Hello again, dear readers.
Thank you to all those who have been reading and reviewing this story so far. And for those of you who are reading but not reviewing, I sincerely hope you are enjoying it as much as possible.
In this chapter, at long last, the Titanic will leave Southampton... or almost. You will see what I mean once you get to reading the chapter.
Now, let us begin.
Chapter 2 – An eerie incident
Aboard the RMS Titanic, on the port side of the First Class area of the Boat Deck, 11.55 a.m.
As the time slated for the Titanic's departure drew ever closer, the crowds gathering on its port side grew ever bigger, as all over the third class decks people waved with a mix of joy and regret at relatives they were leaving behind, shouting words of farewell that got mixed into a single ubiquitous call. The waves and words of farewell were also present on the second class decks, but to a lesser degree, as the passengers who gave them were overall more certain about their eventual return. Only the first class decks seemed to be truly ruled by calm, in spite of the waves and occasional words of joy that also came from them. Not only was this sort of journey routinely for many of them, but every rule on the code of society dictated that first class passengers had to display elegance and decorum under every circumstance.
Grasping the bottom pole of her umbrella more firmly than would be advisable, Rose rolled her eyes from left to right at an almost dizzying speed, trying her best not to squirm in discomfort at being trapped – in a literal sense. Right in front of her, a steel bulwark reached a bit above her waist, so close to her that only a piece of paper could have been put between it and her. And behind her, there was a human barrier made by several other people who also wanted to witness the departure, but had gotten there after she did.
Cal, being as interested as he was in watching the ship leaving, and not needing to go to the Purser's Office to stow valuable possessions thanks to that hideous safe he carted everywhere, had managed to get himself, Rose, and her mother a spot right by the bulwark on the Boat Deck's port side, almost at the center of the ship. And he had also managed to effectively trap Rose, as both he and Ruth were standing so close behind her that there was less than an inch of space separating them from her. Even though they weren't touching, the closeness was uncomfortable enough for Rose to feel her lungs being compressed, and her heartbeat quickening, which added to the restrictiveness of her corset, made her feel sick.
So much so that by now, regardless of the strange feeling she'd gotten about the Titanic when she had been about to set her foot on the gangway, Rose wished the ship would leave as quickly as possible. At least she would have more room to breathe after that happened.
Unfortunately, she had no idea when that would be. Time seemed to creep by more slowly than a snail, and she had no watch to check it. Not by her own choice, as she had bought several ones before, but her mother had always said it was too easy to succumb to the temptation of checking the time when wearing such a thing, which was not proper from a lady. And Cal said that even though ladies' watches were commissioned as pieces of jewelry, they were hideous looking, and therefore unfit for his fiancée to wear. Between the two of them, they had always found ways of causing every watch Rose had owned to vanish, and eventually, she had known when to stop wasting money on them.
And now, that attempt had led to her standing straight like a spindle, mentally willing the time of departure to arrive as soon as possible, in spite of knowing the voyage that awaited her would be less than pleasant.
Not that her mother or Cal seemed to have the same opinion, as both of them seemed to be enjoying themselves even before the voyage began. To her right, her mother seemed utterly delighted in talking to three elegantly dressed women – two of them in their early thirties, the other in her fifties – and a dapper gentleman who seemed to be in his sixties. The most elegantly dressed woman had introduced herself as Mrs. Lucy Noël Martha Leslie, before adding that she was the Countess of Rothes as an afterthought. From then on, she had immediately gotten the bulk of Ruth's attention, while the other woman the Countess' age and the older couple were not as included into the conversation by far, in spite of having introduced themselves as the Countess' cousin and parents respectively. And Rose could already see that in spite of her polite behavior, the Countess wasn't exactly thrilled about that.
And to her left, Cal talked to Colonel Archibald Gracie IV, a stocky, middle-aged gentleman with dark-brown hair and a slightly pudgy belly, who was no more than a casual acquaintance for Rose, but had been deemed close enough by Cal and Ruth to be among those who had been sent an invitation for both the engagement gala that would be held in Cal's mansion at Pittsburgh and for the wedding.
