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April 16, 1912
The White House
Washington, DC
Senator William Alden Smith
Hilles was once again blocking the door to the Oval Office. “You can’t go in there, Senator Smith. The president will not see anyone.”
Bill eyed the closed door and then looked back at Hilles. “You know this isn’t right. Whatever his personal tragedy, this can’t continue. The nation is in mourning, and still the president, the man who should lead our national mourning, sits behind his desk and grieves for one man—one man out of hundreds. It’s not right.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Hilles asked. “I follow orders.”
“Then follow my orders. Follow the orders of the people I’m elected to represent. I’m going to talk to him, and you are not going to stop me. If you can’t agree with me, at least look the other way for a moment.”
Hilles gave the briefest of nods and stepped away from the door. “Good luck, Senator.”
Afternoon light was filtering through the tall windows, making patterns on the cork floor. The small lamp on the president’s desk cast a pool of light over Taft’s slumped head and shoulders. Bill could feel the pall of gloom and self-pity that spread throughout the room. He spoke with loud impatience.
“Mr. President.”
Taft raised his head to look at his visitor.
“I respect your grief, Mr. President, but we have an urgent situation that must be settled.”
Taft shook his head. “Not now. I am waiting for a reply to my telegram.”
“Did you send another Marconigram to the Carpathia?” Bill asked. “They have told you already that he is not on board.”
“No, no, I have sent a telegram to the White Star office in New York. Here it is.”
Taft pushed a paper across the desk, and Bill picked it up and read aloud. “‘Have you any information concerning Major Butt? If you will communicate with us at once, would greatly appreciate.’”
He set the paper down in disgust. The pleading tone astonished him. “Have they replied?”
Taft shook his head. “No, they do not answer.”
“Do they know that this comes from you?” Bill asked. “Perhaps they think it is from some underling.” He refrained from adding any comment on the pleading tone of the message.
“They know who it’s from.”
Bill leaned forward and placed his hands on the president’s desk. “Are you telling me, sir, that the White Star Line is refusing to respond to an official request from the president of the United States?”
“They are apparently too busy.”
Smith shook his head. “No, that is not the issue. What we are looking at here is a diplomatic crisis precipitated by the arrogance of the British. They do not wish to answer you, because they do not wish to take responsibility for the death of American citizens. This cannot be permitted. We have to act now, before it’s too late.”
Taft lowered his head again, and Bill stepped back in disgust. It was apparent that Taft was incapable of taking action with his mind still fixated on the death of Archibald Butt. Well, so be it. At least Taft would not stand in his way, and he could turn that to his own advantage and also keep Eva Trentham on his side for the future.
“Mr. President,” Bill said with as much respect as he could muster, “I have brought an emergency resolution before the House, establishing a Senate hearing with my own name suggested as chairman. Do I have your permission to say that you will support my appointment? Speed is of the essence.”
Taft shook his head. “I don’t see why. Speed won’t bring back the dead, Senator. I’m sure the British will hold their own inquiry. The Titanic was a British ship.”
“I respectfully disagree,” Bill said, in a tone that carried very little respect. His patience was wearing thin, and he could picture in his own mind the impatience of the American people. The story had caught the national imagination, and the president should be at the center of it, not sending pleading telegrams to the White Star Line like the grieving relative of an unimportant immigrant.
“American citizens died,” Bill said, “and American fortunes will be lost. Our people will demand an explanation, and they’ll get nothing from the British. There is a lot at stake here, sir. We have to consider the question of compensation for the victims.”
“Let the British pay.”
“That may not be possible without a full inquiry and the fixing of blame. Under the terms of the Harter Act, we will have to prove negligence by the White Star Line. The British will not do that for us. We will have to do it for ourselves.”
“She hit an iceberg,” Taft said impatiently. “That is not really anyone’s fault. From what I hear, the crew behaved well; the captain went down with his ship; women and children were saved. I believe that the British behaved in an appropriately British fashion according to their own laws, and it is their ship sailing under their flag.”
