Richard Brown by Titanic & ZOMBIES

Author:Titanic & ZOMBIES [Titanic & ZOMBIES]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B007T2JCB0
Goodreads: 13606352
Publisher: Richard Brown Books
Published: 2012-07-19T13:43:28+00:00

SMITH

The wireless room was located on the boat deck not far from the bridge and officer quarters. Inside, twenty-five-year-old Jack Phillips, and his twenty-one-year-old assistant, Harold Bride, worked to get caught up on the backlog of messages after the wireless set had broken down during the night.

Jack and Harold were not employed by the White Star Line, nor were they official members of the Titanic’s crew. They worked for the Marconi Company, named after Guglielmo Marconi, the inventor of the radio telegraph, and once at sea, the pair took orders only from Captain Smith.

The use of radios on ships had only recently begun to take on more popularity, particularly among wealthy passengers, who marveled at the novelty of such an invention that would allow them to send out personal messages from the ship.

While many captains were hesitant to greet the new technology, Captain Smith tried to keep an open mind, seeing the potential of the device to become a valuable tool for navigation, or at the moment, for the reporting of ice in the area.

Smith stood behind Jack and Harold and read the latest message from the White Star steamer Baltic. Earlier, he had received a similar message from the Caronia. The reports of ice weren’t unexpected this time of year, however, the Atlantic was unusually calm today, and as dusk fell, icebergs would become harder to spot. After what happened last night on D-deck, the ice warnings only reinforced the two bad choices facing Smith.

Keep the ship on its faster pace and risk the ice, or slow it down and risk further infection.

There was no right answer.

He left the wireless room and headed down to A-deck, where he ran into Bruce Ismay talking with George and Eleanor Widener, owners of the Philadelphia Traction Company. The Widener’s had organized a dinner party for this evening in the á la carte restaurant on B-deck, which Smith had previously agreed to attend.

Smith apologized for the interruption, and handed Ismay the message from the Baltic. Ismay glanced down at the little yellow slip of paper, and then without word shoved it in his pocket.

Smith walked away satisfied.

Later in the evening, just after seven, Smith found Ismay in the smoking room and asked if he still had the telegram.

“Yes,” Ismay said, and pulled the yellow paper from his pocket.

“Good. I need to put it in the chart room with the others.”

Ismay handed it over. “And what of this virus? I trust you have it contained.”

“For now,” said Smith.

Ismay took a drag from his cigar. “Good, let us try and keep it that way.”

“It’s not only your reputation that’s on the line.”

“Your reputation doesn’t matter, Edward. You’ll be retired when this voyage concludes, so what do you care? Don’t pretend to relate to my quandary.”

Smith sighed, struggling to hold back his irritation. The managing director, with his boorish tone and dancing brown mustache, had a way of lighting a fuse in him like few others.

“Good evening, Mr. Ismay.”

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