Miles and miles in my bare feet
Still can't lay me down to sleep
If I die before I wake
I know the Lord my soul won't take

~"Barton's Hollow" by The Civil Wars

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Harold

Harold Lowe had never felt so overwhelmed as he did the morning of April 10, 1912. From the moment he wretched himself from his bed he hadn't been off his feet. In all of his years at sea as an officer, he had never been ordered around as much as he did today. As he set a length of rope near one of the lifeboats, he tried to remember when he last sat down. Southampton had been a near-miss this morning, with Titanic coming mere inches from colliding with the New York. The captain had commented this indicated a bad voyage was ahead but the rest of the crew was in high spirits as they watched the first of the passengers begin to explore Titanic's many rooms. However, many of the officers were on edge as they tried to keep the excitement in the crew underhand. Even Joe Boxhall, the fourth officer aboard who was usually joking and teasing was solemn and quiet.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned on the railing, overlooking the decks below. Many of the first class passengers that had boarded in Southampton were already milling about, enjoying the many luxuries Titanic had to offer.

"Mr. Lowe!"

He turned around, standing at attention as he recognized the voice. Lightoller, the second officer, was strolling towards him, a pleasant look on his face.

"Mr. Lightoller," Harold said, tipping his hat. "This ship's fast, eh? I've never seen a liner move like this one."

The other officer smiled. "Quite right, Mr. Lowe. The White Star Line certainly out shined themselves with this one."

An awkward silence fell between the two men as they watched the sea fly by beneath them. In the distance, they could see the outline of the Cherbourg shore coming into view.

"Ever been to France, Mr. Lightoller?" Harold asked.

"I can't say I have," he replied, smirking as he took off his hat. "I'm sure you have, no doubt. The Welsh certainly know how to get around."

Harold laughed. Lightoller was an Englishman from London and he was curious how he had found his way to the sea seeing as he lived inland for so long.

"Mr. Murdoch has requested to see you below decks so you can help board first class passengers."

Harold couldn't help but let out a small groan. Lightoller chuckled and said, "I know they all have their knickers in a knot, but I've heard the Astors, the wealthy Americans on honeymoon, will be boarding here. Perhaps you'll get a glimpse of them, or even a nice tip!"

By now, the Titanic was drawing very near to the port and Harold tipped his hat at Lightoller before heading down below deck. Although he had spent nearly a month exploring the ship before its maiden voyage, he still found himself getting lost.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath as he found himself in the same hallway once more. It was embarrassing, but he had to ask a stewardess which way to the first class halls. When he got to the area where the passengers would be boarding, he found a chaos of stewards and officers bustling about, arranging potted plants and straightening paintings before the door was opened.

"Ah, Mr. Lowe!"

Murdoch, the first officer on Titanic, was walking towards him along with a short, stout man with a thick mustache. The gentleman looked small and weak compared to the proud and tall officer.

"Lowe, I'd like you to meet the owner of the White Star Line, Mr. Bruce Ismay."

Harold tipped his hat to the small man who stared at him with a smug expression. A steward approached the three of them, hands stained with shoe polish. "Mr. Ismay, we're ready to open the doors."

Murdoch checked his pocket watch. "My, my, did we really dock so quickly? Alright lads, go ahead, let them in."

Mr. Ismay immediately began shouting orders, telling stewards where to go and what to do. He disappeared into the first class hallways, a herd of people following behind them.

"He certainly acts like he's the captain, doesn't he?" Harold commented as Murdoch and he began to open the door.

"Well, we've got to let him think he's important," Murdoch replied, a twinkle in his eye. "Look, I've got to be on the bridge with the captain. Can you stay here and check tickets and direct passengers to their rooms?"

"Right, right."

When they got the door open and the ramp in place, Harold settled himself next to the open door and straightened his jacket. Men in funny suits, women dressed in heavy furs, and little girls with bows in their hair all shoved their tickets under his nose when they approached him. He studied them all carefully. Although many of them carried smiles on their faces, he had seen their scowls minutes before about the mud on their shoes or the sea breeze knocking their hats from their heads. They were all so self-centered and materialistic, just as his father had been.

"There they are!" a steward beside him whispered, pointing below.

"What?" he asked, straining to follow the young man's finger.

"The Astors, of course!"

At last he saw them. He recognized John Jacob from the photographs he'd seen in the newspapers. He was exactly as he looked in the pictures: tall, handsome, perfectly trimmed facial hair… he looked every part a billionaire. His wife was on his arm, very young and pregnant. Her blonde hair was stylishly curled and peeking out from her very large hat. She had a hand on her belly the entire way up the ramp and only took it off to hand him her ticket. Mr. Astor was quite warm but didn't take much notice of the luxuries Titanic had to offer. Harold guessed his own house must be more extravagant than this. Mrs. Astor flashed him a flirty smile as he handed her ticket back. When he looked over her shoulder, he saw four servants following behind them. Many families had only brought along one or two, but four? They must certainly be rich to pay for all those tickets.

A young girl with curly brown hair and the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen stepped forward to present her ticket to him. She wore a dull, gray dress that matched the uniforms of the other servants. He was about to take it when he heard Mrs. Astor say, "Ellen, be a dear and hold these for me."

She was holding out her fine, white gloves. The girl immediately shoved the ticket in his hand and dropped her own small bag to take her lady's gloves. Harold almost let out a laugh from her reaction. He found the life in service to be odd. He couldn't imagine a life where you served someone else, attending to all of his or her needs. To him, it would be like caring for a baby, not a wealthy adult. Many of the people he had met in service were old, having been a part of it for all their life. He couldn't imagine where this young girl would be in twenty or thirty years.

The girl shot him a dirty look in response to his stifled laugh as she took back her ticket. She quickly picked up her bag and ran off behind the wealthy couple, soon disappearing behind a crowd of stewards.

He mindlessly accepted tickets from the rest of the first class passengers until he realized that the ramp was being pulled away from the door and there were no more passengers to be boarded. He felt at ease once the engines hummed to life and they left port without incident. He traveled up to the bridge, encountering more wealthy and famous passengers on his way. Boxhall and sixth officer Moody were at the bridge when he arrived, both calmly sipping tea as they watched the Titanic rocket across the ocean.

"Harold," they both said as he stood beside them, admiring the view as well. The three of them had grown close since they met a week ago. They were the youngest of the officers on board. The others preferred to talk about politics and the economy, but the three of them preferred to talk late into the night, drinking and talking about adventure and their plans after reaching America.

"It looks like it's smooth sailing from here until New York," Boxhall commented.

"Captain says Ismay is pressuring him to go faster so we can make it in by Tuesday," Moody said, a boyish grin crossing his face. "That would be nice, I could get back to London by Easter and surprise Mother."

The two officers laughed at his comment. A sudden weariness grew over Harold and he leaned forward on the nearby railing, squinting as the setting sun peeked through the clouds.

"Finally, some peace and quiet," he muttered.

Boxhall nodded. "I hear you, mate. I haven't been this busy in quite a long time."

"It'll feel good to sleep tonight," Mood reassured, clapping Harold on the back.

"Not yet," Harold said, standing up and straightening his uniform. "My rounds start at eleven tonight."

The two officers hissed through their teeth. "That's rough, mate," Boxhall said. "Mine start in half an hour and I thought that was bad enough."

Harold smirked. "Thanks for the encouragement."

Suddenly, Mr. Murdoch appeared from the bridge, looking the most relaxed Harold had ever seen him.

"Ah, Mr. Lowe," he said, tipping his hat. "Moody, just the two lads I was looking for!"

Boxhall drained the last of his tea and shuffled his feet, looking from Murdoch to the other two officers.

"Mr. Boxhall," Murdoch said, a smile playing on his lips, "If I am correct, your rounds start in just a few moments…?"

"Yes, sir!" Boxhall said, putting his cup down and running off. They all laughed at his eagerness.

"I'm going to need to ask a favor of you two," Murdoch said, strolling to the railing to admire the sunset. "I've asked Mr. Pitman and Mr. Boxhall to patrol the second class decks just as Mr. Lightoller and myself will be patrolling the third class decks. I'm asking you two to patrol the first class areas, mainly because it's probable that's where the least amount of problems will occur during the night. Just keep an eye out for anyone in the lower classes to be sneaking about. If one of the first class passengers asks for a favor, please abide. These passengers are the most important to please and their opinions go straight to your paycheck. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," both men said. Murdoch nodded, walking back into the bridge.

