumbled as he let go of the rope, putting his hand back into his front vest pocket.
Coming up on the Grand Staircase entrance, he looked up at the sign hanging straight out over the door. It was a light sign: 1st Class.
Where the Officer's Quarters ended, there was a white metal door. It was this door that Thomas opened and walked through.
The hallway he began walking down was short and very narrow. Uncovered and exposed bare light bulbs lit the hallway. Also running throughout were the few steam line pipes.
As Titanic was still being fitted out, he frequently visited his ship to work on familiarizing himself with the entire ship. Up to this point, he's nearly finished with that task. She's a big ship, which meant there was still plenty for him to explore.
Going left, he walked down the hallway that would lead to the Wireless Room. Standing in the hallway, Jack Phillips and Harold Bride were working on fine tuning the wireless telegraph system.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he said, announcing his presence. With his hands behind his back, he showcased a welcoming, positive smile.
Jack and Harold stopped what they were doing, turning around to look at Thomas.
"Mr. Andrews, hello," Jack, who was sitting, said as he turned his chair around. "Good morning."
"Mr. Andrews," Harold spoke. "Good morning Sir."
He smiles and nods. "Just going about my rounds. Just checking in. How are things this morning?"
"Pardon us Sir," Jack said, "but we must get back to making sure the telegraph system works. Mr. Marconi is very demanding."
"I am sure he is," Thomas said, "very well then. I will leave you gentlemen to it. Good day."
"Same to you, Mr. Andrews," Harold said.
Approaching the end of the hallway, he glanced to his right. A short way down, there is an entrance leading into the Grand Staircase.
You could smell the fresh paint and the polish used on the woodwork. Stepping through the doorway, he'd arrived at the beautiful Grand Staircase.
The maplewood paneling and architecture on the walls, the white tiled flooring with hints of gold and black, the maplewood railings, and the clock at the top of the first flight of stairs. It was telling the time, as it should be.
The dome above caught the attention of Thomas. Seeing the plans and the drawings he'd conjured, he was still in disbelief that it was a reality. He walked over to the railing and looked up. The glass dome was beautiful. Thomas stood admiring the beauty of it.
"Mr. Andrews, sir," a stocker said as came frolicking up the stairs. "Mr. Barker requires your presence."
Thomas looked over at the stoker in a stiff stance. He was confused in a way.
The stoker's clothing was dirty and filthy. Dirty from sweat and coal dust, he smelled similar to a bonfire–but with coal; not wood.
"Apologies," Thomas began saying, "but you must remember this: stokers and greasers are to use the Fireman's Stairwell."
"I'm sorry, sir."
With a smile, he set his hand down on the boy's shoulder. "I chose you and your mates for a reason. Now prove to me that I made good on my choosings."
Thomas wasn't mad and he wasn't scolding the stocker for forgetting about where to go and where to not go. There was no reason for doing so.
"Quite alright, young man," he responded, "I won't tell if you don't," he concluded with a smile.
"Thank you, sir. Thank you."
"Now, back to you," Thomas said as he checked the time on his pocket-clock. "Mr. Barker requests my presence, is that right?"
"Yes."
"Lead the way," Thomas said.
When they arrived back down in Boiler Room 5, Thomas instantly smelled the familiar smell of a fire. Not the fires in the boilers, no. Those were controlled and monitored.
Amongst the many stokers, greasers, and firemen, were his nine Guarantee Group men. Many of whom had a part in bringing the Titanic to life.
"Aye, it's Mr. Andrews," Mr. Campbell shouted as he looked up at the overpass above the boilers.
"Good morning gentlemen," Mr. Andrews said while he smiled and waved. "Carry on."
"Ah good, you're here," Mr. Knight, "the fire is down here in the bunker."
"Show me, good man," Thomas replied.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone