fathers and return to our cabins.”
“It’s not unusual for a ship to stop in this cold weather.” The steward didn’t look at either boy. “It’s just a precaution, in case of icebergs.”
“Or the ship has stopped because an iceberg scraped her hull. We were on the shelter deck, near the bow,” said Thomas.
The steward leaned close to them. “There’s to be no panic, understand? If I send your fathers over, you will not speak of this until you reach the landing. Do I make myself clear?”
“So it did scrape the hull,” whispered Thomas. The fear he’d been trying to ignore engulfed him. His legs felt weak.
“Yes, but this ship has watertight compartments and cannot possibly sink. Now, where are your fathers?”
Hugh pointed out Father and Mr Worthington.
“Wait here.” The steward bent to speak to Father, who looked up at Thomas. Thomas hoped his father would realise he would only enter the smoking room if the matter was urgent.
Father placed his cigar in the ashtray and murmured to Mr Worthington. Both men excused themselves and crossed the room to Thomas and Hugh.
“Thomas, what is the problem?” asked Father.
Thomas took a breath to steady himself. “The
Titanic
hit an iceberg,” he whispered the word. “Hugh and I were up on deck; we saw it. A sailor inspecting the damage told us to find you and go to mother’s cabin.”
Father looked at Mr Worthington, eyes wide.
“And that steward just confirmed to us that the iceberg scraped the hull,” continued Hugh.
The same steward appeared beside them. “Please take the conversation outside. Quietly and without fuss.”
“Is it true? Has the ship hit an iceberg?” asked Father.
The steward pursed his lips. “Outside, if you please.”
“What about everyone else?” asked Mr Worthington, his voice tight.
“They’ll be moved on in good time, sir. Now, kindly move on.”
Thomas, Hugh and their fathers left the smoking room and stood in the space at the foot of the stairwell.
“An iceberg?” said Father. “And you are certain, Thomas?”
“Absolutely. We both saw it.”
“It was enormous, Mr Gilmore,” said Hugh. “There was ice all over the deck.”
A gentleman with a harried expression and carrying a notebook rushed past them.
“Excuse me, Andrews,” called Father after him.
The man with the notebook came back to join them. “How can I help you?” His accent was Irish.
Father introduced Hugh, Thomas and Mr Worthington to Thomas Andrews. Thomas recognised the name at once. Mr Andrews was the
Titanic
’s designer.
“Forgive the intrusion,” said Father, “but our boys told us the ship has hit an iceberg. They saw it.”
Mr Andrews sighed. “What I’m about to tell you is very grave and I need you to act without panic.”
“So it’s true,” said Mr Worthington.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. If you have family in cabins, I suggest you collect them without delay and take them straight to the boat-deck.”
“You are certain that is necessary?” asked Father.
“Absolutely.”
“Mr Andrews, how bad is the damage?” asked Thomas.
“I’m afraid the iceberg you saw has fatally damaged the
Titanic
.”
“Fatally?” repeated Hugh.
“But she won’t sink,” said Father. “The
Titanic
is unsinkable, everybody says so.”
“I assure you, sir, this ship will founder,” said Mr Andrews, his face stricken.
“And you’re certain?” whispered Thomas.
“Completely, son, the
Titanic
will sink. Collect your life jackets and your loved ones and position yourselves near a lifeboat.” He rubbed his forehead. “There’s no time to waste.”
“Very well.” Father shook Mr Andrew’s hand. “Thank you for your candour.”
Mr Andrews had only taken a few stairs when Father raced after him. After a brief conversation, Mr Andrews continued on his way, his face twisted in a deep frown. Father returned to where Hugh, Thomas and Mr Worthington waited.
“Best we go to our wives and daughters then, Henry,”
“It’s not unusual for a ship to stop in this cold weather.” The steward didn’t look at either boy. “It’s just a precaution, in case of icebergs.”
“Or the ship has stopped because an iceberg scraped her hull. We were on the shelter deck, near the bow,” said Thomas.
The steward leaned close to them. “There’s to be no panic, understand? If I send your fathers over, you will not speak of this until you reach the landing. Do I make myself clear?”
“So it did scrape the hull,” whispered Thomas. The fear he’d been trying to ignore engulfed him. His legs felt weak.
“Yes, but this ship has watertight compartments and cannot possibly sink. Now, where are your fathers?”
Hugh pointed out Father and Mr Worthington.
“Wait here.” The steward bent to speak to Father, who looked up at Thomas. Thomas hoped his father would realise he would only enter the smoking room if the matter was urgent.
Father placed his cigar in the ashtray and murmured to Mr Worthington. Both men excused themselves and crossed the room to Thomas and Hugh.
“Thomas, what is the problem?” asked Father.
Thomas took a breath to steady himself. “The
Titanic
hit an iceberg,” he whispered the word. “Hugh and I were up on deck; we saw it. A sailor inspecting the damage told us to find you and go to mother’s cabin.”
Father looked at Mr Worthington, eyes wide.
“And that steward just confirmed to us that the iceberg scraped the hull,” continued Hugh.
The same steward appeared beside them. “Please take the conversation outside. Quietly and without fuss.”
“Is it true? Has the ship hit an iceberg?” asked Father.
The steward pursed his lips. “Outside, if you please.”
“What about everyone else?” asked Mr Worthington, his voice tight.
“They’ll be moved on in good time, sir. Now, kindly move on.”
Thomas, Hugh and their fathers left the smoking room and stood in the space at the foot of the stairwell.
“An iceberg?” said Father. “And you are certain, Thomas?”
“Absolutely. We both saw it.”
“It was enormous, Mr Gilmore,” said Hugh. “There was ice all over the deck.”
A gentleman with a harried expression and carrying a notebook rushed past them.
“Excuse me, Andrews,” called Father after him.
The man with the notebook came back to join them. “How can I help you?” His accent was Irish.
Father introduced Hugh, Thomas and Mr Worthington to Thomas Andrews. Thomas recognised the name at once. Mr Andrews was the
Titanic
’s designer.
“Forgive the intrusion,” said Father, “but our boys told us the ship has hit an iceberg. They saw it.”
Mr Andrews sighed. “What I’m about to tell you is very grave and I need you to act without panic.”
“So it’s true,” said Mr Worthington.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. If you have family in cabins, I suggest you collect them without delay and take them straight to the boat-deck.”
“You are certain that is necessary?” asked Father.
“Absolutely.”
“Mr Andrews, how bad is the damage?” asked Thomas.
“I’m afraid the iceberg you saw has fatally damaged the
Titanic
.”
“Fatally?” repeated Hugh.
“But she won’t sink,” said Father. “The
Titanic
is unsinkable, everybody says so.”
“I assure you, sir, this ship will founder,” said Mr Andrews, his face stricken.
“And you’re certain?” whispered Thomas.
“Completely, son, the
Titanic
will sink. Collect your life jackets and your loved ones and position yourselves near a lifeboat.” He rubbed his forehead. “There’s no time to waste.”
“Very well.” Father shook Mr Andrew’s hand. “Thank you for your candour.”
Mr Andrews had only taken a few stairs when Father raced after him. After a brief conversation, Mr Andrews continued on his way, his face twisted in a deep frown. Father returned to where Hugh, Thomas and Mr Worthington waited.
“Best we go to our wives and daughters then, Henry,”
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