She had no idea of what either pair around her was talking about. At first she had tried to pay as much attention as she could to both conversations, the way her mother and Cal always wanted her to, but as time had gone on and she hadn't been spoken to a single time, Rose had ended up letting her mind wander to random thoughts, while hoping in the back of her mind that neither her mother nor Cal would care about her presence until the ship left port, at the very least.
"Isn't that so, sweet pea?"
Hearing Cal's question, Rose straightened up suddenly, feeling the endless blur in front of her crashing to a halt, as unease started building up inside her, and her ribcage protested at her corset's constricts. Cal would not be happy if he realized she'd barely heard a word of his conversation to the Colonel. Although he hardly addressed her during conversations he had with the guests of all the events which she was required to attend with him as his fiancée, he always expected her to be listening to every word of each conversation he had with his guests. And he tended to get upset whenever he realized she didn't do so.
"What were you saying, Cal?" Rose asked, finding it wiser not to actually say that she hadn't been listening.
Even before she finished speaking, Rose could feel the volume and speed of her mother's chatter swaying for a moment – but thankfully, she seemed to be eager enough to talk to the Countess for not to give her daughter any other hint of disapproval.
Cal rolled his eyes in annoyance, and then spoke as if he was repeating some explanation he'd given hundreds of times before, "I was telling Colonel Gracie here that both of us are very much looking forward for our journey on this wonderful vessel to begin."
He leaned almost imperceptibly toward her, and again asked, "Isn't that so?"
Knowing the answer he wanted her to give, Rose replied in a non-emotional, but also non-hesitant tone, "Yes, that is absolutely right."
At least that was something she could tell without lying, even if the reasons behind that weren't most certainly the ones Cal expected.
The corners of Cal's mouth stretched for a few moments in a sneer, and he leaned even closer to her as if he was going to say something else. But at that moment, Colonel Gracie replied jovially, "Well, that makes three of us then."
Apparently finding it better not to leave a conversation hanging, Cal simply took the care to let a look of warning linger on Rose, and then turned back to Colonel Gracie in order to carry on talking to him. Taking the deepest breath she could with a corset on and in such a tight space, Rose mentally forced herself to resume paying attention to Cal's conversation with Colonel Gracie, at the very least.
However, even before Cal could start talking, the attention of everyone on deck was caught by a particular event. Out of nowhere, the ship's whistle gave a series of short, sharp blasts.
Rose inwardly sighed in relief. She knew that was the sign for those who were on this ship for any reason that wasn't to travel on it to go ashore.
"Well, what would you know?" Colonel Gracie remarked in amazement. "Ten seconds after we start talking about the voyage, we get told it's about to start."
"Maybe we should have started talking about it sooner, then," Cal replied in a congenial tone that easily allowed Rose to picture the smile he must have had on his face when he said that.
"Yes, maybe you should," Rose couldn't help but to mutter. The moment after doing so, however, Rose took her hand to her mouth, fearful of her slip-up's results. Even though she had spoken low enough for the words not to be discernible, her mumble had most certainly been audible.
Thankfully, Cal appeared not to have noticed it, as he was again talking to Colonel Gracie. Her mother, however, took the care to conspicuously but sharply nudge her with the back of her hand.
But Rose paid it no mind, and instead tried to watch as much of the activity that went on around her as she could.
To say the least, the amount of it was considerable. With imminent departure announced, the waves and words of farewell coming from the open decks belonging to the steerage passengers became both more numerous and intense, as well as those coming from the second class areas – albeit to a lesser extent. News reporters and people who certainly were either relatives or friends of passengers scurried down the gangways, eager to not be caught on the ship without a ticket, while men on the dock stood by the moorings, ready to start removing them when the time to do that came.
Then, after a sizable amount of time had passed without people walking down any gangway, workers on the dock started to remove them.
Upon seeing that, Rose's eyes widened, and her heart skipped a few beats. She couldn't help but view the removal of those gangways as a physical manifestation of the fact that now, she would truly have to travel on the Titanic until it reached its destination, with no possibility of things going any other way. Not that she had ever believed it would be possible to simply walk out of the Titanic at her will and expect no one said or did anything about it… but somehow, to have knowledge of that confirmed still seemed to jab more deeply at her than the mere knowledge by itself.
