Titanic Bound by Destiny

Chapter 20: The Fateful Encounter

April 14th, 1912. (11:40pm)

After bidding Sebastian a heartfelt goodnight, Nicholas returned to his cabin, his thoughts swirling with shared conversations and promises made under the twilight sky. The corridors of the Titanic were quiet; most passengers had retired to their rooms or settled into the evening's entertainments. Upon entering his cabin, he felt the familiar comfort of his private quarters. He set about preparing for bed, his actions automatic—folding his clothes neatly, placing his shoes by the door, and arranging his toiletries. Yet, despite the routine, his mind was far from quiet. The stirrings of excitement and apprehension about the future with Sebastian kept the tiredness at bay; he knew full well he was not going to sleep yet, for trying would only be a futile struggle.

Nicholas retrieved a book he had borrowed from the second-class Library—a novel he had enjoyed during these quiet moments at night. He climbed into bed, propping himself up with the pillows to find a comfortable position. The soft lamp light by his bedside cast a warm glow, creating an inviting atmosphere perfect for reading. Chester was nowhere to be, though he was grateful for that; he had the cabin to enjoy the peace and tranquillity the hum of Titanic's engines brought. The story was engaging, filled with intriguing characters, and complex relationships mirrored some aspects of his life. As he delved deeper into the chapters, the outside world began to fade away, the rhythm of the ship's engines a distant, soothing hum that blended with the fictional reality he was immersed in.

.......

It was a moonless, bitterly cold night on the vast and unforgiving North Atlantic. The stars were the only light source, seemingly sharp enough to cut through the velvet black sky. The RMS Titanic, a behemoth of pride and engineering, surged through the icy waters, her hull pushing through the sea without care. High above the deck, in the crow's nest, lookouts Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee strained their eyes against the darkness, the biting cold numbing their faces as they watched for danger. First Officer William Murdoch stood watching the sea from his position on the bridge wing, unable to see much. In the wheelhouse stood quartermaster Robert Hichens. It was a calm night; it was hard to tell the sea from the sky. All stood on duty, paying intense attention to the sea ahead despite their difficulty seeing much. The bitter cold, a relentless adversary, did not help either of them; even the tea provided to them by the stewards was barely enough to keep the near-freezing temperatures at bay.

Suddenly, a faint but unmistakable silhouette materialised from the darkness. It was an iceberg, a colossal mass of ice that dwarfed the lookout post. Fleet's heart skipped a beat as the reality of the danger set in. He quickly rang the lookout bell three sharp, urgent rings—a signal that danger was imminent. Without hesitation, he grabbed the nearby telephone to alert the bridge. His hand was steady; he was trained to do this, but waiting for someone to answer was agonising as the massive wall of ice loomed closer in the distance. Finally, Sixth Officer James Moody, manning the bridge, answered the call. "What can you see," he asked, his voice calm yet assertive. Feeling the adrenaline rushing through him, Fleet relayed what he saw into the receiver, "Iceberg, right ahead!"

First Officer William Murdoch stood on the wing; he could make out the faint sight of something in the distance as Moody turned to exit the bridge, and then Murdoch spotted the massive outline of the iceberg, its jagged peaks glistening faintly in the moonless night. With no time to lose, Murdoch dashed to the engine room telegraph, nearly knocking Moody over and spilling his tea across the deck; he quickly slammed the lever to "FULL ASTERN," an attempt to reverse the engines and slow the ship's forward momentum. Turning swiftly, Murdoch called out to Hichens, who gripped the ship's wheel tight. "Hard a' starboard!" he commanded, his voice cutting through the night air like a knife. Hichens, reacting instinctively, spun the wheel as far as it would go. Murdoch swiftly returned to his spot on the bridge wing, watching as the massive berg loomed ever closer.

The ship began to respond, but the massive vessel, over 882 feet long and moving considerably fast, reacted slowly. The tense seconds stretched on as the crew awaited the outcome of their frantic efforts. As the Titanic's bow began to turn, the iceberg loomed closer, a towering spectre in the night. "Come on, turn, you bloody bastard", Murdoch urged. As the Titanic began its ponderous turn away from the looming iceberg, the tension on the bridge reached a palpable peak. Every officer and every crew member present held their breath, their eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of the iceberg. The Crew's efforts to reverse the engines had slowed its momentum, but the Titanic's massive size meant it continued gliding ominously towards the iceberg. Slowly but surely, titanic turned away from the iceberg. It appeared momentarily that the ship might clear the obstacle without harm. The crew on the bridge allowed themselves a brief, hopeful pause, thinking they might have averted disaster by mere meters.

But then, as the iceberg passed the ship, it grazed the starboard side of the Titanic. The collision, a glancing blow, was enough to send a shudder through the entire structure of the ship, a testament to its sheer size and power. The sound of tearing metal was terrifying as the iceberg's jagged edges scraped along the hull, peeling open the steel plates like the skin of an orange. The noise was a ghastly grinding and screeching as rivets popped, a sound like gunshots echoing through the night, a chilling reminder of the ship's helplessness in the face of nature's fury. On the bridge, Murdoch's face was a mask of horror as he realised the implications of the impact. The officers around him were frozen, staring in disbelief at the passing ice, which now seemed ominously close, illuminated by the ship's lights. The reality of their situation was undeniable—they had struck an iceberg, and the damage was uncertain but potentially devastating.

...........

Nicholas was lost in the pages of his book when the unexpected happened. A sudden, jarring vibration rippled through the Titanic, so intense that his glass of water on the bedside table began to shake, sending ripples across the surface. The glass rattled ominously against the wood, drawing his eyes away from the book. Startled, Nicholas sat up straight, his heart racing as he tried to make sense of this new odd disturbance. The ship had been a model of stability over the past days, its massive engines a constant, reassuring hum beneath the sounds of daily activities and the murmur of the ocean. But now, as he listened closely, that familiar hum faded away, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The Titanic seemed to have stopped suddenly out of nowhere. Nicholas swiftly got out of bed; his movements hurried as he pulled on his clothes. His mind raced with possibilities, none of them comforting. The abrupt cessation of the engine's hum suggested a severe issue, perhaps with the engines themselves or something even more dire.

With his heart pounding, Nicholas left his cabin, his primary thought to find Sebastian. He needed to know what had happened, and more than anything, he needed to ensure that Sebastian was safe. The corridors were filled with a palpable tension, with other passengers emerging from their rooms, expressions etched with confusion and concern similar to his own. As Nicholas navigated through the increasingly crowded passageways, he could hear murmurs and speculations from the other passengers. "Did we hit something?" one asked. "Why have the engines stopped?" questioned another; some were annoyed that they would likely be delayed getting into New York—the lack of immediate information added to the growing anxiety, the atmosphere thick with uncertainty. Finding Sebastian became more than a need—it was imperative. He quickened his pace, his mind simultaneously dreading and desperate to discover the truth of the situation. The Titanic, a marvel of modern engineering, a symbol of man's triumph over nature, now felt vulnerable, a giant steel behemoth at the mercy of the sea. And nobody, not anybody, knew what had transpired.