Catt Dahman: Titanic 1912: A Lovecraft Mythos Novel

Every day aboard the ship, there was plenty to do for entertainment if one wanted. There were the meals: breakfast was American and British with fruits, meats, eggs, tomatoes, and potatoes, and lunches were of various meat and vegetable dishes.

If one were to take a bite of each dish, he would find himself full before sampling but half. I cannot imagine how much food the ship carried, but each meal was an event to be cheered over and recollected for hours afterwards.

While the first class passengers dined upon fancy meals in elaborate settings, second class partook of very elegant meals as well, and Steerage was served hearty, flavorful dishes. Captain Smith told us during one of the lavish dinners that formerly those in Steerage had to bring their own meals but aboard this fine ship, everyone was treated well. He said the Steerage had a lounge and a smoking room as well.

Of course, no one in first class had concerned themselves with the meals of the other classes, but it was a tidbit he shared with us. The Captain, so knowledgeable of his ship, quoted the tonnage of food brought aboard and told us what supplies the kitchens and pantries held.

Each class had a dining area, smoking room, and gathering areas, and bedchambers were comfortable and roomy, but none could compare to the cabins that first class enjoyed. We had private toilet facilities, dressing rooms, and bedchambers, forming five rooms dressed in Queen Anne décor. It was said Mr. Astor and Mr. Ismay had staterooms that were more richly appointed and much larger than the other rooms.

After breakfast, many of the passengers strolled along the ship and used the Reception Room, with its white walls and ceiling and dark carpets, to meet others and talk. To show off Parisian fashion, the ladies wore their richest gowns of purple, blue, green, off-white, pale yellow, and cream. The room was a peacock of vibrant colors and designed (so the Captain told us) so that the dress colors were viewable in the natural light of day since they would seem muddied by gaslight.

He laughingly said that allowed women to wear purple in the daylight hours so the color wasn’t ruined, and we’d never see a lady wear purple in the evening. Amazingly, that was true.

The married men and women and those older than twenty-five, all gathered in the Reception Room to share the news of the day. It was rather formal and the place my aunts enjoyed most. I saw them sitting at a table.

“Howard, do come meet Mrs. Gibson.”

I tipped my hat and called back, “I have met her. How goes the trip, ma’am?”

“Wonderfully, thank you, Sir,” she called back.

I could see my well-meaning aunties were desirous that I might join them so they would have the opportunity to introduce me to more proper ladies of wealth and family name. I could think of nothing more monotonous than being set up, unless it was the insipid gossip they indulged in.

I tipped my hat again and went along my way.

The younger people and some of the older ones as well, gathered in the Lounge, on the Promenade Deck, to play cards, gossip, and to meet one another. It was decorated in a French style with boiseries, or carvings on the walls; this was where I enjoyed going when I was not in the library or in my stateroom writing. It was a jubilant room, not in line with my usual, morbid moods, but quite enjoyable.

The older women retired to the Reading and Writing Room to relax with cozy blankets tucked around them as they sat around the fireplace to chase away the chill. The ladies could stand before a big bow window and gaze out to the Promenade Deck while staying toasty warm. It was one of the most pleasingly furnished rooms of all.

The men enjoyed the Smoking Room, paneled in mahogany with inlays of mother-of-pearl, stained glass depictions of ports of the world, and a large fireplace. There was a bar where cigars and drinks were available to the gentlemen.

Lunch was usually at Parisian café for lively meals. Many of us also enjoyed the warmed swimming pool. The water was always tepid and very clean, and the stewards were about to hand out fluffy, soft towels or glasses of freshly squeezed juice.

Inside, the Turkish baths had designs built about the portholes so that the Moroccan theme was never ruined. Expensive tiles of blue and green covered the room. The gymnasium was filled with the most modern exercise equipment available, punching bags, mats, and knotted climbing ropes.

I tried each venue as one should take pleasure in all that is offered, but I enjoyed nothing as much as a walk along the decks so I could feel the chilled air, smell the salt of the water, and watch the seas. Oceans covered so much of the earth; I wondered what secrets they held, and what denizens lived beneath the waves.

The evening meals were luxurious, but my stomach was bothering me as it often did. Physicians were unsure why I suffered bouts of anguish from pain in

my belly and thought it might be related to anxiety. For some months, I was bothered by spells of pain deep within my gut that frequently sent me to bed for days.

I was able only to pick at the meals, to taste each dish, and to fill myself with only the dullest of foods. I avoided alcoholic beverages. I was determined not to go abed with my ailment, and I struggled to maintain my composure, brushing away my aunts’ concerns about my pallor.

As my aunts begged me, I disregarded my qualms, the ache in my stomach, and bantered eagerly with the gentlemen whom I met on the voyage.

I escorted the single ladies along the decks, choosing cheerful topics and laughing often, but I did not find a young lady who captivated me beyond friendship.

I did form strong friendships with Jenny Cavendar, John Morton, Mr. Behr, and his fiancée Helen Monypenny. Mrs. Brown and Mr. Stead, the journalist, frequently joined me for walks or conversations as well.

But while I tried to put aside my dark fears, William Stead told frightening tales at every meeting, and as startling as they were, it was impossible not to want to listen. Most often, Mr. Stead entertained us in the Library or the Smoking Room, allowing us to gather about his chair while he spoke; he was most enjoyable to hear speak.

One evening at dinner no less, he told us a story about a mummy case that was part of an Egyptian collection and that was supposedly aboard the ship.

Captain Smith chuckled and refused to say if it were part of the cargo when the women asked him about the case. He told us, “I cannot confirm or deny that it is aboard, but I can assure you all that it is of no threat either way.”

Maggie Brown chuckled and leaned close to me, “He should be in politics.”

“I wonder if the mummy is aboard,” I said.

She shrugged.

Stead told us, “Four men bought the mummy case containing Amen-Ra.

One of the men, supposedly blind, walked into the desert, and was never seen again, and the next man was accidentally shot, and his wounded arm was amputated. He never recovered from the loss of his arm. The third man lost his fortune suddenly, and the fourth ended up homeless and on the street.

They sold the mummy and case cheaply, and the set was bought by a wealthy Londoner.”

“And did he have bad luck?” Maggie Brown laughed loudly, waving a bit of pork joint upon her fork. She was fascinated by the story so far.

Stead nodded eagerly, “He did. His home burned, and several of his family members fell ill. He was so frightened by his turn of poor luck that he donated the mummy and its case to the British museum.”

“So he shared the curse,” Captain Smith said, half listening as he read another message sent from his First Officer.

Again, there were warnings that ice fields lay ahead although we didn’t know it then.

“Steady at twenty-two knots,” he ordered. They had seen no ice but were on notice to watch for any sign of it.