Book Oracle - Chapter Two

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Oracle: A person who delivers authoritative, wise, or highly regarded and influential answers.

Chapter Two

TITANIC HITS ICEBERG

Atlantic Ocean, 1912

‘'All Ashore That's Going Ashore" the loudhailers called out as Leo at last reached the ticket taker. After removing one section, the man handed the packet and the passport back to Leo and motioned him along to the Passport Desk. The man behind the desk stamped his passport and checked his name on a long list.

"Brock Lionel Phillips?"

"Correct," said Leo.

"The Purser would like to talk to you," the man said. "I'll have the steward take your luggage, show you to the purser's office and then to your stateroom."

Leo followed the steward up two flights to the Deck C Second Class Promenade. The Pursers Office and the Enquiry Office next to it were jammed with people. The Steward ushered him past the waiting people to a private room and introduced him to the Purser's Assistant.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Phillips," he said. "Lord Rothschild made prior arrangements that in the event of First Class cancellations, we were to move you from Second Class to First. Mr. J. P. Morgan and Mr. Henry Clay Frick and their parties, who were to have joined us at Cherbourg have just notified us that they will be unable to make the voyage. We have assigned you to a stateroom on Deck C, which would have been occupied by one of their party. I think you will find it a convenient location since it has a stairway nearby which gives you easy access to the First Class Smoke Room and the Palm Verandah."

Leo felt, to quote Chloe, who was studying French and sprinkled her conversation with French words, bouleverse. Even more overwhelmed when he entered his luxurious stateroom and the steward started unpacking his bag. No doubt the special treatment Leo had received from the purser accounted for the odor of obsequiousness filling the stateroom.

"Will there be anything else?"

Leo pulled out his drawing of the ship and spread it out on a table. He intended to see first hand the vaunted design that made the Titanic the safest ship in the world. He hankered to view the steel hull and the special iron rivets, which held them in place. He had often heard them discussed in metallurgy courses.

"Can you make arrangements for me to see the watertight bulkheads tomorrow?"

The steward looked if he had been requested to set the Thames on fire. "I'm afraid no passengers are allowed below decks, sir. It's a safety regulation."

"Oh, I've been below decks dozens of times in the Glasgow shipyards. I have a special interest, since I'm a metallurgist by profession. I just have to reach the proper person to get permission. Who would that be?"

"I'll make enquiries immediately, sir." said the steward.

Leo heard the ship's horn give a number of short blasts and streaked up to the Promenade Deck to view the departure. The starboard rail was jammed with passengers, six deep. Leo walked along looking for a spot where he could get some elevation. He felt a surge of panic at the thought that he might not be able to snatch a final glimpse of Chloe.

Just beyond the first class smoking room he came upon an electric crane. Feeling a bit conspicuous, but nevertheless determined not to miss his final glimpse of Chloe, he clambered up the now idle crane to a massive arm that extended out from the steel deck and squatted with his legs and arms wrapped round a stanchion.

Far below on the platform all he could make out was a sea of hats with waving arms. He reached inside his blazer and fished out his tiny birding binoculars, which hung by a leather strap wrapped round his neck. Down on the roadway, behind the crowded platform, a number of horse-drawn carriages champed about in moody impatience. He trained the binoculars on the spot at the bottom of the second class ramp where he and his sisters had said their farewells, but there was no sign of them.

Given all the fuss about the luxury of the liner, and the fashionable people sailing, surprising that most of the crowd seemed to be wearing workman's caps, with a sprinkling of waving boaters. Apparently the kin of the rich, itchy to get back to the social swim, had departed like cats with their tails on fire before seeing the Titanic off.

Leo's nostrils filled with the smell of fresh paint from the shiny green stanchion inches from his nose. He moved forward a bit, sniffing the salt air, under a gray and foreboding sky. A very long way down he glimpsed the grim tweed of the river. Bringing the binoculars to bear on the crowded dock he swept along from left to right. All at once Chloe's face filled the lens. He held his breath. A wave of desire and shame swept over him. No two ways about it, he'd been wise to cut loose. No sense in agonizing, it was the best thing to do.

