Titanic Sinking: Episode 1 Read online

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  When the officer left, my vision followed him instead of the captain. Rather than trying to understand what the captain saw, I was whisked along with Officer Morris, who walked with urgency through the ship’s decks. He had an urgent errand of some sort following his conversation with the captain.

  I feared his destination would be the doctor and that he would try to get the captain committed for some sort of mental problem, but he had a far different goal in mind.

  Officer Morris walked down to the lower decks and found one of the deckhands, seemingly chosen at random. Their conversation was short and to the point.

  Morris spoke quietly. “We’ve got Celians onboard, and they can disrupt our conditioning of the captain.”

  “I’ll have the others start looking for them,” the deckhand replied.

  “At lease we have one less to worry about after the incident earlier.” Morris smiled at his statement, and his face flickered (I have no better word for it) in that moment.

  In that moment, he was both Officer Morris and Edward’s tutor Master Whitman. Though I do not know this for certain, I believe Whitman somehow became Officer Morris in some unnatural shifting of his own features. How something like that is supposed to work is the subject of some dark art, and I dare not even consider it.

  6.

  Though my visions often stayed locked with the man Stevens, I found that my dreams also followed the other peculiar man who tutored him. Though it was certainly my wish that I was forced to spend no further time with them than was absolutely necessary, my visions were either incapable or indifferent of responding to my desires.

  I saw Mr. Hornsby sitting in counsel with other refined gentlemen around the same elaborate blueprint that I had seen on the screen in the dark room where Stevens and his shipmates sat. In this far less sinister setting, the plans took up the entire desk, and the level of detail was exquisite. Looking back upon the vision, I can easily match the blueprint with the size and layout of the fully finished Albatross.

  The meeting over the plans seemed to be proceeding smoothly enough, but there was unease in the air. Were I to go with my first impression, it would be that the stress was due to the sheer audacity of men believing they could construct something so large, though the matter may have been as simple as men feeling caution over parting with so much money in the construction process.

  “No, no. That’s far too many lifeboats,” Mr. Hornsby said.

  Though time was an uncertainty in my visions, I was almost certain that Mr. Hornsby should have aged by this point. If he had worked with Edward as a boy, then it would seem to make sense that he would have shown some signs of passage by the time the ship that Mr. Stevens would pilot as a seasoned seaman was being designed.

  The other men in the room stared intently at the plans. The designer of the ship leaned forward, “If there were, God forbid, some sort of problem with the ship, the passengers would require thirty-two lifeboats to get clear of the wreckage.”

  Others nodded their heads in agreement. “Yes, the plans have already made arrangements for the boats to be stored here.” The man speaking tapped to the front decks of the ship.

  “Gentlemen,” Mr. Hornsby began, with the same lavish style that he had used on an impressionable boy with dreams of becoming a captain. “Our efforts in this room are not only to build the largest ship man has ever used to cross the Atlantic but also to build an experience. We want the people who get off the ship in New York to have a burning need to tell all of their high society friends how they simply must book passage on the Albatross.”

  “What if we –”

  Permitting no interruptions to his grand presentation, Hornsby spoke louder to drown out the designer. “We are conquering the seas with our bold display of power. Accordingly, we need our clientele to understand our confidence in the product we have provided them. They booked passage aboard this ship as a matter of status, so what will they think if their view of the mighty ocean is choked off by the clutter of pointless lifeboats?”

  Hornsby paused to allow the men to think through the scenario.

  “Twenty lifeboats still meet safety standards, and even those twenty are unnecessary. Gentlemen, look at these plans! This ship can handle anything ol’ Mother Nature can throw at her. What storm would be able to overwhelm the Albatross?”

  Hornsby’s words had their desired effect. Where once men stood with furrowed brows, they now stood nodding their heads slowly in silent agreement. In that stuffy office in London, men were ready to stand up to all the powers of the ocean and perhaps even God Himself.

  In these moments, I could not help but think of the men in the Old Testament contriving to build the Tower of Babel. “And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.”

  Will God respond to such arrogance?

  For the sake of the passengers, I hope not.

  7.

  My vision flashed once again, and I saw Stevens as a man situated somewhere beyond his boyhood eagerness but not yet arrived at the stateliness of his refined adulthood. Here was a rugged young man saluting in the proud uniform of the Royal Navy. Whatever the timeframe of this vision was supposed to represent, the uniforms of the RNR were at least recognizable.

  The officer behind the desk returned the salute, and Stevens stood at ease.

  The men were in a naval base, somewhere along the shore of England. The officer at the desk wore a scowl that seemed rather severe – even for a Navy man. He looked Stevens up and down

  "You seem to be advancing rather swiftly, young man."

  Stevens continued to look straight ahead as he answered. "Yes sir, I have the deepest admiration for the ocean."

  The officer snorted at the comment. "Deep love for the ocean, huh? Well, many men have loved the sea, but she’s rather fickle. She might love you today and hate you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The officer stood up then and limped toward the bottle sitting atop a small table. On the wall behind the table a map of Africa stretched, bearing lines representing several routes along the coastline. Some of the lines had been crossed out to indicate the unsuccessful voyages.