As if to remind her of that fact, her corset tightened around her for a moment like a fist being clenched, before loosening to its normal, but still tight grip. At the same time, a sardonic voice in the back of her mind asked why she couldn't just make up her mind about when she wanted the departure to take place.
"What is that going on over there?" Rose suddenly heard the Countess's mother asking.
Momentarily distracted from her thoughts by this one question that somehow got through chatter she hadn't cared to listen to, Rose glanced to the side, and sure enough, her mother, as well as the Countess and all her three relatives, were looking down on the same direction.
Following their line of sight, Rose saw that there was one gangway which still had to be drawn, and half a dozen men with bundles on their shoulders – most likely stokers, judging from their looks – were right by it, leaning forward as if they intended to rush into the ship before the gangway's ship end got too distant from the vessel. However, the officer supervising the gangway's removal was not allowing them to board.
Although the stokers were too far for Rose to see their lips, she could tell from the men's stances that each was talking so fast that it would be hard to discern a single word, in their obvious eagerness to join the crew. Still, the officer was unshakable. After a few calm attempts at turning down the stokers' pleas, he said something else in a stern tone, judging from his overall posture.
The stokers' shoulders slumped so much in disappointment and sadness that Rose feared for a moment the bundles they were carrying would actually bring them down. Fortunately, that did not happen – but regrettably to the stokers, their collective grievance did nothing to change the officer's mind, and in the following moments, the gangway was withdrawn, and its corresponding door was closed.
"Tough luck," Colonel Gracie remarked with a sigh of pity as the group of stokers by now gestured furiously at the closed gangway in a way that suggested they were shouting very ugly words.
"Poor chaps," the Countess's father said in a sympathetic tone. "Whoever looked at them would think they've lost a close relative."
Rose couldn't help but to agree with the gentleman. After the initial moments they had spent gesturing furiously and shouting out their anger, the stokers had collapsed in hopelessness, and some of them had put their hands on their heads, and were possibly mumbling in hopelessness about what they were going to do now that they had missed this job.
If what Rose had read on the newspapers about the large amounts of unemployed stokers was true, then they would certainly have a hard time ahead of them.
But then, any thoughts about the group of unfortunate men were cut off, as the ship's whistle made itself heard again. This time, however, it only emitted a single, large, deep-throated blast, after which the workers on shore cast off the moorings. As that happened, Cal drew his pocket watch and looked at it.
"What would you know?" she heard him muttering in a genuinely amazed tone. "They weren't kidding about British punctuality after all."
Ignoring Cal's comment, Rose watched the moorings being pulled aboard the ship. The going was slower than what she had seen on her other shipboard travels, but considering the length and thickness of the ropes, Rose actually found they were working quite quickly. Then, a heartbeat after the last mooring had been reeled in, the ship started creeping toward its starboard side, causing the gap between it and the berth to slowly increase, and a cheer to erupt from the passengers and the crowd on the dock alike.
Strangely enough, there was very little of an uproar in any other manner. No noise from other ship's whistles, no fanfare from any music band that had remained concealed until now - nothing that suggested the biggest ship ever made was starting its maiden voyage. Not that Rose had particularly wanted it, but she had been expecting it, considering the general excitement about the Titanic.
But all in all, she somehow felt this rather discreet departure was more appropriate. Besides, the lack of the things she'd thought about made no impact on the fact they were still underway.
And Rose, now divided between her eagerness to have room to breathe and the dread she felt regarding the rest of the voyage, found herself at a loss at to which of those sides was more promiment in her.
At the Titanic's forecastle…
As he momentarily diverted his eyes from the crewmen still dealing with the moorings to the widening gap between the ship's port side and the dock, Henry Wilde felt the same unease that had plagued him far too often as far as the Titanic was concerned crawling its way up his being. Somehow, in spite of having known that his stay on this ship had been inevitable for almost a day now, this further confirmation of that fact caused something to squirm inside him and a sour taste of dread to fill his mouth.