To the tune of a tremendous amount of whistling and horn blasting, the ship began to back away from the dock. Two tugs, tooting up a storm, sent up a cloud of black smoke that enveloped a flock of screaming seagulls wheeling away from the ship. The pigmy tugs dragged the stern around so that the gigantic ship was facing down river. As she swung round a tremendous swell washed up against the other ships berthed alongside and then surged back toward the Titanic.

One ship, The Olympic, rode it out, but as he watched Leo gasped to see the tethering ropes of the SS New York alternately slacken, then become taut. He had once seen this sort of an accident at the Glasgow docks and he knew the danger involved. Sure enough, a staccato popping resounded as the New York broke her moorings. The ship, sucked by water displacement, headed straight for the bow of the Titanic. The crowd on the docks and those on the ship gasped in unison.

For at least an hour Captain Smith and the harbor pilot struggled to edge the huge ship out of harm's way, while two tugs endeavored to get lines on the S.S. New York. Grand beginning, thought Leo, and wondered if it was some sort of an omen.

When he stopped off at his cabin to deposit the binoculars the steward awaited with the information that only the Chief Engineer could authorize inspections below deck.

"He said that perhaps later on you might persuade an off duty engineer to give you a whirl"

"Where will I find him?"

"Actually, Sir, the Engineer's Promenade is right between the Second Class and First Class Promenades. After we're out at sea, and they've everything under control, you might stroll along there and reconnoiter."

Leo located the Engineer's Promenade on the Boat Deck. Luckily it was within sight of the First Class Lounge and the Smoke Room. It was just a matter of time before Leo would run into one of the engineers, and he intended to strike up a conversation based on professional fraternity that would give him entree to the bowels of the ship.

Meanwhile he sat in the lounge studying his drawing of the ship and the letter from Clive that had accompanied it. Clive had advised him that there were two steel magnates aboard: Arthur Ryerson and Washington A. Roebling, 2nd scion of the Roebling empire, who was launching out on his own as manager of an automobile factory in New Jersey.

He had the diagram of the Titanic spread out on a low table. So absorbed was he in the layout of the Orlop Deck that he barely heard when a soft voice interrupted him.

"Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur."

He looked up to see an extremely chic, though not at all pretty, young woman peering at the drawing.

"I am sorry to bother you, but is that a carte of the Titanic you have?"

"Oui, Mademoiselle. Can I help you locate something?"

A wave of joy spread over her face, making her suddenly attractive. It never ceased to amaze him how enchanting even ugly French women could look.

"Oh, Monsieur, you have save my life. My mistress wishes me to be her guide since her husband is ill, and I am completement perdue."

"I'm not surprised. I'd be completely lost without this map. By the way, I am called Leo Phillips."

"I am Victorine, personal maid to Madame Ryerson."

"Mrs. Arthur Ryerson?" Leo couldn't believe his good luck. But, then, he had always been the sort of chap who set out to drill a water well and struck oil.

"You know the family?"

"They are very well known. Where does your mistress wish to go?"

"To the Reading and Writing Room. To the Palm Court. To the First Class Promenade and to the Restaurant," she said, reading from a small notebook.

"And which deck is your stateroom on?"

"Deck B. They have a suite and a private promenade, but Mr. Ryerson is ill and they have three noisy children, so she wishes to use the public promenade."

"Well, the first three rooms you mention are on the Promenade Deck A."

He pointed to Deck A on the drawing. "Just go up the First Class Entrance stairway one flight to A Deck. The Reading and Writing Room is not far from the stairs and the other rooms are further along the corridor."

"And the restaurant?

"The regular dining saloons are on Deck D, but the French Restaurant is not far from your suite on Deck B, toward the stern of the ship."

She handed Leo her notebook and he made a couple of rough sketches. "If you need to see the map again, I will probably be here in the Boat Deck First Class Lounge the next day or two. I'll be glad to help you."

Leo was not expecting to be bussed on both cheeks by the excited French maid, but he found it pleasant, if startling. How different the French were.