"It's a pity we're not allowed to mingle with the passengers," Moody said, taking off his hat to shake out his shaggy hair. "I mean, did you get a look at the girls in first class? We're on a ship full of bloody Vogue fashion models!"

Harold laughed, but as he did, the girl with the striking blue eyes came to his mind.

"Did you get a good look at the Astors?" Moody asked, as if reading his thoughts. "The Mrs. Astor is very good looking, a bit too 'round' for my tastes if you know what I mean, but she's not that much younger than−"

"Don't even think about it, mate," Harold said, strolling off to head to the first class decks. Moody followed close behind, looking at the decks below to admire the finely dressed women. "Unless you want a baby on your hands, I'd suggest staying away from Mrs. Astor."

Moody grumbled something as he pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. Now that the sun was setting the chilly breeze around them reminded them that it was still early spring and winter was still lingering. Somewhere on the deck below, a horn was blown, signaling that first class dinner was served.

"I'm starved," Moody said as they dashed inside to escape the wind. "I wish they served our supper this early. I don't eat until after dark."

Harold's stomach growled, as if to give a response to what Moody had just said. The two officers rounded a corner and found themselves in the first class hallways. They continued to walk until the reached the top of The Grand Staircase, the finest attraction Titanic had to offer. Harold had been in the room many times before the ship and set sail, but now that it was filled with finely dressed passengers and the room was lit up from every corner, it truly took his breath away. The wood shone under the glass dome above them, the ticking of the clock quieted by the buzz of chatter, and the cherub at the base of the stairs looking up as if he was seeing heaven. He was overwhelmed by the beauty, quietly admiring while passengers bustled around him.

"Look!" Moody said, elbowing him in the side and snapping him out of his thoughts. He stood by the railing, pointing below where you could see into the first class dining room. Many passengers weren't seated yet, chatting with one another while more and more people entered the room. Moody was pointing to a couple near the foot of the stairs. A man with dark, neatly slicked back hair and brown eyes stood chatting to the captain. He wore an expensive suit, a gold pocket watch just visible behind his buttons. He carried a smug expression on his face as he talked, as if he was in the middle of a bribe. The woman on his arm seemed bored, almost annoyed. She was young, with fiery red hair and full, red lips. Her dress clung to her curves in all the right places and he could tell Moody found her very attractive from the way he was looking at her. Although she was finely dressed and wore jewels in her hair, she seemed very distant and unmoved by the conversation. She stared blankly ahead, as if she was unaware the two beside her were talking at all.

"That's Caledon Hockley," Moody said, pointing at the gentleman. "He's the son of the big steel tycoon back in The States." He paused, changing his gaze to the young woman.

"That," he said, with dreaminess in his voice, "Is Rose DeWitt Bukater. My god, mate, isn't she gorgeous?"

"First Mrs. Astor, now her," Harold said, shaking his head, "Give it up mate. It's not happening, plus what bloody girl would look twice at you?"

Moody playfully punched him, but sighed as if he ignored Harold's last comment. The clock behind them struck 7:00 and the rest of the lingering passengers moved into the dining room, including Mr. Hockley and Miss Bukater.

"I'm heading to my quarters," Harold said, buttoning up his coat. "I want to catch some sleep before my rounds. See you in the morning."

Moody waved him away, too busy staring after Miss Bukater to give him much notice. Harold dashed back outside into the cold and checked into the officers' quarters. By this time the sun had already set and he nearly tripped up the dark stairs in his haste. When he reached his warm room and shut the door, he let out a sigh of relief to be out of the cold. His numb fingers began fumbling with the buttons on his coat until he gave up and pulled it over his head. He set his hat down on the nearby desk and looked up to see his reflection in the mirror. His hair was blown about and his cheeks red with cold. His eyes had dark circles and his entire body looked worn to the bone. Too lazy to change into his sleepwear, he collapsed in his bed, mindlessly setting his alarm clock for his rounds.

As soon as he was settled under the covers, he snapped the curtains around him shut, engulfing him in darkness. He sighed happily as he rested his head on his pillow, feeling the effects of the long hours from today. As he turned on his side to go to sleep, he couldn't help but see the blue eyes of the girl in service. Her face stayed in his mind as he succumbed to his weariness.

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