  The man poured himself a splash of liquor and continued, “You seem to have the ocean’s attention in a unique way."

  "How’s that sir?"

  “Well, I keep hearing positive reports of you keeping a level head when everyone else is panicking. You jumped out there and rescued some of your clumsy mates in the middle of a storm. You advised the captain of currents to ride to cut down time on the voyage from Australia.”

  The officer took a swig from his drink. “These kinds of things aren’t supposed to be happening to the same man. You sail like you’ve been on the sea for fifty years, but you’re no more than thirty. How’s that happen?”

  For a moment, just a brief moment, Stevens seemed perplexed by the question. I doubt the aged officer could be capable of noticing a subtle facial expression, but questions were apparent in the young man’s face. How, indeed? He recovered in plenty of time.

  "I had quite excellent tutors, sir."

  "Worthington? Smith and Jenkins?"

  "No sir. I worked with Hornsby and Whitman."

  "Hornsby and Whitman? I've never heard of them before."

  The officer scrutinized Stevens some more with an expression that unfortunately appeared far more confused than intellectual. “You come from a family with a lot of money?”

  "Uh, no sir. My tutors were friends of the family from long before I was born."

  The statement bothered Stevens. Though he'd known the men all his life, he could hardly think of the men ever having talked to his mother or father in all that time. Had he really known them that long?

  Even though my visions presented Stevens’ first meeting with his tutors and his talk with a superior officer in the same night, I can only imagine the nu
mber of years that must have come between that first year and his time in the Navy. Had his memories been so tampered with in that time that he could not remember the truth?

  “Regardless of how you got here, we need your help,” the officer said, placing an empty glass on his desk. “We need men to captain our ships to the southern tip of Africa for the war effort. Your ship will be modest, but your efforts to the war will be greatly valued. His Majesty’s troops need supplies, and our Navy men must rise to the challenge.”

  Stevens stood ramrod straight and saluted, “Yes, sir.”

  8.

  My vision flashed once more, and I saw Hornsby again – this time at a shipyard instead of the stuffy confines of an office. Stevens’ tutor Master Whitman was always absent from these events. In fact, thinking back, I rarely saw Hornsby and Whitman together in public. This one thought gives even more plausibility to the dual nature of Officer Morris.

  Hornsby watched the process of the shipbuilding with an intense stare. Though I considered it strange to see him there in the midst of construction, no one else seemed to be put off by it. Gruff men covered in sweat and dirt merely glanced in the direction of the spotlessly dressed Hornsby. Though his suit likely cost what those men might hope to make in two or three months’ wages, he moved across the shipyard with confidence and familiarity.

  He approached the foreman of the building efforts, and Hornsby presented a massive bolt, apparently meant to go into the ship’s hold. “I’ve located a batch of bolts at a large discount that should help us to meet our budget,” Hornsby said.

  The foreman, a stocky man whose overalls seemed nearly as wide as he was tall, hefted the bolt in his hand. “Are these the same ones we normally use?”

  “More or less.” Hornsby smiled. “Don’t worry about the materials. I’ll keep you supplied. You just focus on staying on schedule.”

  The foreman looked at the bolt in his hand for another moment and then back up at Hornsby. “All right. I’m not comfortable signing off for these supplies, but if you’ve got it covered –”

  “For what you’re being paid, I think you can find it within yourself to sign the necessary documents.”

  Nodding this time, the foreman answered. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  9.

  My dream haunts me. I’ve nearly recorded all that happened last night, though I am nearly certain I will be back in this place tomorrow morning writing about this unfolding drama. I’ve never had any sort of divine visions in the past, though I have a dreaded certainty about the timing of these events.

  Despite my fears, my curiosity burns brightly. I want to know what the Celians are. At the mention of their name in my vision, I actually felt hope. There might actually be some way to turn back whatever dark events I am certain are coming.

  Am I meant to share these dreams with my congregation? Will they find any meaning in them, or will they simply regard me as a mad man?

  Certainly the prophets of old were feared and reviled as often as they were respected. I cannot hope for more in this time of machinery and scientific thinking.

  In the last portion of my vision before I woke, I saw Hornsby and Whitman together with young Stevens in a room that did not resemble the little shop where they had begun their lessons. This room had no windows and seemed impossibly dark, yet they had a small glow of light from an unknown source. I could not see any flame in the room, yet the light was steady.

  A ship’s wheel was situated in the middle of the room, as though Stevens could steer the whole room with a simple turn of the rudder.

  After an apparently draining day of training, both men spoke to Stevens in reassuring tones. They stood before him like theater performers in front of an audience of one.

  “Why, son, we're preparing you for days of glory,” Hornsby said.

  “Days of splendor,” Whitman echoed with a nod.

  “Someday, they'll ask you to pilot massive ships across the water. The largest ships you've ever seen!”

  “Enormous, titanic boats to sail across the ocean.”

  “And you'll live on in history forevermore. The man who crossed the Atlantic with the largest seafaring vessel known to man.”

  “It will be a day to remember.”

  Though the words had the desired effect on young Stevens, they chilled me to the core.

  ###

  TO BE CONTINUED IN “TITANIC SINKING – EPISODE II”

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