Leo gathered up his materials and wandered in to the gymnasium off the lounge. The room with its bright linoleum floor in big blocks of colour and its gaily painted wicker chairs made it inviting. The prospect of using the rowing machine tempted him. He borrowed gym clothes for half an hour of rowing.

After taking a shower, he went up on deck to watch the passengers boarding at Cherbourg. He expected French and English vacationers, but most of the people boarding seemed to be wogs. Some, rich Sheiks, flaunted entire entourages in finery of gold brocade. Hundreds of carved boxes swung into the hold. Others had fancy motorcars brought aboard.

In the early evening the ship docked at Queenstown, Ireland. At least a hundred Irish immigrants loaded into the open berths known as steerage on Deck G. The ship laid up for the night, sailing the next afternoon. It followed the route for mail steamers from the Fastnet Light, off the southwest coast of Ireland to the Nantucket Shoal light off the coast of the United States..

Dinner that night was quite grand. Most of the passengers, inspired by the sumptuous surroundings were dressed for a reunion of peacocks. The dining saloon done up in Jacobean style featured urns packed with flowers whose spicy scent mingled with the aroma of the food. Leo was not at the Captain's Table, which extended the length of one wall, and seated the John Jacob Astors, the Duff Gordons, the Wideners and the cream of Philadelphia Society.

To his delight he was the only Englishman at his table. The place card holders of rose marble matched the centerpieces. Each one held a beautifully inscribed name. Leo made a tour of the table to get the names firmly fixed in his mind. J. B. Gough he learned later was a Gimbel's buyer in Philadelphia. Gough had the sort of blank, expressionless face that can get away with outrageous statements. During dinner he entertained the whole table with ridiculous assertions. He started out by saying "Gravy stains can be easily removed from a silk tie with a pair of scissors." Leo pitched right in and added to the hilarity by his comment that "Soup should be seen and not heard." This comment gave rise to an endless stream of banter from the deadpan Philadelphian.

Leo recalled Clive Rothschild's warning, before he left for the shooting party, against telling stories at table. Not good form in England. Here among these Americans it seemed perfectly acceptable. Leo told J. B. good humouredly that his observations were made with all the warmth and sincerity of an eviction notice, for which he received an appreciative wink.

Mrs. Churchill Candee, a stunner, returning to the states to comfort her son injured in an airplane accident, sat all during dinner with a brilliant smile on her face. Everywhere he went thereafter, Leo saw her surrounded by helpful men. A Milwaukee shipping magnate, Captain Edward Crosby, who had been a Great Lakes skipper, fascinated Leo. He kept shaking his grizzled head in agreement at each sally. His wife sat next to Leo and swallowed every word Gough said as if it were caviar.

A Canadian couple, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson J. Allison, of Montreal, tried several times to derail the raconteur, but to Leo's amusement, Gough persevered. Leo, eager to learn how Canadians reacted to things, egged him on. In Sault Ste. Marie Leo would be dealing with Canadian executives, so he needed to understand their culture. He could see that these Canadians, at least, acted with more reserve than Americans.

Pitching in with a few dry witticisms a Philadelphia banker called Robert Daniel looked less like a banker than any Leo had ever seen. Tall, thin and completely lacking in the pompous demeanor usually found in the profession, he also stoked Gough's fire.

Later on the only quip Leo could remember was Gough's remark after Captain Crosby had informed them that he had been in the wireless shack that morning when a French ship warned of ice fields. The boast of the White Star Line that the Titantic is unsinkable made him uneasy.

"A boaster and a liar are first cousins," Gough agreed.

"I, for one, rely on White Star's claim that the ship can't sink," replied the banker.

After dinner most of the men dashed off to the Smoke Room. Leo savoured a cigar and nursed a brandy. He gazed at the mahogany woodwork inlaid with mother of pearl, while hoping to round up a game of duplicate whist. He finally wandered over to the Lounge, glass in hand, and found a game going full steam in the corner. The Gimbel's buyer and Major Arthur Penchen made a foursome consisting of Howard Cash, a Manager for Vacuum Oil, and to Leo's delight, W.A.Roebling, 2nd the steel heir.

