Free Spirit of the Titanic by Nicola Pierce Page B

at the funnels and declaring, “See how there’s four of them, that’s one more than any other ship, well, apart from her sister — and that’s how you’d recognize her if you saw her again.”
    Charlie, in a bid to change the subject, asked Ed about a rumour that was flying about the shipyard. “Have you heard anything about cheap rivets? There’s a story going around that we skimped on the rivets, or some of them, at any rate.”
    We all stared at Charlie in disbelief, Jack and Ed in complete agreement for once.
    â€œWhat on earth are you talking about?” Ed sounded as shocked as a vicar who had caught somebody telling rude jokes in church.
    Charlie shrugged. “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard: we ran out of the good rivets by the time we started working on the bow and the story is that cheaper ones were used.”
    Ed shook his head and laughed. “Charlie, for heaven’s sake! This is Harland & Wolff, not some little amateur workshop, and that’s the most important ship ever to be built. Do you really think they would have us using second-rate materials on her?”
    * * *
    â€œHey buddy, we’re flooding out down here. Could you give us a hand?”
    Several stewards peeked down the stairs.
    â€œOh, my goodness! What’s going on? Where’s that water coming from?”
    William, the American with the red, curly hair and spectacles, shrugged his round shoulders. “We’re not sure. Someone said something about hitting an iceberg.”
    He grinned and nodded at Oscar, who was bravely struggling with a heavy load.
    â€œWe were celebrating Oscar’s birthday when a guy told us that our room was flooding. Never even got to cut the cake; can you believe that?”
    The stewards remained on the stairs but duly accepted a bag each. Like me they couldn’t take their eyes off the water. One of them whistled softly. “That’s coming in fast.”
    Neither Oscar nor his mates paid him any heed, so intent were they on emptying the wooden cubbyholes, shoving letters of all shapes and sizes into the bags. One of the Englishmen made it look like it actually hurt him to lump items meant for opposite destinations into the same bag. He glanced at William as he bunched together post for completely different districts in America. The American understood his reluctance but said, “Forget about sorting, John. Our priority is to keep them dry. We’ll sort them later.”

Chapter Seven
    I had to find Titanic’s designer, Mr. Andrews. He knew the ship better than anyone else. After all, what could I know about these things? I was just a child. Maybe it was perfectly natural to have water flowing in at some point. And, anyway, nobody else looked as scared as I felt.
    Mr. Andrews met me on his way from the bridge. His face was expressionless, but he was walking much faster than he usually did. Just the sight of him calmed me and I was sure that whatever the problem was he would fix it. As he made his way downwards, everything seemed wonderfully normal. Gentlemen sat in the common rooms enjoying their cigarettes; couples lingered in corners enjoying private tête-à-têtes; and housekeeping staff flashed tired smiles of recognition as they finished up for the day. It was so very peaceful until, that is, he reached the engine room.
    â€œSir! Sir, she’s letting in fast.”
    It was as if we stepped into another world, where panic was the order of the day. Fortunately there were no passengers around to eavesdrop. In Boiler Room 4 the men were pumping out the sea water and they seemed to be winning this particular battle too. However, I felt utter panic at the sight of so much water. Even Mr. Andrews stopped sharply, his eyes wide in surprise. It was completely unexpected. Stokers, greasers, engineers, thoroughly drenched from head to toe, flew by to their various stations. Amongst the crowd was the Guarantee