The Journal of Captain Edward J. Smith, RNR
Prologue
The tall, white bearded gentleman in the grey overcoat and tall derby waited as his steward opened the suitcases he had brought aboard and prepared to unpack them. On the top of neatly folded shirts in one lay a thick book, its cover worn from years of use. A lovely midnight blue velvet, it boasted a small engraved brass plate which read, "Journal, Capt. Edward J. Smith".
Here he was, over twenty-five years after starting the journal, given him by his wife when he'd taken up his first command, all those years before. Oh yes, his first command. Beautiful, unforgettable Republic. Terribly old-fashioned, he now supposed, but he had loved her well, as, he now supposed, all masters did their first command.
Back then, in January of 1887, he'd been not only a new captain, but a newlywed as well, having married the very pretty and sweet-natured Eleanor Sarah Pennington shortly before assuming command of the then-thirteen year-old Republic. My yes, what days those had been. There he'd been thirty-seven year old Edward J. Smith, tall, strapping, dark-haired, coming home after his first voyage as a captain, to find Eleanor waiting for him at the Liverpool Landing Stage, so pretty in her dark blue velvet coat and hat, beaming at him with love and pride.
Now, here he was, twenty-five years later, standing in the Captain's Suite of his final command, the brand-new, ultra-luxurious Titanic, latest flagship of the White Star Line.
After slipping off his coat and derby and handing them to Paintin, his steward, he walked into the sitting room of the suite and sat down on the sofa, journal in hand. He had a bit of time until Wilde, the Chief Officer for this voyage, would present himself for report. Smith had a bit of time to read and write and now he would.
April 10, 1912
At last it is sailing day for Titanic and all her crew and passengers. You would think that I could see that I have been commanding ships for a good quarter-century now, but as seems to be true—at least as the cliché would have it—I honestly cannot believe that it is twenty-five years since I first walked the decks of my Republic as a newly-minted master.
Unfortunately, as is often true in this world, there is bother along with the glory of commanding my final "mistress of the moment" as Eleanor sometimes calls my ship. I called in Wilde to replace Murdoch as Chief Officer—just for the maiden voyage as he is to assume command of Cymric upon his return. Murdoch is a fine and capable officer, but this is a very important voyage for the Line and Murdoch has yet to serve as a Chief Officer. Best that someone like Wilde take over just for this one voyage.