He pulled up a chair to watch. J. B. Gough remembered Leo from dinner and introduced him around. Gough dropped all clowning at the table. His expressionless demeanor gave him the advantage over the others.

Major Penchen's face was unwrinkled and tan, giving him a healthy, well-preserved look. Roebling, on the other hand hardly looked old enough to manage a motorcar plant. He guessed the same could be said of him. The answer was the same in each case: influence. Roebling, a tall, well-built blond, would have been handsome but for buck teeth over which his lips refused to close. During the course of the game Leo found that Roebling's ungrudging good nature made him lose all awareness of the man's ugly mouth. Too bad, for had he been more pugnacious perhaps some foe would have knocked out his four front teeth for him. At any rate he was a jolly good card player. He and Gough were cleaning up against the two Englishmen.

Around midnight Leo and Gough left for a stroll on the deck. Gough mentioned in passing that the telegraph office, overloaded with messages from passengers, was being interrupted constantly by messages from ships warning of bergs, growlers and ice fields.

"The Captain doesn't seem to be concerned," said Leo. "Its full speed ahead."

"If he even knows. I got the impression that they were too harried over there to pass all the messages to him."

Leo dropped by the Engineer's Promenade on the boat deck. He was more anxious than ever to see the ship's vaunted safety features. No one was about so he turned in.

Early the next morning he set off alone to tour the ship. Hardly any of the passengers were up, since Leo normally rose with the milkman. He needed little sleep. He managed to find the Engineer's Mess on E Deck and begged a cup of tea from the cook who, being English, offered no resistance to the idea.

Leo told him that he was an engineer by trade and asked who among the assistant engineers might be amenable to conducting a tour of the lower decks. The cook scratched his head, spraying dandruff into the cabbage he was grating and stared into the air for a moment. Leo noted that he had one cocked eye and ears like oyster shells. "Your best bet would be O'Reilly," he said. "Ee's got lots of energy and is always doing something for somebody else. Ee's on the first shift, so you'd best contact him about five p.m."

"Would it insult him to offer some compensation?" asked Leo.

"You can't insult O'Reilly."

"Where can I find him at five?"

"Where can he find you? I'll tell ‘im at mealtime."

"I'll be in the lst Class Lounge, not far from the Engineer's Promenade from four to six today and tomorrow."

"Backs up to the Officer's Mess. I know where it is. I'll let him know."

Leo slipped the cook a shilling. Walking along the broad alley that the Officer's called Park Lane and the seamen called Scotland Road which ran the length of the ship on E Deck, Leo finally came to a stairway that led down to the lower level. On the pretext of using the squash court he descended to deck G, where steerage berths occupied most of the bow. Unfortunately you couldn't gain access to the steerage area from the Racquet Court. He tried it from the Post Office and the Baggage Room. No way. One had to use hatch two from Deck F.

If one had claustrophobia it was not a good place to be trapped. Leo went back to the Racquet Court to see if he could rustle up a game of squash and luckily found Major Penchen there. The two of them squared off for an hour, then went up to F Deck to the Turkish bath. Leo didn't know what he expected when he heard about the swimming bath, but certainly not what greeted his eyes when they entered the room. The gilded beams in the maroon ceiling set the tone. Carved teak stanchions, aquamarine tiled walls and multicolored mosaic floors gave the whole place the look of a Sheik's Harem. The two men looked at each other in horror and backed out as fast as they could. They agreed the hour had arrived to go to the Palm Court and imbibe a pre-luncheon whisky.

At four sharp Leo appeared at the lounge waiting for O'Reilly to show him round the ship. To his delight he found Victorine, Mrs. Ryerson and the three Ryerson children, Emily, Susan and Jack entering. Mrs. Ryerson thanked him briefly for helping her maid find her way around the ship, then left to rejoin her ailing husband. The children, all dressed like small adults, looked thoroughly bored. Leo, who adored children, sent them next door to the library for a book he could read to them. "Find a nonsensical one," he said. "I love nonsense."