But then, as if such a thing was a natural human behavior, Wilde ignored both those things, and turned his attention to the hawsers connected to the tugboats that would pull the ship's bow. He'd been assigned to inspect them, and he would be damned if he let Lightoller do the job on his own. Not because Lightoller was incompetent per se – in spite of his dislike for the man, Wilde begrudgingly and inwardly admitted he was a good officer – but because the task had been assigned to him primarily, and there was no way he'd let Lightoller convince himself it was the other way around, even for an instant.
After a few moments, the Titanic stopped moving to the side, and then, thanks to the keen sensibility he had developed over his twenty-two years at sea, Wilde felt the deck starting to vibrate slightly underneath his feet, as the ship's engines started working. Then, the tugboats towing at her stern cast off their hawsers – which Wilde couldn't see, but knew was happening – and the ship started creeping its way forward.
Slowly but steadily, the Titanic neared the turn to southeast, into the River Test, and then, still aided by the tugboats at its bow, turned port. Then, once that turn was finally finished, Wilde ordered the crewmen stationed at the hawsers to cast them off, so the tugboats could reel them in.
After he and Lightoller looked over the ship's bow to make sure no mishap had occurred during the casting off of the moorings – and thankfully, had confirmation of that fact – Wilde inwardly nodded to himself.
That was one tough part of the voyage that was over and done with.
"You know, Wilde, we are about to pass by the Oceanic," Lightoller informed out of nowhere.
Feeling a jab in his heart at the mention of the ship he could have been about to captain, Wilde narrowed his eyes, sure that whatever came next could not be good. At first he considered ignoring Lightoller's statement or commanding him to shut up, but he'd gotten puzzled enough, and he would be damned if he let Lightoller get the impression he was afraid of a mere comment.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in the most indifferent tone he could muster.
"Let me just say that if you are as eager to captain her as I heard you were, you are more than welcome to jump overboard and seize your chance," the Second Officer remarked, the annoying smirk on his lips driving the statement into Wilde's heart like a dagger. "You'd be doing everyone on this ship a big favor."
Wilde's first impulse was to pull Lightoller by the collar and stare him in the eyes so hard that Lightoller would die if looks could kill. But as he started inching forward, he held himself back, and simply clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, while somehow managing to keep a calm expression.
"Or I can just lift you by that gangly neck of yours and drop you in the drink," Wilde remarked, deciding to ignore the fact Lightoller had hugely disrespected him as a superior, not to mention thrown salt into a rather painful wound. "That way I'd be doing everyone on this ship an even bigger favor."
A hint of anger flaring in his eyes, Lightoller opened his mouth as if to throw another remark, but any words from him were suddenly cut off.
Out of nowhere, reports like those of six gunshots fired in a quick series were heard. Wilde's head instantly spun toward the sound – and to his surprise, there were a few lengths of rope floating in mid-air, looking as if they had been thrown into the sky.
Alarm rushing through him, Wilde rushed to the railing, closely followed by Lightoller. As he got there, the lengths of rope landed on the dock, and the crowd of people that had undoubtedly been keeping up with the ship stepped back. A few cries of fright were heard, and it seemed to Wilde that one of the pieces of rope had landed on a poor lady.
Hopefully, his eyes had deceived him.
Wondering where the ropes had come from, Wilde gave another look around – and in a few seconds, he saw something that caused his eyes to open wider.
Like Lightoller had said, they were just passing by the Oceanic. However, there had been a smaller vessel moored to her, and somehow, the Titanic's wake had snapped the smaller ship's moorings, and was now drawing her stern in.
On instinct, Wilde made as if to turn around and rush to the telephone on the forecastle, but instants after starting the gesture, he second-guessed the thought and gave up on it. Those on the bridge were bound to have noticed what was going on as well, and interrupting any measures they were taking with a redundant phone call would be far from advisable.
So, he just locked his eyes on the incoming stern of the other ship, as his mind went back to September 20th 1911, off the Isle of Wight.
