The Ship of Dreams

Chapter 1.1 A Close Call

Captain Edward John Smith stood on the bridge, gazing out at the crowd that lined Southampton Harbour. In his more than 30 years of service with the White Star Line he had commanded 14 ships, each one larger and more advanced than the next. He loved his ships, and he loved the sea. Gliding across vast waters on magnificent vessels gave him the thrill of unlimited freedom and boundless possibilities that nothing on land had ever come close to giving. He held fond memories of the ships and crews that had served under him but this, the Titanic, was to be the last of his career. The incident on the Olympic the previous year had convinced him that he was beginning to run out of steam, so to speak. As soon as the Titanic completed her maiden voyage he would retire so he could focus on being a husband and father.

That he would be ending his brilliant career with the maiden voyage of the finest ship in the world filled him with pride, but he would also miss the many wonderful friendships he had made in his career. His reputation as a skilled captain, his warmth and his kindness earned him great respect from his crew and admiration amongst the first-class passengers, some of whom thought so highly of the Captain that they would sail only on the ships he commanded.

As with all transatlantic crossings, the Titanic's first-class passenger list was filled with the names of the extremely wealthy or titled, some of whom were known to the Captain from previous crossings. He had personally greeted every one of them during boarding: Hugh Woolner, of the firm Woolner and Co.; William Thomas Stead, the prominent author and journalist; the Countess of Röthes, whose title outranked every other passenger onboard; even the Earl of Seymer's young daughter, Emmeline Evelyn Bartrop.

To call the girl his 'daughter' might not be strictly accurate, though as far as the Earl was concerned the girl was as good as his child and ought to be accorded due respect. Yet even those most ignorant of the comings and goings of high society would know at a glance that the girl was not of his own flesh and blood; there was no doubt in her honey-coloured skin and almond eyes that she was not even of the same race as the Earl. In a sea of delicately made-up faces of ladies of the upper class, the girl stood out like a scattering of autumn leaves on a field of snow. For that reason alone many sneered at the very idea that the girl could ever be the Earl's daughter, adopted or otherwise. She was the only Chinese in the country—indeed, in the whole world—who had the privileged distinction of being part of the British elite, if only by association. Her position was rather a curious one: not being of the Earl's blood, she was not a 'Lady' and could not be treated as such, but to treat him as anything less than a member of the Earl's family was to risk his offence and displeasure.

As with most naval men, hardened by a lifetime at sea, Captain Smith was not easily impressed by titles or money. What he saw when he looked at the girl was another passenger, albeit young, to be pitied for to her inability to speak. The Captain would speak with the Purser later to make sure that arrangements were made for the girl. But matters of passenger comfort would have to wait, for the First Officer had just come onto the bridge to announce the ship ready to sail.

The Captain acknowledged this with a nod and turned to greet the pilot as he entered the bridge. "Good morning, Mr. Bowyer."

"Good morning, Captain," Pilot Bowyer replied amicably. "Let's bring her out, shall we?"

The ship's whistle gave three sharp blasts, an indication that the time of sailing was not far off. Friends and family of passengers, journalists and photographers began to make their way back to shore as the six tugboats moved into position. Excitement buzzed in the air like electricity: it was time.

Pilot Bowyer quickly checked that all officers were at their stations: the Chief and Second Officers in the forecastle; the First and Third on the auxiliary bridge; the Sixth Officer overseeing the removal of the gangways belowdecks; and the Fifth Officer on the bridge to man the telephones. The ship's whistle sounded once more; the last gangway was removed and the mooring lines cast off. The smoke drifting from the funnels became thicker and darker as stokers frantically fed coal into the boilers deep within the heart of the great ship. The engine room telegraph rang to signal 'Slow Ahead' and the water at the stern started to churn, at first a gentle swirl which grew into a furious bubbling as the propellers slowly picked up speed.

The tugboats, normally so huge when viewed from the shore, seemed no larger than a child's plaything in the shadow of the huge liner. The lines attaching the tugs to the liner strained as the smaller boats began to pull the great ship out of the harbour. For several seconds nothing happened. Then the dark waters between ship and harbour became visible and a collective cheer rose from the crowd.

Passengers lined the decks, leaning over the railings to receive the well wishes of the spectators onshore. Men waved their hats and women waved their handkerchiefs. The cheers of passengers and spectators alike were so loud that they reached even the ears of the sailors on the bridge as the thin sliver of water between boat and quay grew broader as the great liner was gently eased away from the dock and into the open water.

"Goodbye!"

"Happy sailings!"

"I'll miss you!"

One by one the tugs let go until the Titanic was left alone on the open waters, a baby taking its first steps. Officers and crew alike were filled with the same sense of pride. This moment and their involvement would go down in the books of British history. Never had mankind been closer to achieving perfection than it had with the Titanic and now she was finally setting sail. Standing on the bridge as the Titanic began its first voyage onto the open seas, Captain Smith was reminded of the day his daughter had been born fourteen years ago.

From inside the wheelhouse the Pilot called out. "She's going six knots, Captain!"

"Aye-aye, Mr. Bowyer." The Captain scanned the ocean, looking out at the scattering of ships docked around the bay. The Titanic was sailing past another huge liner now—the Oceanic, another one of White Star's legendary ships that he regrettably never had the chance to command. A second, smaller ship, the New York, was moored next to her. As the Titanic passed the motion of her powerful new propellers created a suction that was too great for the New York to bear. Her mooring lines stretched taut, straining against the force of the powerful liner—then, with a series of bangs like gunshots, the lines gave way one by one and she was left to drift towards the Titanic.

"Stop the engines!"

The ringing of the telegraph no longer signalled excitement but danger. The New York drew closer, helpless to resist the pull of the great liner. Captain Smith tore through the wheelhouse to the port side. One of the tugs, the Vulcan, had not yet left the ship. It now cast a line to the New York, the water at its stern bubbling furiously as it battled the suction of the great ship.

The whisper of a memory flitted through the Captain's mind: only six months ago he had been in command of the Olympic when it collided with HMS Hawke, and now he found himself once again having to avoid a similar disaster. He willed himself to call upon the years of his experience on the seas to determine the best course of action even as he turned towards the wheelhouse. "Half astern!" he yelled.

The Fifth Officer's hesitation was brief. "That will bring us toward the other ship, Sir!"

"You will do as you're told, Mr. Lowe!"

The order was carried down to the engine rooms on the noisy ringing of the telegraphs. As Captain Smith had hoped, the waves created by the motion of the propellers lapped against the New York, slowing her down. At the same time, the Titanic began to move away very, very slowly. With the Titanic moving one way and the Vulcan pulling the New York in another, the runaway was slowly extracted from the pull of the great liner into calmer waters.

The Officers all watched with bated breath as the New York slowly, slowly began to turn. It was an agonising wait. The ship was pulled into the narrow space between the Titanic and the motionless Oceanic. It was so close, if he stretched out his arm, Captain Smith would feel the rough steel of its hull beneath his fingers.

"All stop!"

The other tugs that had been leading the Titanic only minutes ago now came forward to aid the Vulcan. The Officers let out a collective sigh of relief as the New York was pulled clear and brought back to berth alongside the Oceanic. Captain Smith removed his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow, easing his nerves with one long sigh. The events that had just transpired were not enough to shake his belief that modern shipbuilding had advanced enough that no possible disaster could sink a ship, but they were a reminder of how easily accidents could occur at sea. He had to remain vigilant—he could not afford to tarnish his pristine service record so close to retirement.

The engines were restarted and the Titanic resumed her course down the channel. The whole incident had taken nearly an hour.