"Oh, we do too," said Jack. "The sillier the better."

When they had gone, Victorine turned to Leo. "Monsieur must miss his own children."

"No children, no wife," said Leo. "I just like kids. They are so guileless."

The kids came running back with a huge book full of ridiculous drawings of wizards and weird animals, which Leo read like an actor on the stage, playing all the parts. They seemed enchanted, and Victorine even more so. She sat gazing at Leo as if he had dropped from heaven. The ship's clock chimed six before Leo realized how late it was. Obviously O'Reilly was not coming.

After dinner and a hard fought card game in which he and Major Penchen managed to beat the American couple Leo came down the corridor to his stateroom. Who should he run into but Victorine. She emerged from the Maids and Valet's Saloon which was down the hall from and opposite his stateroom.

"Hullo!" said Leo. "What's going on?"

"Bonsoir, Monsieur. I have a late supper. Ze children are all sleeping." She headed aft along the corridor and entered a room next to the service pantry. She stood framed in the doorway like a stage French maid in her black uniform and frilly white apron. He tried to fathom what it was about her that gave off that special aura of elegance. Her figure was superb, although a bit stumpy for his taste. He preferred tall slender women. He decided it was her unusual coiffure. He had never seen a woman with her hair so short, so black, so shiny. He had been gazing at her so long that it became embarrassing.

"Bonne nuit, Monsieur."

"I wonder if you would like a night cap?" he said.

She looked puzzled. "Night cap?"

"Perhaps a cognac?" Her dark eyes flashed. "Would Monsieur prefer a fine French wine? I have a bottle of Chateau Margaux I have been guarding for a very long time…for a very special occasion." She entered her stateroom, leaving the door open.

In the morning Leo lay in his double bed staring out the open porthole at the azure sky. Victorine had turned out not to be French at all, but Canadian, from Quebec. But she had all the French lovemaking habits, the most wonderful being their whispered endearments…what the English call "sweet nothings." Leo couldn't remember ever having been more aroused in his whole life. Moreover he had never accomplished in one night the number of orgasms he had last night. And yet, as he lay there exhausted, he had to admit that it was clearer than ever that no one else could end the yearning he felt for Chloe. That yearning had burrowed under his skin, eating at him day and night.

Leo met Washington Augustus Roebling at the Palm Court for lunch. After whist last night they had talked a little about their new ventures in manufacturing, and thought it might be interesting to compare viewpoints about managing a company. They sat on the verandah where the strains of music wafted out from the Palm Court. Leo ordered a pint and Roebling a dry martini.

"I am curious about why you are undertaking this project," said Leo." You're certainly not doing it for money or status. You already have those."

"All my friends ask me the same question. It's just for my own self-satisfaction. I want to prove to myself—and my Dad—that I am capable."

"Is there a leisure class in America?"

"A life of leisure is slightly disreputable in the States. Americans by and large have a tremendous belief in the dignity of labor. I, myself, think there are only two things that count in life—work and love."

"Where is your plant opening?"

"Trenton, New Jersey. Not a very fashionable place, I'm afraid. Where is yours?"

"Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. Along the border—not far from Detroit. There's a steel mill there. Perhaps you know it, Algoma Steel."

"Oh yes. Why are you doing it?"

"To rise above my station."

"What?"

"I'm doing it for the same reasons you are, actually. However, my father doesn't approve of the direction I'm taking. He's terribly altruistic and terribly concerned about social welfare. His favorite son is my half-brother, Egbert, an incipient socialist."

"If individuals are enterprising and the system puts no artificial barriers in their path, the general welfare will take care of itself." Roebling signaled for the waiter.

"My sentiments exactly. And that is impossible in England."

Roebling fell silent, looking contemplative.

Leo glanced around the verandah at the elaborate décor. He remembered reading how proud the workers in Belfast were of the ship. The men seemed almost sad to see the ship leave Belfast. They'd slaved for four years, trying to do a first class job and it had become a part of them. Leo, while he admired its engineering, still found it the symbol of everything he hated.

