Robert Walker - Titanic 2012

“Quite the accommodations,” muttered Lou, staring at it all. But they must push on. They moved slowly, carefully forward as to not allow the sub to catch on any overhanging davits or other obstructions when out of the darkness came a familiar sight. They passed the davit for lifeboat number two, where Lou intended to land, right beside 1 stOfficer William Murdoch’s cabin. It was the only davit still standing on the port side. David could see the davit now and the horrible wreckage just to the right, where the wall of the officers’ quarters had collapsed outward.

“Check out that sign over the one door—you can still read it,” said Kelly.

“What’s it say?”

“For use of crew only.”

Another brass sign but completely askew reflected the light; once perched over the top of an entryway, it read: 1 stClass Entrance. “It’s an entryway to the Grand Staircase.”

“Landing anywhere here’s gonna be tricky, Lou,” cautioned David. “Perhaps you ought to remain here, keep her hovering above all this.”

“Just aft of the davit… other side of those metal stanchions, and we’re home free,” replied Lou, a smile creasing his ruddy features. Lou brought the sub in perfectly for a smooth touchdown—so smooth in fact, it was eerie in itself as David felt an odd pang in his gut—a feeling as if Titanic was luring them to their deaths.

Swigart and Mendenhall exited the sub, David knew that Kelly was not about to linger behind inside the sub. He held out a hand to her. “I’ve got your back.”

She didn’t hesitate entering the airlock chamber with David, but just before doing so, David noticed that she had clicked something on the dashboard. “I hit the camera on, which for some reason Lou switched off,” she said once inside the privacy of the airlock. She added, “Keep your eye on Swigart and Mendenhall. I have no idea who among us is here for those eggs, David, but I fear it is one of them.”

“And the freezer compartment, the one where those things were locked away is below us somewhere here, according to the journal.”

“And suddenly Lou is interested in diving with our team?”

“And he changed the teams’ arrangements last minute as well.”

“Totally out of character,” she agreed.

David agreed but added. “Money changes everything. It could just be he has dollar signs in his head.”

They rushed to catch up to the other two divers, and soon they were watching Swigart split them into two pairs—Kelly with Swigart which left David with Mendenhall. Lou had discovered one possible way to get to the interior depths, Mendenhall another. David felt trumped as if a chess move two steps ahead of him had been made. A move he had not contemplated, yet one he should have foreseen.

Swigart is it, he thought now. It absolutely felt that way on the one hand, but Jacob Mendenhall remained suspect as well.

Well into the harbor at Queenstown now, while Constable Ransom and his companions remained locked away, above decks on Titanic , Captain Edward Smith was, he felt, being besieged—first by these imposters posing as medical and civil authorities out of Belfast of all places, and now comes the tirade, tantrums, and rantings of one old battleaxe, a tough German named Mrs. Catarina Krizefieldt who insisted on a refund and that she be put off at Queenstown immediately.

An elderly, sometimes wheelchair-bound woman with bushy eyebrows, a noticeable snout, and the angry eyes of a vulture, Mrs. Krizefieldt had obviously boarded under false pretenses merely to gain some brief newsprint notoriety as she had raised holy hell among passengers and crew, claiming herself a psychic on the order of Nostradamus, and that she had foreseen the sinking of Titanic in a matter of days if not hours.

Spreading such a rumor to the captain’s ear was one thing, but when he ignored her repeated notes passed to him, first at dinner the night before, and next through his officers this morning, Smith wanted nothing more than to honor her request that she be put off at Queenstown—their last port-of-call before leaving Europe for America. Smith meant to appease the woman not so much as to honor the mad request but to be rid of her—as he had rid himself for the time being of this man Ransom and his stooges.

Indeed, Captain Smith most certainly wanted this publicity-seeking so-called psychic off his ship. And while at it, he ordered Murdoch and Lightoller to “escort those Belfast idiots from the brig to that lifeboat as well. Kill all the Albatrosses aboard with one drop of a boat.” Even so, it meant time wasted and effort wasted, things Smith detested.

To this end, he had his navigator plot a course for the most convenient departure point in the bay at Queenstown, where they were scheduled to take on not just additional passengers and supplies for their Atlantic crossing, but trade goods as well. He understood crates of hand-made, German grandfather clocks were among the goods going to America from here.

To complete Mrs. Krizefieldt’s request, a lifeboat had to be packed with the woman’s trunk, bags, wheelchair, despondent caged parakeet, her equally despondent-looking husband, and finally herself.

Second Officer Lightoller had been slated to take two junior officers with him to go ashore to oversee the boarding of additional passengers and cargo, and so he was selected to see to the de-boarding of Mrs. Krizefieldt, and her belongings in addition to escorting at gunpoint the other three unwanted characters aboard.

At the time of packing the now wildly rocking lifeboat with the family Krizefieldt and their possessions, the prisoners were being escorted up from the brig—so far as Captain Smith knew. Using a single lifeboat made sense as the most expedient way to get them all out of the captain’s hair in one fell swoop. At the same time, Titanic must come to a complete halt, her anchors lowered to steady her, followed by the lowering of the lifeboat as Queenstown had no dock large enough to accommodate Titanic . This all in addition to his men having to bring on new passengers, properly de-board others via the boat train, and load on new provisions, stores, medical supplies, and trade goods.

Smith’s orders to Lightoller had been simple and direct: “See that all aboard your lifeboat, sir, are safely put ashore. We’ll place all these malcontents into one boat, and let the Queenstown authorities deal with them, while Wilde sees to boarding passengers coming on here along with any additional goods and supplies.”

The baby-faced Lightoller meant to carry out his orders to the letter, thinking the malcontents the captain spoke of had succeeded in upsetting his captain and his ship. He knew that it would be some time before things got back on course and on schedule; for himself, personally, it’d be some time before he could get back to the ship due to his having to unload the gnarly old German couple, Ransom, and his young accomplices. Still things were gong smoothly enough what with Lifeboat #5 safely lifted and waiting for the prisoners, held steady by the powerful davit engine. The young officer once again marveled at the amazing technological advances that had made Titanic possible. He knew the ship might be delayed, but Titanic was made for speed as well as elegance; she could make up the time once they were moving forward again.

“Another ruse to slow us down,” Smith told his officers on the bridge from where he stood watching Lightoller organizing Lifeboat #5. Officer Wilde nodded, appreciating his captain’s wisdom.

“How low will Cunard stoop, sir?” Wilde put in.

“As low as their knees will allow.”

Rather than seeing to the job of escorting the prisoners up from the bowels of the ship to be taken off, Will Murdoch had sent word via a crewman that this be done. Not long following this, Murdoch was sent word that the three prisoners had escaped and were at large. This on a boat some nine New York City blocks long and three wide. A more precise measurement placed the ship at 28 meters or 92 feet wide, and 882 feet or 269 meters long. A ship with a thousand hiding places.