“Once again, I beg to differ,” Bill said. “We must ask ourselves what the ship was doing in the midst of an ice field.”
“It’s the North Atlantic,” Taft said, arguing with a little more of his usual energy. “This time of year, there is always the danger of ice.”
“But not the danger of hitting an iceberg, not with a good lookout and a careful captain. I believe that the White Star Line brought undue pressure to bear on Captain Smith and insisted on proceeding at an unsafe speed.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I can certainly try. The chairman of the line was on board, and I intend to prove that he was responsible for the speed of the ship.”
“Well, you can hardly ask him,” Taft said, “now that he’s at the bottom of the Atlantic.”
“But he’s not. Sir Bruce Ismay saved himself. He is on the Carpathia and heading for New York.”
A spark of light came into Taft’s eyes. “I wonder if he knows anything about poor dear Archie.”
“Sir, really, I must ask you to concentrate on the question at hand. I believe we should proceed with our own inquiry. Do you agree?”
Taft leaned back, and his chair groaned as he shifted his considerable weight. For a moment, he was himself again, shrewd and questioning. “This is an ambitious move,” he said. “Do you think it will bring you enough votes to sit in this chair?”
“I’m not concerned with votes. I am doing this for the survivors, the immigrants and widows.”
Taft waved a hand. “Get on with it, Smith. I can see right through you, but you’re not wrong. It needs to be done, so just do it.”
On Board the Carpathia
10:00 p.m. (Ship’s Time)
Kate Royston
Kate stepped aside as Bridie Conley wheeled Eva out of the bedroom and into the parlor. The Irishwoman had bathed the old lady, combed her wispy hair, and prepared her for bed, and although Kate had heard a great deal of loud complaining coming from the bedroom, both Eva and Bridie seemed to have survived the ordeal. Very soon Bridie would help Eva into bed, and then, if Bridie followed the routine of the night before, she would help herself to a glass of rye from the cabinet in the parlor and sit down to relax. Kate would sit with her—maybe she would pour herself a drink—and they would wait together for the steward to return Wolfie from his evening exercise.
Now that Wolfie was dry and smelling a good deal sweeter, Kate had to admit that he was a handsome dog. Eva declared that he was a valuable specimen of his breed, although she could not actually say what breed. They still did not know who had brought him on board the Titanic or what had been his final destination. The White Star would no doubt have a record of his owner, but even Eva would not take up valuable Marconi time in making inquiries.
Kate smoothed the second dress she had managed to retrieve from her former cabin. This one was navy blue, and Eva declared it just as fine as the gray dress. The two dresses were currently all that Kate possessed. Like many other of the women on the Carpathia, Kate had donated her spare clothing to the hundreds of women who had still been wearing their nightclothes and their salt-stained dresses. She was not sure how she would replenish her wardrobe, but at this time and in this place, it did not seem important.
Kate knew very little about Bridie Conley, but she knew enough to admire her. Although she was a widow, it was not the Titanic that had robbed her of her husband.
“Gone many years,” Bridie said the first time they had met. “And me with three small children to raise any way I could. So I found myself work with the Sisters of Charity, not nursing—that was for the nuns—but a woman like me was good enough for skivvying and bedpans and the like. Sure, Mrs. Trentham is no problem. She doesn’t weigh more than a small sack of potatoes, and me used to heaving around great fat, lazy men. I’ll give you a hand, and all I ask is to lie on a bed and not the floor.”
“What will you do when you get to America?” Kate asked.
“I have a fine son in Chicago,” Bridie said, “and I’ll make my way to him, just like I make my way everywhere, with the help of the Blessed Virgin. Isn’t it her who put me in a lifeboat?”
“The Virgin Mary put you in a lifeboat?”
