Chief Engineer Joseph Bell stood in front of his men, his hands on the gleaming brass handrails. He was dressed in his best blue woolen uniform, but his tie was askew and his face was ashen. The sound of the dynamos was loud, and Bell was a soft-spoken man, but his voice carried to each of the men in the chamber.
"My boys," he said, "the situation is grim. In fact I must tell you that there is no hope."
To underscore the situation, the floor tilted noticeably further and there was the sound of iron rivets popping loose, the sound was like gunfire. The men didn't flinch at the noise and hung on Bell's every word.
"There are not enough life boats for all the passengers," Bell continued, his lower lip trembling. Bell was a hard man and no one had seen him laid so low.
"The hope and lives of everyone aboard this vessel depend on the Marconi machine. The operators are working now to raise the nearest ship to come to our aid."
"Is there a ship?," Dillinger asked hopefully. The men leaned forward. Someone dropped a shovel and it clattered to the deck.
"It is my understanding the nearest ship is four hours away," Bell responded. A steam valve popped and the sound of hissing steam added to the creaks and groans of the settling ship.
"The ship shant swim that long," Bell trailed off.
"But the rescuers will need our lights to find the ship," Arvin called in, "in addition to the work of the wireless."
"It's what I have come to ask," Bell said softly, "and I cannot do it. You know what it means. The water is 40 degrees Fahrenheight..."
"Forty degrees!" someone exclaimed, "not a man will last an hour in that sea."
"Half that," Bell said. He looked around at each of them. They gripped their tools and looked back at him. The lights flickered and dimmed. One of the boilermen grabbed a series of valves and re-directed the diminishing steam pressure to the dynamos. The lights flared brightly.
"You can count on us," someone called to Bell.
"All of us," someone else replied.
Bell turned his back on them so they would not see his tears. The angle of the deck rose sharply. The entire ship groaned as the stern fought the pull of gravity and grip of the icy sea. The men looked at the ceiling girders. Everything was new and trim, manufactured by expert craftsmen of the best materials money could buy and designed to last a hundred years under the harshest of sea-going conditions. But every single man knew what was going to happen when that 15,000 ton stern lifted out of the water. Nothing made by men could resist the inevitable.
The lights flickered again and there was a signal lamp on the annunciator flashing from the Flying Bridge. Bell knew then that the forward bridge must be now under water. He picked up the sound phone. A voice called down from above.
"This is Murdoch," the voice cried breathlessly, "Is anyone there?"
"All here and ready, sir," Bell called proudly, loudly enough for every man to hear.
"We've lost power to the Bridge. We've got to keep the Radio Room getting electricity. Can you help us? It's our only hope!"
"Of course," Bell said, as it if it were a trifle, "It will be addressed at once."
The men sprang to action. They had no way of knowing if anyone was still in the Boiler Room firing the engines. They had no idea how much steam pressure was left to turn the dynamos or how long it would be sufficient to run the lights and machinery.
"Number one pump is down!," someone called and men sprang to do what they could.
"Fifty amps on the number two dynamo! Make 2500 revolutions!" someone called. Men jumped to the polished brass valves on the control panel.
Dillinger looked at the massive Hampton clock in the center of the panel. It was 1:59 AM. He pulled open his collar and ran to the electrical panel. All of the breakers servicing the forward part of the ship were open. Others started snapping open as water filled the normally-watertight junction boxes throughout the forward spaces of the ship. He grabbed the levers and forced them home. Some stayed in place, others blew instantly, showering him with sparks.
The men could now hear the screams of terror of the passengers from above. Dillinger was too busy to think of his own impending death but another jerk of the ship as it lifted out of the water brought him back to reality and he fought the lump in his throat. Was this really it? Was this how his life was to end? He looked around. Despite the crazy angle of the deck, the room was spotless. The tools were lined up in their cages. The gauges and valves were new and working flawlessly. The temperature was warm, the air dry. The lights burned brightly. How could this be the end? How?
The increasing angle of floor was apparent not only to the men but also to the ship which was now struggling past its design limit. The men could see the girders flexing and crimping. Rigid piping that was never designed for this kind of stress began to bend with a sickening scream. Flanges began to blow rivets and white hot steam blasted from the leaks.