The hubris involved in the owners claims of unsinkability, the smug superiority reflected in naming the ship Titanic, all galled him. The sudden irrational thought overtook him that it would serve the owners right if the ship sank. He pushed the thought out of his mind. Fortunately the waiter arrived with their fish and chips at that point and he and Roebling pitched in.

Roebling, still looking thoughtful, pushed back his chair. "You know, about inherited privilege, I guess that's the answer to why I am going into the automobile factory. I really think that people ought to succeed through industry and perseverance, not because their folks have money."

"Through personal merit."

"Yeah. Instead of monarchy, we need a meritarchy."

Leo felt a sudden wave of affection for this affable giant with such honorable instincts. "What are you called by your friends?" he asked.

"Most of them call me Augie."

"I'm Leo."

From that moment on Leo and Augie gradually slid into inseparability. They had much in common, both engineers, both entrepreneurs, both bachelors.

"I'm trying to wangle a tour of the lower decks." Leo told him. "Interest you?"

"Absolutely."

"So far I've run into a stone wall. I'm dying to see the steel construction and the watertight compartments."

"The Chief Engineer knew my Dad when he was working on the Brooklyn Bridge, maybe he would arrange it. I'll get hold of him." He got up. "Gotta go. I'll take care of this." He scribbled his stateroom number on the bill. "See you at dinner. Do you want to try out the French Restaurant?"

Leo agreed although he was watching his purse go down with trepidation. The French Restaurant would be fearfully expensive. He'd already turned down a game because the stakes were more than he could afford."

Leo stopped by the lounge at five o'clock and hung around for an hour. No sign of O'Reilly so he dressed and went up to Deck B to meet Augie Roebling. Over a six course dinner with appropriate wines, they covered a range of topics. They were both interested in the construction of the ship and its purported unsinkability.

"Ís there any such thing as an unsinkable ship?"

"I doubt it. The Titanic probably comes as close as it's possible to get."

Roebling was still trying to arrange with the Chief Engineer to have someone escort them through the Orlop Deck and the Tank Top.

As they left the French Restaurant they ran into Mr. and Mrs. Ryerson. Mrs. Ryerson was upset because Mr. Ismay, the Managing Director of the White Star Line had shown her a message from a Greek steamer reporting passing icebergs and large fields of ice in the Outward Southern Track, the route the Titanic was following. She felt that Captain Smith, rather than Mr. Ismay ought to have been the one in possession of such messages.

Leo agreed wholeheartedly. He had heard rumors that Ismay was really running the ship, setting the speed and making other decisions that should be the province of the Captain."That message should have been put on the board in the chart room as soon as it was received," Augie said.

On Saturday, April 13, Leo wandered around the Boat Deck. On his way to the promenade he had found the Engineer's Smoke Room. Leo left a note on the bulletin board for O'Reilly to contact him through his steward. From the First Class Promenade he watched the ship cut through the calm sea, the wake ruffled like the hem of a petticoat. After a while he went to the Gymnasium hoping to use the rowing machine, only to find one of the ship's officers using it. From the way he handled the machine, Leo decided the fellow might be an oarsman.

"Sculler?" he asked the man when he stepped off the machine.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Something about the way you handled the oars." "Then I guess you must be an oarsman yourself."

"Used to be in college. I suppose most of the crew are trained oarsmen."

"Don't I wish," said the man. "Most of them have never had an oar in their hands."

Leo introduced himself.

"First Officer William Murdoch."

"I was looking at the lifeboats earlier. Looks like they'd be pretty tough to handle. What's their capacity?"

"Sixty-five. We'd need trained men to take on that many. Not that they'll ever need to, with this ship."

"The boats look to be four or more feet in height. Doesn't that make them hard for a man to row sitting down?"

"True. And in rough sea the men would not have much control over the oars if standing up. I've heard tales of boats that have been crowded with panic-stricken people and there wasn't a single man in the boat who had ever handled an oar before."

"Luckily, the Titanic is unsinkable," said Leo, tongue lodged firmly in cheek.