“Well, it wasn’t the crew did it,” Bridie said. “The crew would have left all of us Irish folk down there in the bottom of the ship without a second thought. No one came to us and said the ship’s sinking and we should get ourselves up on deck. ’Tis a miracle that any of us were saved. There was a gate, you see, so that we folk down in steerage couldn’t go up on the other decks. That gate had been locked since Queenstown. The folks up above didn’t want germs, you see, from us Irish.
“Well, this gate was still locked when we heard these great doings up above and running and shouting, and we wanted to know what it was. One of our fellows tried to break the lock so we could go up, but a sailor came by and threw him down the stairs. I don’t know what happened to him after that, because there were so many of us, but then a whole gang of sailors comes back and says that the women and children can go up and unlocks the gate just for us. So up I went. And just in time.”
“Was the ship sinking?” Kate asked.
“Leaning,” said Bridie. “Listing, they called it—tipping over to one side—but we didn’t know why. There was a great coming and going, and we saw lifeboats being lowered down from up above with ladies in them, and some gentlemen. And then this one boat came down and stopped right in front of us. I don’t think it meant to stop. They say its ropes were tangled. All I know is, it was right there in front of us and not more than a handful of people in it, and I said to myself that I was going to give it a try. I wanted to see my son in Chicago, and I thought that if I didn’t go then, maybe I would never go. And just as I’m thinking this, a woman comes by with a baby in her arms and throws the baby into the lifeboat. Then she tried to jump, but she couldn’t do it, because her shawl caught on something, and she fell down between the boat and the lifeboat—down into the dark. So then I says to myself, ‘Who’s going to look after that baby?’ I crossed myself and I prayed to the Virgin and I jumped, and here I am, safe and sound and drinking that rich lady’s rye.”
“What about the baby?”
“She’s here. There was a woman who lost a young’un, and she still has her milk, so now she has that baby.”
Kate stared at Bridie’s unconcerned face. “But that’s awful.”
Eva, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward in her chair. “That’s how life is for poor folk,” she said. “Bridie will do better in America.”
Bridie looked at her with a hint of a smile. “You know, don’t you?”
Eva shook her head. “No, I do not, and if you want to stay on the right side of me, you will never make that suggestion again.”
A tap on the door heralded the arrival of the steward who had been walking Wolfie. Kate still could not imagine why Eva wanted to keep the dog, but she had to admit his behavior was improving. He did not sleep on the beds, and he no longer growled at Kate, but he still growled at strangers. She supposed that was not really an undesirable trait in a dog. She just wished that he would not leave a trail of loose hair wherever he went. At least, thanks to Bridie’s administrations, he no longer smelled of wet wool and seawater.
The steward was departing, having handed Wolfie’s leash to Bridie, when another figure appeared in the doorway. Kate felt a sudden flush rising in her cheeks at the sight of Danny McSorley’s tall figure and blond beard.
He approached hesitantly. “Miss Kate, Mr. Cottam thinks you should see these telegrams.”
“Are they for me?”
“No. They’ve been sent by Sir Bruce Ismay to the New York office of the White Star Line, and, well, Mr. Cottam thinks they’re important.”
Eva turned a questioning face to Kate. “Who is this young man?”
“He’s one of the Titanic survivors.”
Eva scowled at Danny. “Are they allowing everyone into the radio room?”
“No, ma’am,” Danny said firmly. “I’m a qualified senior radio officer. I was traveling as a passenger on the Titanic on my way to my next posting.”
“Mr. McSorley is assisting Mr. Cottam with the Marconi messages,” Kate said. She was still blushing. How absurd.
Eva extended an imperious hand. “Give them to me.”
Danny stepped forward, and Wolfie offered a warning growl. Danny looked down at him. “Oh, shush,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to hurt anyone.”
Wolfie looked up with sad, intelligent eyes, and Kate wondered what story the dog could tell. How had he managed to stay afloat while so many had drowned?
