When the two women were face to face, she lifted her arm and held the plans in front of her.
‘Here you are, Miss Norton. And in future, you might want to take better care of government property.’
MIDNIGHT ON SUNDAY 14 APRIL 1912
The
Holmes, Miss Norton, Miss Storm-Fleming and I were making our way forward to the bridge, where we planned to tell Captain Smith the sad news that he had two more deaths to deal with. We were all reluctant to burden the captain with more problems, since we knew he would be fully occupied with the ship’s structural damage. At that point, we had no idea how serious the damage really was.
The other passengers and most of the crew were also in the dark. A number of people, awakened by the commotion, were braving the cold to see what all the fuss was about. Some were bundled up in their warmest clothing, while others were wearing coats over their pyjamas. They stood along the rail, shivering and staring out into the dark – but there were no answers to be found. When asked, the crew would speculate that the ship had lost a propeller blade, or that they had stopped to avoid nearby icebergs. No one really knew for sure.
But for me, at least, one big mystery had been solved. Miss Storm-Fleming was an agent of the American government. She had been assigned to protect the plans, and all the while keep her identity secret from her British counterparts. (Did Mycroft know?) I had many questions to ask her, but they would have to wait until after we had seen the captain. I restrained my curiosity, knowing there would be plenty of time to talk later on.
As for the Von Sterns, there were questions about them that would never be answered. Clearly, they were agents of the German government. And quite obviously, they did not steal the plans from Miss Norton’s cabin. But I had little doubt that they had broken into my cabin, and that of Colonel James Moriarty. And what of Moriarty? Was he our thief? If so, who was he working for? One thing was certain: Moriarty could not escape in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. We would soon be dealing with him.
We arrived at the bridge at an opportune time. Captain Smith was returning with Thomas Andrews, Chief Officer Wilde and Fourth Officer Boxhall. They had been inspecting the ship’s damage.
‘My apologies, Commodore, I do not have time for you at the moment!’ the captain said curtly as he opened the door to the bridge.
‘Captain, if you please, it is quite urgent.’
‘Sir, I am afraid you do not know the meaning of the word!’ He paused and his voice suddenly lowered to a calmer tone. ‘Very well, I suppose you all want to come...and Miss Storm-Fleming, too. Come with me, then.’
Andrews appeared to be both perplexed and impatient with the encounter. He had a look of urgency on his face.
Once inside, the captain spoke at once. ‘Mr Andrews, please get started on your calculations. Commodore, would you — and only you — step into my cabin. You have one minute.’
Holmes and the captain disappeared behind closed doors. Meanwhile, Andrews unrolled plans of the ship’s structure and studied them intently. From time to time, he would jot something down with a pencil or consult his slide rule. He worked furiously, but the resigned expression on his face told me he was merely confirming facts that he already knew.
Several other men were on the bridge, including Chief Officer Wilde, First Officer Murdoch, Fourth Officer Boxhall and Sixth Officer Moody. Murdoch was nervously looking over Andrews’s shoulder, until impatience caused him to walk over to the ship’s wheel. Gripping the wheel, he looked forward, out of the window, and appeared lost in thought. Wilde was to the rear of the bridge, consulting a White Star manual, while the other two officers spoke quietly to each other in the background.
In just over a minute, the captain and Holmes returned to the bridge. Much to my surprise, the captain appeared unaffected by their conversation. Equally to my surprise, there was a look of alarm in Holmes’s eyes.
‘Any progress, Mr Andrews?’
‘I will be finished in a moment, Captain.’
The captain, forced to wait for answers, looked at each of our faces. We were all eager to know what was going on, but none of us dared to ask.
‘I was just telling the commodore that the ship is very seriously damaged. At this moment, we are awaiting word from Mr Andrews on whether she will last the night. But I must tell you, we are in a very grave situation.’
‘Was it the iceberg, sir?’ I asked. ‘We got just a brief glimpse of it...’
‘Yes, Doctor. Mr Murdoch here was on duty when he got a call from Mr Fleet in the crow’s nest that there was an iceberg right ahead. Mr Murdoch responded quickly by hard-a-starboarding and by reversing the engines. He had intended to steer to port around the iceberg, but it was too close. The huge mass of ice below the water scraped us along the starboard bow. While Mr Murdoch had immediately closed the watertight doors, it did not solve the problem. There is a good deal of water down below and it is coming in fast.’
We all took a moment to consider the captain’s horrifying account of our situation. I thought back to the debate that had taken place between Mr Andrews and Mr Stead, and their discussion of the lack of lifeboats.
‘Sir, the lifeboats...?’ I could not complete my sentence.
‘Well, Doctor, if the worst happens, let us just hope there are other ships nearby.’
We all stood quietly as Andrews completed his work. Before he did, Mr J Bruce Ismay stepped inside, wearing a suit over his pyjamas and a pair of carpet slippers.
‘Any word yet, Captain?’ He stopped short when he saw four visitors. ‘What are these passengers doing here?’
‘They have my permission, Mr Ismay,’ the captain replied.
Ismay nodded, suddenly realizing there were more important questions at hand.
Andrews rose from the table. ‘I have something for you now, Captain, and I fear that it is not good news.’
Captain Smith put his hand on Andrews’s shoulder. ‘Go ahead, Mr Andrews.’
He looked the captain in the eye, then turned back to the other officers. ‘This ship has an hour and a half left. Possibly two. Not much longer.’ Again, silence. It was broken by the captain.
‘Are you certain?’
‘The evidence is here,’ Andrews replied, directing Smith to look at the plans on the table. ‘This ship can float with any two of her sixteen watertight holds flooded. She can even float with all of her first four holds gone. But she definitely cannot float with all of her first five holds full.’
‘But this ship cannot sink,’ Ismay protested.
‘I am afraid it can, sir,’ Andrews said. ‘We have water in the fore-peak, holds Number 1 and 2, the post room, boiler rooms Number 5 and 6...’ Andrews picked up his pencil and drew a long line from the bow of the ship going back. ‘That iceberg cut a narrow gash in the starboard side of the ship nearly 300 feet long. We never expected that would happen.’
‘But the watertight holds...’ Ismay said.
Andrews again pointed to the diagram. ‘Once the first five compartments are flooded, the bow will sink so low that the water in the fifth compartment will overflow into the sixth. Then the water in the sixth will overflow into the seventh, and so on... The ship will sink. There is no doubt.’
The captain decided that it was time to end the conversation.
‘Mr Wilde, uncover the lifeboats. Mr Murdoch, alert the passengers. Mr Moody, get out the lifeboat assignments. And Mr Boxhall, wake up Mr Lightoller and Mr Pitman. Tell them to report to me immediately. I will go to the wireless to send out a distress call.’
Holmes, Miss Norton, Miss Storm-Fleming and I left the bridge and moved down to the forward end of A Deck. We were drawn there by the cries and cheers of a strangely festive group of first-class passengers. As we pushed our way through the small crowd, I was nearly knocked over by a middle-aged man carrying a football-size block of ice.
‘Sorry, old man,’ he said, grabbing my forearm. ‘Are you hurt?’
