Marlene Dotterer - Shipbuilder

14 April 1912

Titanic —North Atlantic

At 9:30 p.m., Tom made his way to the wireless room. As Casey and Sam had described, Jack Phillips and his assistant, Harold Bride, were swamped with messages to transmit. Phillips was polite, but short. The wireless had been broken, he’d just gotten it repaired, and he had a hundred messages to send out. If Mr. Andrews had a message to send, it would not be going out until morning. Tom assured him that he was only checking on things. On his way out he paused next to the box marked “Bridge.” There were several slips of paper in there, and he felt a chill that went through his entire body as Casey’s voice echoed in his head.

“The wireless operators had several ice warnings that they just never turned over to the captain. They were too busy…”

He turned to Harold Bride, his hand hovering over the box. “I’m on my way to the bridge. How ’bout I take these for you?”

Harold’s eyes flicked briefly over and he shrugged. “Sure, that’d be great. Just ice warnings. Nothing the Cap’n doesn’t know.”

Tom was gone in an instant, notes in hand, quickly flipping through them. Only four were about ice, with latitude and longitude given for berg sightings, including descriptions of a large ice field.

He put these together with the three warnings Captain Smith had received earlier, struggling with the idea of approaching the captain. He was enough of a seaman to understand the inviolability of the captain’s position. I’m not even a member of the crew. I have no right to offer unsolicited advice.

But with seven warnings, just today, and several others since Friday, could he suggest that the Captain at least slow down? Could he convince him to change course further south?

He had to do something. He was at the bridge, the captain and officers working efficiently inside. Tom shivered. Lord, it was cold, tonight! No wonder, as Casey had said, the passengers had not wanted to wait on deck or get into lifeboats. He entered the bridge, returning a nod from Second Officer Lightoller, and waited for the captain to finish his log entry before approaching him.

Captain Smith was happy to see him. “Tommy, my lad! Wonderful bread the baker prepared for you, tonight. Thank you for sharing.”

“Oh my pleasure, Captain. Wouldn’t do to eat it all myself, you know.” They both laughed. “I still have work to do tonight and I’m hoping to get a letter finished to my parents. You know my father is poorly, these days. I’m anxious to get to New York and hear some news.” He held out the wireless slips. “I was just in the wireless room. Poor lads are earning their keep tonight. I told them I’d bring these along with me to the bridge.”

He held his breath as Captain Smith looked through the notes. The captain shook his head, lips pursed, as he turned to beckon Lightoller to join them. “More ice warnings. Have Mr. Murdoch calculate our position relative to these sightings. Maintain course and speed, but keep a sharp watch; sounds likes there’s a large ice field ahead. I’ll be off duty. If it becomes at all doubtful, let me know at once.”

He turned to Tom. “Thank you for bringing these by, Tom. We don’t want to take too many chances, do we? These warnings almost never pan out, of course, but we’ll keep an eye out. We’ve changed course a bit farther south to avoid most of the ice, but we want to keep to our schedule, if possible.”

That’s what you did before! Tom tightened his lips against the outburst. “The ice is further south than I’ve ever seen it, this early in the year,” he said. “It won’t be such a bad thing if we have to change course further.”

Smith nodded. “We’ll see what Murdoch says when he’s checked our position. ’Night, Tom. ’Night, all.” He left the bridge, leaving Lightoller to follow the last set of orders.

Frustrated, Tom left as well, glancing at his watch. 9:50 p.m. Nothing new had been done, even with personally handing Smith the warnings. Sam had already told him about the course change. They needed to go further south, or better yet, stop for the night. He faltered for a moment before the enclosed promenade, looking hard at the ocean. Where was that berg? What about others? Sam had said there were several out there. He moved forward to the crow’s nest and called a greeting.

“Ho, there! All clear, then?”

The lookout responded laconically. “All clear, Mr. Andrews! Cold night, eh?”

“Bracing’s, what I’d call it!” At their laughter, Tom reached into his pocket. “You lads have your binoculars?” he asked. “I have an extra pair here, if you need ‘em.”

They conferred, then answered, “Why, that’d be great, Mr. Andrews. We seem to ‘ave misplaced ours.”

Tom made his way up the ladder and handed over the pair. “You know about the ice warnings the captain’s received. Seems we’re approaching an ice field and he’d like to avoid it. Keep sharp, lads!”

“Aye,” they answered. “Thanks for the touch-up, sir.”

He left the nest and paused once more on the deck. The chill in his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. What else could he do? His half-baked idea to sabotage the engines came back to him, but he had to keep in mind Sam’s doubts about that. They needed to be able to maneuver the ship.

He could wait a while before deciding. Best wait and see what happened once Murdoch had figured their position and, hopefully, noticed they were surrounded by ice. He’d wander back up to the bridge about 10:30 p.m. and see what was up.

Dunallon—2:00 a.m.

Casey sat in bed, fully dressed, and stared at the clock. With the four-hour time difference, it was ten p.m. on the Titanic . Every bit of her soul longed for a telegram from Tom, or better yet, a phone call. If she could hear his voice again…

Neither of those would happen, of course. Even if Tom sent a telegram, it would not be delivered until morning, and phone calls were impossible. If she wished hard enough, could she put herself on Titanic and see what he saw? Could she be there to help?

She slowly rocked herself, back and forth, face resting on her bent knees. His name filled her mind, her body tense with the desire to have him safe. The minutes ticked by.

Titanic —10:30 p.m.

Wrapped up tight against the cold, Tom moved out to the Boat Deck and over to port. The night was still pitch black, the sea still calm. The only breeze came from the movement of the ship as she raced through the water, her engines thrumming evenly. Looking over the rail, he could hardly hear the water splashing against the hull, far below.

He hailed the lookouts. One waved, the other was looking through the ‘nocs as the ship moved ahead. He turned to stare at the lifeboats, his mind rehearsing the steps to follow to most efficiently release them.

He realized what he was doing and closed his eyes. Dear Lord, I’m acting as if it’s actually going to happen. I’ve got to stop it from happening, not just give up!

After a minute, he walked to the bridge.

First Officer Murdoch and Sixth Officer Moody were discussing their position when Tom entered. Both were surprised to see him, but greeted him cordially enough. “You’re wandering around late, sir,” was Murdoch’s casual inquiry.

“Aye,” Tom said, “just checking on a few things.” He looked curiously at the map. “Looks like you’ve found some ice?” he asked them, noting himself that the pin marking the ship was indeed surrounded by areas marked as icebergs.

They nodded and Murdoch answered. “At least according to the messages. Some of those are a couple of days old, of course. We’ve no accurate measurements.”