40

MARCONI ROOM.

MONDAY, APRIL 15, 1912. 12:29 A.M.

Radio operator Harold Bride returned from a trip to the wheelhouse, where he had breathlessly reported the news to First Officer Murdoch that a ship, Carpathia, was coming as fast as she could. “Less than four hours away and putting all her steam into it!” The news seemed to brighten the dark mood on the bridge. Bride was determined to find more help.

“Always seems to be a dozen ships around until you really need one,” groused Jack Phillips, tapping away on his wireless with tobacco-stained fingertips. The senior Marconi man knew the ship was compromised, but his faith in the indomitable Titanic was steadfast. After all, other ruptured ships had stayed afloat for days. Still, the peculiar guttural rasp from below made listening for incoming messages more difficult than usual. “I’ve been sending CQD! CQD! for an hour. Maybe we’d have better response if I said we were overcome by pirates.”

CQD was one of the first codes Bride had learned, a distress signal developed for the world’s new wireless system. CQ, Bride knew, basically meant “stop sending all those damn messages and pay attention!” while the D, of course, was for “distress.”

Bride had an idea. “Try the new one, why don’t you? ‘Save Our Souls’ might scare up something.”

“Anything for a change of pace,” agreed Phillips. He started tapping and employed the latest international distress signal for the first time:

S-O-S. S-O-S. S-O-S.