That had been the day of the nastiest-looking incident he had ever witnessed. The Olympic had been going through the Solent, and her course had crossed that of the British warship HMS Hawke. Although both ships had tried to get around the other, the Olympic's wake had sucked the Hawke stove in into her starboard side. The warship's bow had penetrated a full eight feet into the large ocean liner, causing two of her watertight compartments to flood and her propeller shaft to bend. Overall, that collision had produced the nastiest damage Wilde had ever seen.
And now, the same seemed about to happen to the Titanic, even before her maiden voyage fully started.
"Come on, hurry up," Wilde muttered under his breath, as the other ship's stern kept drawing closer to the Titanic's hull.
As if his plea had been heard, a crewman on the other ship suddenly caught a line. Following it with his eyes, Wilde saw it had been tossed by a tugboat, which had rushed to the other ship's stern. After the rope had been affixed, the tugboat started towing at the other vessel – but it did as well as a puppy would do in dragging an ox by the tail.
Mentally willing his quickening heartbeat to go slower, Wilde stepped away from the railing as quickly as possible. If he was there at the time of the crash, he would likely go overboard.
"Get away from the railing, all of you!" Wilde bellowed to all those in the forecastle, even as he kept stepping back himself.
A quick glance around let him see a number of crewmen obeying his order – and also let him notice that Lightoller was stepping back at exactly the same speed he did.
When he got far enough to be sure he would only fall belly first onto the deck during the collision, he stopped, and steeled himself to feel the whole ship rumble and shake underneath his feet.
But no such thing came. The only thing Wilde noticed was the vibration underneath his feet seemed to have shifted ever so slightly – to such a point that he wasn't even sure he was feeling it. Then, nothing else came. No thunderous noise of steel and wood splintering, no shake that threw everyone onto the deck… just the steady vibration of the Titanic's engines under his feet.
"What the…" Wilde muttered, as he rushed back over to the railing to see what had happened. Surely the collision should have already taken place by now.
When he looked over the edge, Wilde noticed the other vessel's stern dangerously close to the Titanic's – something like six or seven feet away – but the two vessels weren't touching. And the tugboat appeared to no longer be trying to draw the ship backwards, looking instead as if it was merely holding her in place, while a wash that appeared to have come from along the Titanic's side finished dispelling.
Wilde's tensed expression melted into one of all the relief he could display without looking weak. Apparently, there would be no actual disaster during the Titanic's departure after all.
On the port side of the First Class area of the Boat Deck…
Her eyes locked on the gap between the Titanic's side and the other ship's stern, Rose let out a sigh of relief that was echoed by a good number of passengers around her, as the last remnants of a swell that had erupted from the Titanic's wake vanished in the water.
That one had been far too close. If that wash the ship's engines had produced had been made just a few moments later, who knows what sort of disaster could have occurred. Not only would the Titanic's passengers and the other ship's crewmembers have been thrown down, but that smaller ship's stern would have been completely destroyed, while horrid damage would have been made to the Titanic itself, certainly causing all those in the breached compartments to be seriously injured, to be squashed, or even to drown.
Rose shuddered at the thought. That definitely would have been a terrible start for the voyage for all those involved.
As the shiver faded away, Rose forced herself to take the deepest breath she could. Her corset made it far less deep than she would have desired it to be, but it was still enough to make her mind clearer. After all, in spite of everything, things were alright. The other ship's stern was quite close to the Titanic, but the tugboat kept holding it firmly, preventing it from drawing closer. Also, the Titanic's engines were now stopped, which certainly meant nothing else of the like would take place anytime soon. All in all, the worst thing anyone here had gone through had been the scare.
And some appeared to not even have felt that. Glancing to her right, Rose saw that her mother looked shaken – genuinely so, for once – as well as the Countess's mother and cousin. But the Countess' father, as well as the Countess herself, looked quite calm. And a good number of passengers that Rose could see to her right also appeared to not have been all that disturbed by the near-collision. Perhaps it was because they had been sure it would be stopped. Or maybe they were relying too much on how nothing serious would happen. After all, no one had been seriously injured or killed when the Olympic and the Hawke had collided almost eight months ago, in spite of the unmistakable severity of the damage caused. Probably they were expecting the same thing to happen if the Titanic and this other ship also had collided.
