27

MARCONI ROOM.

SUNDAY, APRIL 14, 1912. 1:42 P.M.

Twenty-one-year-old Harold Bride earned two dollars a week as a Marconi man, but he would have done the job for half that amount. A quiet boy in school, Bride dreamed of being a wireless operator. Secret messages flying through the air! And only the magical Marconi men could pluck them from the ether.

His parents didn’t have much money, so Bride worked to put himself through training. Only eight months after completing his studies, Bride was on Titanic. He imagined the voyage might bring messages of international import or intrigue from presidents and kings, but the actual communications had been rather mundane thus far—mostly of the “I trust you’re having a delightful trip” variety.

So it was with a secret thrill that Harold Bride received a message from the Baltic, a liner making its way eastward from New York to Liverpool:

Greek steamer Athenia reports passing icebergs and large quantities of field ice today in latitude 41 51’N, longitude 49° 52’W. Wish you and Titanic all success. Commander.

For Bride, a warning of icebergs topped his personal list of “most compelling messages received so far.” Bride immediately shared the message with Jack Phillips, Titanic’s senior wireless operator.

“You know the policy,” said Phillips, more jaded about such missives after five years at sea. “Passenger messages first. They’re payin’ the bills, ain’t they?”

Bride acquiesced, but that didn’t mean he agreed. Surely reports of field ice were more important than inquiries about the accommodations or Great-Aunt Helen’s health. Bride excused himself, message in pocket, and headed down the narrow passageway that connected the Marconi room to the officers’ quarters and wheelhouse.

On the bridge, Mr. Henry Tingle Wilde was in command, though his head was elsewhere. He stared out at the black waters as the ship pushed ahead at top speed. It was only because of a last-minute change of orders that Wilde was even on Titanic. He had been serving as chief officer of Olympic only days before receiving this surprise assignment, and he’d had misgivings from the start.

There was something peculiar, even sinister about the new liner. I don’t like this ship, Wilde wrote to his sister at the start of the voyage. I have a queer feeling about it. But even the surest of hunches couldn’t have foreseen a cannibalistic plague belowdecks. Would Titanic ever reach shore? One thing’s certain, Wilde promised himself, I will never sail on Titanic again.

“I’ve a message from Baltic, a warning of ice ahead!”

Bride was nearly out of breath, more from excitement than exertion. Lost in his thoughts, Wilde barely heard the young radio man.

“Sir?” said Bride, offering the message. “A message from Baltic? I believe it’s urgent.”

“Ice, yes, ice ahead,” said Wilde. And where was Captain Smith? Why hadn’t he called the bridge yet?

Bride cleared his throat to remind the chief officer of his presence. Wilde shook free from his reverie and said, “We’ll be sure to alert the men in the crow’s nest. Thank you for your diligence. Such warnings are routine at this time of year. A ship this size has little to fear from ice.”

Bride hadn’t sailed on many ships, but he knew when he was being dismissed. He saluted Mr. Wilde and set off in search of someone who might take the threat more seriously: Captain E. J. Smith himself.

The captain proved a hard man to find. The young man first looked in the captain’s quarters, then the first-class dining saloon, but no one had seen the captain for many hours. Bride needed to return to the Marconi room very soon—his absence had extended well beyond the ordinary breaks he and Phillips allowed one another. Bride hurried down the open boat deck, imagining where a sea captain might be when not commanding his ship. Then the Marconi operator spotted J. Bruce Ismay speaking to a man with a chiseled face and two elegant ladies in deck chairs, which were turned to take advantage of the high sun.

“Mr. Ismay!” Bride exclaimed. “Excuse the interruption, but have you seen the captain? He’s not on the bridge.”

Ismay looked Bride up and down, not placing him despite the White Star uniform.

“Harold Bride, sir. Radio operator,” said Bride, answering Ismay’s unspoken question. “I have an urgent message for the captain.”

Not in front of Kaufmann, thought Ismay, who had ten lies at the ready to explain the captain’s mysterious whereabouts. “The captain,” he said, smiling easily, “is attending to some private business at the moment. I’ll take the message and personally make sure he receives it at the first opportunity.”

“It’s a message from the Baltic, Mr. Ismay,” said Bride, handing over the paper on which he’d typed out the wire.

Ismay squinted at the type, then patted his pockets in an unsuccessful search for his reading spectacles. He nodded for Bride’s help. The Marconi man looked uncomfortably at the listening passengers: “A warning of ice ahead, sir.”

Marian Thayer sat forward in her deck chair, putting one hand to her mouth and reaching over with the other to touch her friend, Emily Ryerson. “Ice!” Thayer exclaimed. “Are we in danger?”

“Danger?” laughed Ismay, shaking his head. He held up Bride’s message to passengers strolling past on their afternoon walks. “Ice! Cubes of ice up ahead! Alert the stewards! Man the Punch Romaine!”

To Bride’s chagrin, the women giggled demurely. He was learning an important lesson: Experienced seamen apparently were used to receiving ice warnings. His concern only betrayed his inexperience.

“Imagine the fight, Mr. Kaufmann!” exclaimed Ismay. “In one corner, we have some ice! In the other, sixty-six thousand pounds of the world’s mightiest steel! I’m no betting man, but if I were, you can be certain where my money would be.”

“I’d need more information to make that bet,” said Kaufmann. “For instance, I’d love to hear more about the private business keeping your captain from his command. Could it be related to the reason I’m not allowed belowdecks?”

Bride bowed his head and made to excuse himself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ismay. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“You did the right thing,” said Ismay, slapping Bride on the shoulder and ignoring Kaufmann. “You’ve alerted the officers on the bridge, correct?” When Bride nodded, Ismay continued, “Very responsible. I’ll make sure the captain receives this message as soon as his business is finished.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bride, eager to take his leave. “Thank you, sir.”

Ismay smiled at the ladies, folded the message, and secreted it away in his breast pocket. He walked Bride a few steps down the deck and gave him a long, direct look. “Send a wire for me to the White Star offices in New York, and keep it confidential, understand?”

“Certainly, sir,” said Bride, hurriedly fishing for a pencil stub and scrap of paper from his pocket. “What is the message?”

“Due to arrive earlier than expected. Stop. Monday night. Stop. Extra security necessary for disembarkation. Stop. Crowds could be dangerous. Stop. Be prepared for all contingencies. Stop.”