Danny ruffled the shaggy hair on Wolfie’s head and grinned. “I saw him in the water,” he said. “I’m glad he’s safe. He’s an otterhound; you don’t see many of them. Someone must have paid a good price for him.”
Eva regarded her rescued canine with renewed interest. “Someone with money,” she said. “Probably wanted to beat Morgan.”
Kate looked from the dog to Eva and back again. “What does this have to do with J. P. Morgan? I know your plans, but how can Mr. Morgan be involved with this dog?”
Eva gave an impatient wave of her hand. “He breeds collies. Wins the Westminster Dog Show every year. Someone with money and a grudge was obviously bringing a rare dog over to give Morgan a run for his money. Wolfie there probably had a mate for breeding.”
Danny ruffled Wolfie’s hair again, and Kate tried to read tragedy in Wolfie’s drooping eyes. Was the poor creature mourning the loss of a mate?
“They have webbed paws,” Danny said. “That’s probably how he managed to swim for so long, and all that hair keeps the cold out. He’s a true survivor.”
“So are you,” Eva replied, “and so am I, so stop talking about the dog, and tell me what’s in these messages that you are about to show me. I’m sure it’s something the White Star Line doesn’t want the public to know.”
“Well,” said Danny, “you see—”
Eva interrupted him immediately. “Sit down. Just sit down over there on the chair next to Wolfie. You are entirely too tall, young man, and I can’t abide having to look up at you. Sit down and get on with it.”
Danny perched himself on the edge of a striped satin Hepplewhite chair and separated the first sheet of paper. “These are messages from Sir Bruce to the White Star office in New York. Mr. Cottam and I believe that Sir Bruce is making arrangements for the Titanic crew, what’s left of them, to sail immediately back to England without setting foot in the United States.”
Eva leaned forward in her wheelchair. “Just read it. I’ll tell you what it means.”
Danny began to read. “‘Most desirable Titanic crew aboard Carpathia should be returned home earliest moment possible. Suggest you hold Cedric, sailing her daylight Friday. Returning in her myself.’”
Eva nodded. “Read the next one.”
“‘Very important you should hold Cedric daylight Friday for Titanic crew. Answer.’”
Eva nodded again. “And you say that he has sent these messages to his New York office?”
“Yes, he has. There’s one more.” Danny resumed his reading. “‘Think most unwise to keep Titanic crew until Saturday. Strongly urge detaining Cedric, sailing her midnight if desirable.’”
Eva sat back and gave Danny an approving nod. “You and Mr. Cottam are quite correct. He’s going to get his crew onto the White Star’s own ship, the Cedric, and be halfway across the Atlantic before anyone can stop him. He has no intention of answering to an American inquiry.”
Kate thought about the man she’d glimpsed standing against the rail and watching the bedraggled survivors climbing painfully on board the Carpathia. She thought about the throng of angry women and the sign on the cabin door. Please do not knock. So that was what he was doing inside there. He was working out how to escape the wrath of the American survivors.
So far as Kate knew, Eva had not yet received a reply to her Marconigram to Senator Smith and her suggestion—well, more than a suggestion—that he should convene an inquiry. She put her thoughts into words. “He’ll be long gone before your friend the senator can convene an inquiry, won’t he?”
“He would like to be long gone,” Eva agreed, “but we have to stop that from happening.”
“The British will hold an inquiry,” Danny said. “He won’t be able to escape that.”
“A British inquiry won’t get us what we want,” Eva declared. “They’ll do everything they can to wriggle out of any blame. They don’t want to see their Atlantic trade ruined because people don’t trust British ships. Any British inquiry would be a farce. It has to happen here, and it has to happen now, while the memory is fresh.”
Eva leaned forward and looked Danny in the eye. “You need to pass these messages on to Senator Smith. Can you do that?”