A frown made its way onto Rose's face at that thought. Again, she couldn't help but to think everyone was relying on man-made things far too much.
In an effort to think about something less dreadful, Rose adjusted her position, trying to shift her umbrella to her other hand as she did so. But then, she realized that she was no longer holding it. Dread coming over her, Rose looked down – and sure enough, the umbrella was lying horizontally on the deck. She had certainly let go of it at some point while she'd been nervously watching the other ship's incoming stern.
Uttering a grunt in annoyance at her frail nerves – one which thankfully her mother didn't hear – Rose tried her best to crouch and pick up her umbrella. Unfortunately, her skirt ended up restraining her legs' skill to bend, and her corset kept her spine less flexible than an iron pole. All in all, she lowered herself only half of what was required to pick up her umbrella.
Hoping that a different position would enable her to do it, Rose straightened herself and tried to crouch in a different way, but she'd barely started when she was interrupted.
"Rose?" her mother asked, now not sounding anywhere near shaken by what she had been about to witness. "What are you doing?"
Rose narrowed her eyes at her mother, but then, she felt something creeping up her spine, which immediately made her think that Cal's attention was trained on her. It was the last thing she would have wanted, but there was no escape now.
"I was trying to pick up my umbrella," Rose said, not bothering to hide any self-reproach from her voice.
Although she wasn't looking at Cal, she could sense the grim coming across his face as he heard that.
"Why didn't you say so earlier, sweet pea?" Cal asked. "Here, I'll pick it up for you."
Before anyone could say anything, Cal bent down, picked up the purple umbrella, and handed it over to Rose, a smug look on his face.
If this had been the first time such a thing had happened, she could have been grateful, but she knew Cal well enough to know he just adored those moments when something that caused her to depend on him happened.
"Thank you," Rose spat as she took it from her hand, glaring at him with every fiber of her being.
Cal's smug look morphed into slight anger as he met her glare, and at the same time, her mother sharply nudged her back with her knuckles for the second time in a far too soon interval.
Leaning slightly toward her, he whispered, "Rose, must you really get so grumpy just because you dropped your umbrella?"
Looking him in the eye, Rose replied, in the calmest tone she could use, "If you really want to know, I must. And if you think a little, I'm sure you'll understand why."
His jaw clenching upon hearing her comment, Cal started to lean forward as if to hiss some warning in her ear, but then, the Countess' father, oblivious to the slight turmoil taking place close to him, chose that moment to ask, "Could you please tell me that other ship's name, my dear? I can't see it very well from here."
Although Rose heard the question, her mind hardly gave any thought to it, besides being grateful that it had been loud enough to distract Cal from leaning over her. However, the moment the Countess gave her reply, her eyes widened for a moment, and an edge of wariness crept into her. While that other ship's name was certainly no more than a coincidence, Rose instantly made up her mind that it wouldn't have been the same thing by far if the Titanic had drawn in a vessel with some other name.
On the port side of the Titanic's forecastle…
In spite of his relief at the fact the Titanic had not been hit by that smaller ship, Wilde kept a close eye on the other vessel. Although the tugboat – which he could now see was called the Vulcan – kept the smaller ship's stern under control, her bow seemed to be slowly veering toward the Oceanic. And while there was a second tugboat rushing to secure it, it still was not certain whether it would get there on time.
Of course, Wilde himself could do little or nothing to prevent any eventual damage that either the Oceanic or the other ship would suffer, but he knew enough about how things worked to know that if something happened it would be all the better for him if he actually saw it. It had been just like that when the Olympic had collided with the Hawke. And although he could be required to make some sort of precautionary inspection, for the moment he just stayed where he was. After all, if those on the bridge needed him, they could make a phone call.
By Wilde's side, Lightoller also kept his eyes locked on the smaller ship, most likely because he thought the same thing. His expression was tinged with hints of nervousness, the way Wilde figured his own had to be.
For a moment, Wilde considered whether to voice some sort of jab at Lightoller's ego, using his apparent unsteadiness as basis, but he discarded the thought. Not only were things more than serious enough, but he wasn't going to stoop down to Lightoller's level the way the Second Officer had done with him just before that near-accident.
