Retrograde

The Outer Banks, North Atlantic

April 14, 1912

The night was incredibly still for this area of the Atlantic. The cold seemed to seep into the men who stood watch on the bridge of the steamer as it sat idle, waiting for the light of day before proceeding in the iceberg plagued waters of the Outer Banks. Frost hung in the air and formed halos around the few lights visible. Breath fogged, coffee steamed and skin froze.

The unheated confines of the wheelhouse offered no protection from the cold, perhaps in resignation the night crew left the doors open as they paced from the starboard bridge wing through the wheelhouse to the port bridge wing while attempting to warm themselves.

The ship sat low to the water, the bridge barely forty feet above the still ocean, the single smoke funnel towering another thirty feet above the bridge, coal smoke flowing languidly out of the top to drift down to the decks below. In the light of day, she wore colors of white over black; the funnel painted brown below a rim of black. Her four masts sat two fore and aft for use loading and unloading the ship. The very few passenger accommodations available still added the designation of passenger-cargo liner to her Lloyds Listing.

The name Californian rode proudly at her bow and stern. The ship was one of a new type of steam vessels that had taken over the Atlantic in the past two decades. No longer confined to the ills of wind the ships now crossed the Atlantic Ocean in weeks, not months.

Second Officer Stone stood the night watch with the helmsman and a runner, a new man to the ship who was used to relay messages. Stone, like Captain Lord, was a large man yet nimble on his feet. His humor was clear with good natured comments about the cold, the reason men took to the Second Officer better than the distant Captain Lord who brooked no excuse for mistakes.

This night the runner kept busy fetching hot coffee or tea.

Second Officer Stone spent most his time on the port wing watching the lights to the southeast. Before retiring for the night Captain Lord had, as a courtesy, pointed to the lights of a large passenger steamer approaching from the east. Eventually, after the Captain retired to his cabin as Stone watched the ship slip below the horizon to become a small glow of lights in the far distance.

The Marconi operator set to power down his equipment and closing his shack when the bell tolled the hour, the noise of his work reaching Stone as he continued to watch the distant glow. Something did not seem right to him, a feeling of dread that touched him as a shiver despite the cold.

The runner returned with more coffee for their mugs and Stone turned to face the boy with a smile. As he held the pitcher out to fill Stone’s cup the boy’s focus changed to over the Second Officer’s shoulder with raised eyebrows. “Oh.”

Stone turned to look southeast and stopped short, the blood in his veins going as cold as the night. In the distance a flare rose in the dark, arced then exploded in a white flash, the flare was too far away to hear the report. Below the flash, close to the ocean, a light was blinking Morse code. The cup fell from Stone’s hand and shattered on the deck. Spinning quickly, he shouted to the helmsman, “Signal the engine room to raise steam, and telegraph engines on.”

Obediently the helmsman rang the engine order telegraph to engine start, bells ringing as the lever passed each position.

Hurrying to the ladder and leaning down from the bridge deck Stone caught Evans, the Marconi operator, “Get back in your shack and check for a distress signal.”

The operator hesitated.

“Now,” Stone barked, slapping the railing with his hand.

“Engine room is raising steam for boilers,” the helmsman reported when Stone entered the bridge.

“Runner to the Captain with my compliments, distress signal to the south.” Stone looked at the boy and nodded reassurance. “Set the coffee down and go. Hurry, lad.”

The map table was uncluttered, as the Second Officer liked to keep it. Only the map of the Outer Banks, a pencil, measuring tools, and a pad of paper sat upon its surface. Quickly Stone checked their position and set a rule leading south east on the map from the ship. He pulled a sextant from the drawer under the map and waited for the call he knew was coming.

In seconds, the whistle tube from the captain’s cabin gave a shriek. Stone pulled the stopper. “Bridge,” speaking into the tube, then placing his ear to the opening.

“What is it?” Lord’s voice came echoing up the tube.

“Distress signals to the south. A white flare and Morse for CQD. I have ordered the engine room to raise steam and have the Marconi operator opening his shack.” Stone shouted into the tube.

“Good. Call up the full watch. I am on my way.”

“Aye, Captain,” Stone replaced the stopper and looked to the open bridge just as the runner returned from his trip to the captain’s cabin. “Head to the forecastle and call up the watch. Tell the lookouts I want them in the crow’s nest in ten minutes.”

The boy bolted from the room, but Stone stopped him.

“Tell the engine room I want them to call when they have minimal steam. I intend to move as soon as possible.” Stone walked to the port wing and looked aft at the radio shack. The lights were on. He walked to the door and stuck his head in the small room.

“Well?”

“Still warming up, sir. A few more minutes.” Evans taking his gaze off the dials of his equipment.

“I will be on the port wing,” Stone closed the door.

He walked to the far extent of the wing and held up the sextant. A star sight would hold them for now. He could log it as an estimate, but before Stone could begin taking the measurement, another flare rose into the distant sky.

“What way?” Captain Lord asked as he strode onto the port wing while donning his coat. “Never mind, I see it.”

“That’s two I have seen,” Stone returned to taking a position fix.

“Get the Chief Engineer and the Boatswain up here,” Lord called back to the bridge.

“The runner’s gone, sir, to wake the watch.” The helmsman replied.

“You go. You have five minutes.”

“Got it,” Stone lowered the sextant and made his way back to the chartroom with the Captain close behind. He quickly marked their location on the map. They had drifted south with the ice flow that had stopped them a few hours earlier. “Maybe nineteen miles away, Captain.”

“They are lucky,” Lord observed gruffly. “If the weather were worse, we may never have seen them.”

Shouting interrupted the two officers. The Marconi operator ran onto the bridge with a message slip. “Captain, it’s the Titanic. She’s foundering.” He handed the paper to Captain Lord.

“CQD. Distress. Have hit an iceberg. Going down by head. Titanic. CQD.” Lord read the message aloud.

The engineer stopped at the doorway. Obviously, he had heard the message. “Going back down Captain. I’ll find you steam.”

“Wait,” Lord held up a hand. “Have your hands string lights along the railings and on the masts. Let those people to know we are coming.”

“Yes, Sir.” The engineer hurried below to his boiler room.

“Evan,” Lord turned to the Marconi operator. “Tell the Titanic we are twenty miles away and are coming at speed. We expect arrival within the hour.”

“Yes, Captain.” The young operator hurried back to his shack.

For a moment, both officers were once again alone in the quiet night. “Dear God,” Lord’s composure cracking for the first time in front of Stone.

Stone reached out and placed a hand on the captain’s arm. “We will save them, sir.” The officer surprised to find his voice shaking.

“We need to save as many as we can,” Lord looked at Stone. “What we do this night will be remembered.”