"Yes, thank God," said Murdoch.

At dinner Leo found that Roebling had arranged with the Chief Engineer to have someone escort them through the Orlop Deck and the Tank Top on Sunday afternoon about five. That someone turned out to be the missing O'Reilly. Apparently the Engineer's cook tied one on and completely forgot to talk to O'Reilly. O'Reilly was a huge, smiling Irishman with curly reddish hair and a ruddy face. He led them to the elevator and they were whisked down four decks.

The big Irishman talked as they walked along the reverberating steel alleyways, explaining the design of the vessel. The bulkheads and divisions, placed and strengthened so that the ship would remain afloat in the event that any two adjoining compartments flooded. All the decks were steel plated. The Orlop deck between bulkheads, which formed the top of the tunnel, was also watertight.

Leo noticed that they were not capped off, so the water would spill over from one compartment to another. Apparently that had been accounted for in the design. Twelve watertight doors immediately above the inner bottom guarded the engine and boiler rooms. Harland and Wolff, the builders, had designed doorplates of cast iron, strongly ribbed. They closed by gravity and were held in open position by a clutch controlled from the captain's bridge. It took about 30 seconds to close the doors. They could also be closed from below by a hand-operated lever fitted alongside the door. In case of water entering any of the compartments, it automatically lifted and released the clutches. A warning bell gave due notice of closing.

The whole concept gave Leo the shivers. He could visualize men being trapped below with the water flooding in. He realized that he was overly concerned about claustrophobia and might have a slight case himself. He certainly hated being enclosed in tight corners. Always had.

They took an iron stairway in the stern of the ship down to the cargo area, walked along past the refrigerated and bulk stores to the turbine engines. Through the open door O'Reilly led them into the monster's vibrating iron cage. The guts writhed and twisted as though in pain, pistons throbbing and pounding, crankshafts pumping and sighing. Roebling held his head and stepped back out into the corridor. O'Reilly, endeavoring to follow him, stumbled over the sill and fell against the doorshaft, bending the lever.

The iron doors clanged shut before Leo could get out. A horn issued a series of sharp blasts and the sound of running feet echoed. Leo began to sweat. Confident that they'd get him out in a few minutes, he controlled his panic. His watch read six p.m. How long would it take them to get him out of here? By eight o'clock he had a throbbing headache, by nine he was being sick in the corner. His clothes were soaked with sweat. He could hardly stand the smell of the place.

Later on Augie told him that they broke off the lever trying to straighten it. O'Reilly called for a mechanic but when he arrived at nine o'clock he was too drunk to allow anywhere near the machinery. Only the bridge could open the door, but Captain Smith was on the bridge and would be until midnight. Having endangered an unauthorized visitor, the Chief Engineer refused to contact the bridge. He told them they'd have to wait until First Officer Murdoch came on watch at midnight.

Augie sprinted up to the Officer's Mess and found Murdoch. The First Officer listened to his tale of woe. Murdoch, who knew the ship like the hollows in his mattress, managed to distract the Captain long enough to release the control without his knowledge. Two decks down, the door of the engine room sprang open. Dozens of seamen in the corridor cheered when Leo slumped out.

O'Reilly and Augie made a handseat for Leo and carried him up to surgery. The Sister on duty treated him for heat exposure and headache and released him to his stateroom, which was on C Deck right next to the surgery. After a bath and a whisky, he was fit as a fife.

Victorine showed up and fetched him a sandwich from the Maid's and Valet's Saloon. By now it was after eleven o'clock. He sent to the French Restaurant for a bottle of Pommard, Beaune 1900, looking forward to another night with his French Canadian bombshell. His head in her lap he was taking a little snooze when chunks of ice started falling in through the open porthole. They scattered across the floor like broken cups.

"What on earth?" said Leo, leaping up.

"Listen, it sounds like the boat is rolling over marbles," said Victorine.

From the porthole, Leo could see a wall of ice gliding by. "Good God, we've struck an iceberg."

A preview of coming disasters flashed in his head, as though a loose brain wire had briefly connected.

Click to read Chapter Three.