So, he kept watching the movement of that other ship's bow, while the second tugboat finally came alongside it and tossed its hawser to a member of that other ship's crew stationed there, which was promptly tied.
Then, as if he'd had a delayed reaction to listening to Wilde's thoughts, Lightoller flickered his eyes toward him, and then remarked, "Maybe you should sit down, Wilde. You seem quite shaken by what transpired."
Wilde started turning his head around toward Lightoller so he could counter the comment effectively, but then, at that very moment, the tugboat pulling at the small ship's bow towed it farther away from the Oceanic, which enabled Wilde to see that smaller ship's name.
And then, as if something had been jabbed at his heart, Wilde drew in a sharp breath, as, for the first time, he got a proper look at the other vessel's name.
New York
The sense of dread Wilde had felt countless times flared inside him – only this time, it was far stronger than it had ever been. He'd never been a superstitious seaman – and in fact, he had always thought that those who were so were, to say the least, somewhat foolish – but somehow, the fact that the Titanic had nearly crashed with a ship that had the same name of her destination so soon after her maiden voyage started did not bode anything good for him. It could be a coincidence – and even now, Wilde recognized that it most likely was – but whether it was or not, this simply didn't seem like a good sign indeed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Wilde noticed Lightoller's smug grin at his rattled expression, but for some reason, before Lightoller actually voiced some sort of remark, he followed Wilde's line of sight, curious to see what could have shaken him like that. After a few moments, he turned his face to Wilde again, as the Chief Officer looked him in the eye as well. But this time, Lightoller's face held no smug grin, nor any of the ill-disguised contempt it was most commonly seen whenever he and Wilde looked at each other. Neither of them said a word, but at least Wilde had no problem realizing that for once, he and Lightoller were in absolute agreement.
But somehow, that realization only served to strengthen everything eerie about the whole event.
So, one more chapter comes to an end. I honestly hope you enjoyed it.
I tried to write a good action scene when the near collision came about, and I can only say that I hope I did a good job. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it.
Now, my usual explanations regarding the historical points of this chapter for the most interested readers. According to real-life characters, the Countess of Rothes (whose full name was the one I gave) was indeed travelling with her parents and her cousin when she boarded at Southampton. However, her parents left the Titanic earlier on, and only her cousin - as well as her maid, actually - stayed with her until the untimely end of the voyage.
And about Colonel Gracie, I know the description I gave of him doesn't match what he looks likein the movie, but as this is an AU, and he is a minor character, I was convinced it would be better to picture the real man's looks - no disrespect meant to Bernard Fox's portrayal of the character.
Now... about the historical aspects of the Titanic's departure - according to my investigations, the Titanic's whistle did give a series of short, sharp blasts for those who weren't travelling to go ashore, and also let out a large, deep-throated blast (to quote author Daniel Allen Butler) when the ship left. As for the group of stokers prevented from boarding by an officer (Sixth Officer James Moody in case you're interested), I found sources referring to them as the Slade brothers (they were three) and others that referred to the group as having half a dozen members. In the end, I went with the latter figure.
Also, there was really a lack of cheering from other ships as the Titanic left her berth, according to school-teacher Lawrence Beesley's book about the disaster.
Now, about the big event which is really the center of this chapter... for those of you who don't know, in real life the Titanic's wake really caused another ship to snap its moorings and be drawn in to the point collision seemed imminent. And that ship was really called the New York (formerly City of New York, having changed its name after being transferred from the Inman line to the American line). Legend has it that there were passengers who saw this as a bad omen and left the Titanic on her next two stops.
About the six feet between the New York's stern and the Titanic's hull, however, this is a bit of creative license. I saw sources that stated there were only four feet between the two ships by the time the collision was averted, and others stating that there were ten feet. In the end, I felt ii was a permissible compromise to have the estimate I present being something in-between.
I hope I'm not giving the impression I'm throwing my knowledge in everyone's faces with these long notes. I am simply trying to indicate the basis of certain things I include and which I feel readers may find doubtful.
And again, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.