Danny shook his head and let his hand rest on Wolfie’s head. “I don’t know. As Marconi operators, we have a code of honor, and we maintain the privacy of the people who send messages through us. The newspapers are already trying to find out what we know. They’re even offering money. Mr. Cottam and I have been ignoring them, but I can tell you it’s going to be a madhouse when we get within reach of New York. After that, nothing will be secret.”
“And every survivor will have a different story,” Eva said. “Their memories will be confused. I’m confused myself, Mr. McSorley, aren’t you?”
“It’s beginning to feel unreal,” Danny admitted.
“So the story has to be told before it’s changed by time and memory and wishful thinking,” Eva said. “It has to be told now. By the time Ismay has sailed across the Atlantic with the Titanic crew, who knows what they will have dreamed up? But it won’t be the truth.”
“She’s right,” Kate said fiercely. “I wasn’t on board the Titanic, and I don’t know what you all went through, but I have some experience of being terribly shocked and very afraid. It was a year ago now, and I know my memory is changing. I probably don’t remember everything correctly. If I had to give evidence now, I would ...” She stopped speaking. This was not the time to speak about what had happened to her or confess to the fact that she had run away. She wondered if things would have been different if she had stayed and spoken up, or if someone had insisted on an inquiry.
“I should have said something,” she whispered. “People should be given a chance to speak.”
Kate met Danny McSorley’s inquiring gaze. A shadow lingered in his blue eyes—the memory of cold and shock and utter despair.
“You think I should send the messages,” he said.
“I do.”
“Then I will,” Danny said. “I’ll do it now.”
April 18, 1912
The Home of Senator William Alden Smith
Washington, DC
5:30 a.m. (Eastern Standard Time)
Senator William Alden Smith
Once again the senator sat in a breakfast room that was totally devoid of breakfast. He was up early, and he would have to wait a full hour before the kitchen maid started to prepare breakfast. He supposed he had the right to wake her, but all things considered, he preferred to leave her to sleep. The last time he had seen her, she had still been red-eyed from weeping for her cousins lost on the Titanic.
If they are really lost, Smith thought. Of course, he had the list compiled by the Marconi operator on the Carpathia, but who could attest to its accuracy? If the president himself was unwilling to admit that the absence of Archibald Butt’s name meant the absence of Butt himself, why shouldn’t little Molly want to believe the same? Maybe because a young Irish maid has more sense than the president of the United States, Smith thought angrily.
Molly at least believed what Bill had told her. There were no other rescue ships, no groups of gentlemen marooned on an ice floe, no survivors in waterproof compartments. The Titanic was gone, and with it had gone some of the richest men of New York society and some of the poorest people of Europe.
Nana, with a shawl thrown around her shoulders, bustled in with a tray of tea. “I don’t know why you’re up so early. A few hours of sleep won’t make any difference to those poor people,” she said.
“I have to set the hearing in motion,” Bill said, “and give formal notice of the Senate’s intention to hold an inquiry, and then I’m going to New York to meet the survivors. The Carpathia is due in at about nine thirty tonight, and I think I should be there to represent the people of the United States. Goodness knows, the president isn’t going to do anything about it. He just can’t get his chin off his desk. I liked Major Butt as much as anyone—he was a good sort—but this grieving has to stop.”
Nana lifted the teapot and began to pour. “You can’t put a time limit on grieving.”
“You can when you have to,” Bill said firmly. “His presidency is at stake. We haven’t even talked about the fact that he lost the Pennsylvania primary last week. A sitting president asking for another term, and he’s beaten in a primary election. If he doesn’t wake up and get himself out among the people, he’ll lose the presidency to Roosevelt.”
“And what will happen to us?” Nana asked.
“I still have my plans,” Bill said, “and this Senate inquiry will put me in the public eye. It’s important.” He stirred sugar into his tea. “That’s why I have to be in New York. I can go up on the afternoon train.” He glanced at the rain streaming down the tall windows of the breakfast room. “I should take an umbrella.”
“Will you stay the night?”