"Live steam!" someone shouted and men shrank from the growing cloud. They knew live steam under pressure was invisible and would sever a limb cleaner than any blade. Dillinger couldn't help but look at the iron staircase and ladders leading to the catwalk and the escape doors. The sound of the steam filling the room was so loud that no one could talk. A man was down on the floor holding his belly. Dillinger couldn't tell what had happened to him. The angle increased yet again. There was the grinding sound of metal plates tearing at their seams. Dillinger worked frantically to force the knife switch breakers back into place. He could smell burning flesh coming from the area of Dynamo Number One. Someone must be dead or badly hurt, electrocuted trying to force the main breakers closed. Each time a breaker blew there was the cracking sound of electricity. The men trying to repair the steam flange gave up. He could see a pile up of bodies below the pipe. A white pipe next to it snapped and ice cold water blasted from the broken steel. Men yelled and pointed at the ceiling. The plates were starting to separate. Insulation, wiring and bits of paint and steel poured through the growing cracks into the room. Dillinger was shaking with fear. He saw Bell on the platform spinning valves to shut down Dynamo One and redirect all the remaining steam pressure to Dynamo Two. Dynamo One was out! Half the ship was without power! Dillinger knew at once the Radio Room was finished now. But it was critical to keep the lights blazing. How else would the rescue ships see them in the black night? He threw himself at the snapping breakers, checking the extremely dangerous main switch to make sure it was still sound -- miraculously it held!
The ship shifted again, the stern not just tilting up, but slewing forward as it slid under the water. There was a huge banging sound as the steel pipes of the catwalks snapped, the catwalks crashing down onto the huge dynamo, dragging pipes and wires and lights down with it. Men were screaming now, louder than the hissing steam, above the sound of ripping iron and snapping pipes. The lights flickered, many failed but a few survived, keeping the room lit but filled with shadows. The survivors continued their desperate work, some of them sobbing in terror and frustration. They had to cling to their work stations now, walking upright was impossible. Men were praying to God loudly. Bell was standing alone at the control station, gripping the main steam valve to remain upright, looking downward into the Dynamo Room. It would not be long now. The Hampton still ticked. It was 2:08 AM.
Dillinger heard another sound now and looked downward in horror as water swirled up from the forward bulkhead. He looked up to see water pouring down from the far ceiling and rapidly filling the Dynamo Room, gurgling and splashing as the bilge pumps struggled to clear it. Water and electricity was the terror of every seagoing electrician. The breakers continued to snap. Dillinger pushed them in and they blew again at once.
"Steam pressure's falling fast!" Someone yelled. They could all hear the dynamos spinning down as the steam fell. There was a loud crack as the ship split and fell a few feet towards the ocean. There was nothing more they could do. Without steam to turn the dynamos they could not make electricity. An electrician was working frantically at the battery panel redirecting the remaining power to the most critical functions -- but what was critical now? The bridge was under water...could they keep the navigation lights burning? Did they need to power the anchor motors anymore? What about the corridor morse lamps, surely they were top priority? Dillinger didn't know what to do anymore. The man at the battery stepped into the growing lake around him and suddenly started shaking...electrocuted by the powerful batteries!
The room was filling with clouds of steam now and water was up to the catwalks. Dillinger climbed to the control platform where Bell watched in horror. The ceiling split completely. The lights went out.
Dillinger and Bell grabbed each other in the dark. Things moved quicker now. The pitch of all the sounds combined and rose and it sounded to Dillinger like a steam train heading for them at top speed. There was nowhere to go. Dillinger jammed his foot into the rail. The only lights came from red emergency morse lamps still working throughout the room, powered by batteries. The sound of water rushing into the room filled Dillinger's ears and drowned out every other sound. He could smell the salt of the sea and feel the rush of the cold night air. It would not be long now. The ship was breaking in half and plunging towards the ocean. In the dim red glow Dillinger could see the hands of the Hampton clock click over to 2:17. Then there was a crash as the stern slammed back into the ocean. A pipe crashed from the ceiling and crushed Chief Engineer Bell. On it's way down it dragged Bell's body into the rising water. Dillinger couldn't see Bell sink but he felt the icy water climbing up his legs fast. It would only be a few more seconds. The screams of the passengers above him reached a fever pitch. Tools and pipes and all kinds of material spilled from above all around him. Dillinger saw the battery gauges glowing in the dark and realized they still had power, lots of power. He grabbed a breaker with his left hand, covering the copper with his open palm. Then with his other hand...he closed the circuit. A few remaining lights flared back on as Dillinger's body arced, then failed again and Dillinger's smoking body fell into the cold water. A few seconds later the marvelous Hampton clock passed under the water and stopped. It was 2:18AM.
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