Free Spirit of the Titanic by Nicola Pierce

day shift was easier as long as there wasn’t any mist or heavy rain. It struck me suddenly that the pleasure of this job would depend an awful lot on the weather. Fortunately, though freezing cold, tonight was dry. At least the chilly temperature prevented a tired lookout from dozing off.
    The bridge was a few feet below us; this was where the ship was steered. Officer Hitchens was at the wheel tonight, with First Officer Murdoch at his shoulder. I had peeked in the window on my way up here. So, while the two lookouts weren’t alone in their constant inspection of the miles in front of them — Officers Hitchens and Murdoch were doing their bit too — Fred and Reggie held the best position for spotting trouble. Captain Smith must have retired for the night. Idly I turned to catch the full view of Titanic behind us. It was a funny angle. From where we stood we had no appreciation of her size and majesty; she was simply too big to take in all at once, plus the view was blocked by the massive funnels.
    I was so caught up in my thoughts that I barely noticed Fred bending sharply forward, craning his neck to see something. What was it? I hovered over his shoulder, reluctantly, hardly daring to make a proper effort to discover what had grabbed his attention and there, as I peered half-heartedly out into the darkness, something began to take shape in front of me. I looked at Fred in shock, completely forgetting that he couldn’t meet my eye. Not allowing himself to blink, Fred gripped his companion’s arm in stunned silence. Reggie obediently followed the direction of his mate’s focus. I was already overwhelmed by sheer horror. It looked no bigger than a table, and then a table on top of another table, and then another and another, until there was no denying what we were facing. Ignoring Reggie’s hushed swearing, Fred banged on the bell in the crow’s nest three times, as hard as he could, and then wrenched the phone receiver off its hook as the distance between the ship and the massive object shrank at an alarming rate. His call was answered immediately.
    â€œWhat do you see?”
    â€œIceberg, sir, dead ahead.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Fred clung to the rail in front of him, wishing it was the wheel and that he was able to take over the steering. All we could do was watch and wait — which is sometimes the hardest thing of all. No one said a word until we realized that Officer Hitchens was attempting to turn the ship. What else was there to do but try? I’m sure that both he and Officer Murdoch were as breathless and as petrified as we were. The iceberg was so huge and far, far too near.
    Fred was in agony, unable to stop himself from shouting out, “Come on, come on . Go left … LEFT!”
    And she did start to turn. Reggie whistled as the immense size of the iceberg was made blatant. “How did we not see that?”
    It was a mountain of ice standing proudly up in the ocean, steep with sharp ridges that glistened dully beneath the stars.
    Fred’s reply was fierce. “How could we have? We were both looking, weren’t we? There’s no moon in the sky and absolutely no wind, so there’s no waves breaking against it; otherwise we’d have heard it, even if we couldn’t see it.”
    That was how a lookout usually spotted a berg at night; the sea warned him by slapping at it until the noise caught his attention. That night, however, the sea had been as still and silent as the iceberg itself.
    â€œPlus,” offered Reggie, “we were going really fast. They knew that icebergs were a possibility in this area, so you’d think they would’ve slowed down a bit.”
    â€œExactly,” said Fred.
    Titanic ’s head continued ever so slowly to lean away from the obstacle.
    â€œYes, yes,” gasped Fred. “Keep going.”
    We were going to make it. It looked like we were going to make it, just about.
    A collision