“I suppose so. By the time the people have disembarked, it will be far too late for the midnight train. I’ll stay and have a word with some of the survivors. I want to talk to Ismay. I want to know what his story is.”
Nana passed him a slip of paper. “These are the names of Molly’s relatives. If you have the opportunity, would you ...?”
“I’ll try, but I doubt I’ll succeed. Immigration will be a bureaucratic nightmare. I don’t suppose any of the immigrants have their papers.”
Nana poured her own tea and sat down across the table. “Those poor people. They were coming here for a new life, and now what will they do?”
Bill shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps one of the New York charities will help them. It’s a manageable number. Seventy-five third-class men, seventy-six women and seven children out of eight hundred eighty-five who boarded in third class.” He slipped the paper into his pocket. “There is very little probability that Molly’s family were saved.”
“But there’s a chance. Just see what you can do.”
Bill sipped the tea and was silent for a moment. Finally he set down his teacup. “I’m puzzled,” he said. “All the first-class children were saved, and all the second-class children, but fifty-two third-class children drowned. There’s something there that we’re not being told. I choose to believe that if the children were on deck, they would have been saved.”
Nana set down the teapot with an angry thump. “No one cared about a gaggle of immigrant children,” she said. “They didn’t even try.”
Bill shook his head. “I don’t think so. We don’t have the whole story yet, but I hope to find out that we are better than we appear. The Titanic had three hundred twenty-five first-class passengers, and from that number, one hundred forty women were saved, and all the children, but only fifty-seven men. That means that one hundred eighty first-class men were not saved, and I can think of only one explanation. I believe that those men obeyed the first rule of the sea. They put the women and children in the lifeboats and sent them on their way. They were the cream of society, millionaires, industrialists, military men, true gentlemen, and they did not try to save themselves. Mistakes were made, and I’m sure that some people put their own lives above the lives of others, but I think that there were heroes, and they need to be honored. If I ask the right questions, perhaps I’ll find out who they were, and their names will live on.”
Nana’s attempt to reply was interrupted by the jangling of the telephone in the study. Bill glanced up at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. “Who would call me at this ungodly hour?”
He set down his teacup and went across the hall to answer and to give someone a piece of his mind.
The telephone line crackled as it always did on rainy days, but Bill could make out the voice of his clerk, Richard LaSalle.
“I’m sorry to wake you, Senator.”
“You didn’t wake me. What is it?”
“I’m in the office, sir. We’ve received a Marconigram from the Carpathia, and I think you should come at once.”
“Why are you in the office? Do you know what time it is?”
“I came in to prepare the papers for the Senate committee, sir.”
“Well,” Bill said, “I congratulate you on your enthusiasm, young man, but surely you can do that without phoning me so early in the morning. If you need help, you can wait until Mr. McKinstry comes in.”
“Mr. McKinstry does not have a telephone, sir, or I would have called him and not you. We—or I should say, you—have a Marconigram, and I think it is something you should know at once.”
LaSalle’s voice crackled with urgency, but Bill could not tell from his tone whether the Marconigram was good news or bad news. “What does it say?” he asked impatiently.
“It says that the White Star Line is trying to get the crew of the Titanic out of New York without them ever setting foot on American soil. They don’t intend to answer questions, sir. If we don’t move fast, they’ll be beyond our reach.”
“Why should I believe this? Who sent the Marconigram?”
“Your friend Eva Trentham, on board the Carpathia.”
Bill nodded. Now he didn’t need to be convinced. Eva never did anything without a very good reason.
“What should I do, sir?”
Bill hesitated for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. LaSalle was an intelligent young man, but he didn’t have the age or experience to deal with what would happen next. On the other hand, Will McKinstry, Bill’s aide, would know what to do.
“Sir?”
“Get a cab and go to McKinstry’s house, and wake him up if he’s not already awake. He’ll know what to do. We’ll have to serve a subpoena on Ismay and the remaining Titanic crew to get them off the Carpathia and keep them in New York. I’m on my way to the office now.”
