Richard Brown - Titanic With ZOMBIES

Andrews sat down in the empty seat next to Margaret. “And you, Mrs. Brown?”

“Of course I’m enjoying myself. You’ve put together one fancy ship here.”

The first-class lounge was decorated like the Palace of Versailles, the walls covered in rich wooden carvings and gold sconces. In the center, a three-foot wide chandelier filled the room with light. With plenty of seating and tables of all different sizes, many passengers were using the room to socialize over a game of cards.

“If you ain’t married yet, I bet you will be soon. And who is this Mrs. Brown? Call me Margaret.”

“I am married, in fact. My wife’s name is Helen.”

“No kidding. That’s my daughter’s name,” Margaret said.

“I have a daughter named Elizabeth. She’ll be two in November.”

“Well done, Mr. Andrews, well done. I wish you and your family all the best. I tell you what, I love my kids and grandkids to death, but I think I’m gonna take a break on the marriage thing for a while. I do hope one day my daughter will have the good sense to marry a man as hard working and well mannered as you. Closer to her age, of course. Don’t wanna end up like old John here.”

Margaret broke out into laughter. Andrews responded with a reluctant smile.

“Oh, Molly. All that money and still no self control,” said John, shaking his head.

“You ain’t gonna lecture me on self control, now are ya? And speaking of which, you know I hate the name Molly.”

John surrendered his hands in the air. “I’ll never say it again.”

“It seems I’ve wandered into more than I bargained for,” Andrews said, loosening up a bit.

“See, Mr. Andrews, I’ve been poor before and I may be poor again, but no amount of money is gonna change me. And John can go ahead and deposit that in the bank.”

A short time later, the Astor’s said goodnight and left for their stateroom. At her request, Thomas Andrews escorted Margaret out to the A-deck’s partially open promenade on the port side of the ship. The change in air temperature was startling after the heated comfort of the first-class lounge.

The deck was empty. No one else was brave enough to battle the cold.

Margaret gazed out into the dark expanse of the Atlantic, unusually still this evening.

“It’s so peaceful,” she whispered. “I know that must sound funny coming from me, a loud gal born on the Mississippi, but even I can appreciate a little tranquility every now and then.”

“Nothing funny about it at all. We could learn a lot from the sea and all the memories it holds. I think we would be wise to try and replicate that kind of enduring timelessness in our own lives.”

Margaret looked over the hand railing at the water below. “How cold do you think it is? The water, I mean.”

“Colder than the air. Thirties, perhaps.”

“So I guess swimming is out of the question.”

Andrews smirked. “Only if it’s in the pool.”

They walked down the promenade deck, passing the first-class smoking room and the Verandah Cafe & Palm Court. Andrews talked about some of the changes he planned to make with the ship, while kindly listening to Margaret’s many suggestions, one of which was to stain some of the wicker furniture green.

“That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“You sound surprised,” Margaret said.

“Not at all. Perhaps surprised that I hadn’t thought of it first.”

“If that’s a compliment, I’ll take it.”

They reached the end of the promenade deck and stepped beyond the overhead enclosure and out into the open air. The wind blew much harder here than on the partially enclosed deck, although not nearly as hard as on the bow due to the ship’s forward momentum.

Andrews sat down on a wooden bench, the ship’s mainmast pointing high up into the dark sky in front of him, while Margaret peered over the white railing to the aft well deck below.

A young woman was stumbling around like she’d had too much to drink. By the look of the quaint dress she wore, Margaret guessed she was probably from steerage.

A second later, the woman collapsed underneath the outstretched arm of a white cargo crane.

“Miss! Miss!” Margaret yelled.

Andrews got up from the bench and walked up next to Margaret. “What’s the problem?”

Margaret pointed to the woman curled up on the ground. “I think she may have passed out. She’ll freeze out here.”

“Come. Let’s go down and help her.”

SECOND OFFICER

CHARLES H. LIGHTOLLER

The three senior officers worked four hours on and eight hours off. Second Officer Charles H. Lightoller was assigned the six to ten. He stood next to First Officer Murdoch in the chart room as they checked the ship’s progress.

At only thirty-eight-years-old, Charles Lightoller had already experienced more to life than most men twice his age. At thirteen, he began a four-year apprenticeship at sea. One year into it, he found himself shipwrecked for eight days off a small, uninhabited island in the Indian Ocean. The next few years he would survive a cyclone and help save a ship known as the Knight of St. Michael that had caught fire.

In 1898, he went to prospect for gold in the Yukon but was unsuccessful. He even briefly worked as a cowboy in Canada, before finally hitching a ride on a cattle boat back to England.

Lightoller had come to the White Star Line looking to settle into a more stable career, and over the course of twelve years, moved up the ranks aboard such distinguished vessels as the Majestic and the Oceanic. When he was offered a role on the Titanic under the command of Captain Smith (whom he had worked under on the Majestic ), Lightoller jumped at the opportunity.

Thought by many as having a steadfast and unyielding temperament, Lightoller had little patience for those who did not take this brand of work seriously, and had no problem letting them know. He was often seen staring off into the horizon smoking his pipe.

During each four-hour watch, the officers were expected to perform a number of tasks, such as checking the maps, checking weather reports and wire messages, scanning the horizon for other ships or icebergs, checking the water temperature, and occasionally supervising the helmsman on the bridge. When a watch concluded, the officer must give a report to his relief in order to keep everyone up to date on the latest information.

It was just after ten and Lightoller’s four-hour evening watch had come to a close. It was Murdoch’s watch now, and Lightoller would begin again at six in the morning.

“We’re running at twenty-one knots. We’ve covered a little over five hundred miles since we left Queenstown,” said Murdoch. “Not exceptional, but certainly within reason.”

“The captain seems pleased,” Lightoller added. “Slower speed means less vibration and a smoother ride, and overall passenger’s comments have been positive.”

Murdoch nodded in agreement. “Still, given the current rate, we should be in New York by Wednesday morning.”

Lightoller followed Murdoch from the chart room to the bridge. Quartermaster Hichens was at the wheel with Sixth Officer James Moody standing by his side. From the large window that looked out on to the bow, lookout’s Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee could be seen standing in the crow’s nest atop the foremast scanning the night sea.