Bill set down the telephone receiver and hurried up the stairs to his bedroom, with Nana following close behind.
“Bill, what’s happened?”
“Bruce Ismay is trying to get the advantage. If he succeeds in getting the Titanic crew out of New York before we can question them, we’ll never get a true reckoning of what happened. Five of his officers survived, and they’re the ones I want to speak to.”
He turned to look at Nana, who had pulled a small suitcase from the closet and was carefully folding clean white shirts. He imagined that the angry expression on her face was a good reflection of what he would see in the faces of his own constituents when they found out what had happened on board the Titanic. Perhaps the Titanic officers who had survived the sinking were true heroes who had gone down with their ship and somehow managed to surface and reach a lifeboat. He didn’t know. No one knew. No one would know anything until the Carpathia arrived in New York, and then the stories would be told. Some people would speak the truth; some would lie deliberately; and some would simply have no idea what had taken place as they had scrambled to leave the sinking ship. Eva Trentham’s idea of pinning the blame for the disaster on the British chairman of the White Star Line and his British crew would be a diplomatic risk, but one worth taking.
Let the British bluster, he thought as he snapped the lid of his suitcase and hurried outside to find a cab. With the possibility of war brewing in Europe, Britain would expect, maybe even demand, the support of the United States. Yes, they would be offended at the detention of their citizens, but they would not risk their unspoken partnership with the United States. He only hoped that Taft would not suddenly shake himself from his grief and realize what the senator from Michigan was up to. He would need to present Taft with a fait accompli—an investigation already underway and witnesses already facing the Senate committee. There would be no time to move the witnesses to Washington. He would have to make a start in New York, maybe a room at the Waldorf Astoria. Well, one thing at a time, and the first step would be to issue a subpoena to Bruce Ismay before he could sneak himself off the Carpathia.
Bill arrived at the Russell Senate Office Building just as the junior staff members were making their appearance for the day. The senators would arrive later. Bill would have to ask McKinstry to make certain that Senator Newlands was advised of the situation, because Newlands would also have to go to New York. Bill could not do this alone.
Bill glanced in at the door of his own office and found it unoccupied. Well, Bill thought, he didn’t need either one of his aides to tell him what to do next. He had his own law degree; he knew what was required, and he had no time to waste. He imagined the Carpathia steaming steadily toward New York. She would be well south of Halifax by now. Although Captain Rostron was no doubt anxious to land his seven hundred unexpected passengers, he wouldn’t be racing for New York. Icebergs were still drifting close to the shipping lanes, and the overloaded Carpathia could not afford a collision. She would not have sufficient lifeboats for another seven hundred people.
Bill paused outside the door of the sergeant at arms. No, the Carpathia would not have lifeboats for another seven hundred people, but what about the Titanic? The Carpathia had only picked up thirteen lifeboats. Where were the other lifeboats? Had they failed to launch? Had they been lost, or had they never existed?
Bill opened the door without knocking and found Daniel Ransdell at his desk. Ransdell rose respectfully.
“Senator Smith.”
Bill could not waste words on polite niceties, not with the image of the Carpathia steaming past Nantucket and only hours from New York. “Sergeant at Arms, I need you to come to New York and serve a subpoena on the owner and crew of the Titanic before they are landed.”
Ransdell set his lips in a straight line. “I’m sorry, Senator, but I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s beyond my authority, Senator. I can’t be arresting foreign citizens on a foreign-registered ship. If you wait until they come ashore—”
“They’re not coming ashore.”
Ransdell shook his head. “Then I can’t help you.”
Bill looked at the set of Ransdell’s face and knew that nothing he could say would move the sergeant at arms to travel to New York with him.
He walked slowly back toward his office, wondering where he would find a law officer willing to risk his career by playing a game of diplomatic brinkmanship with the British. With only a few hours before the Carpathia docked in New York, Bill could think of no one.